#and the people who were allowing them to step all over them without vying for our leverage

[samuraisharkie]

I know I’m posting a lot of like. semi-bitter stuff and especially posts with frustration towards the Democratic Party and the liberals who refuse to look anywhere but themselves when it comes to why they failed, as well as acknowledging the fear and anxiety that comes with what we’re about to go through. But I want to say, that despite all of that and the awful feeling in my chest, I have so much compassion for the world. I still think we can fight for a better future, that it’s not over. We got this. It’s bleak but it was going to be no matter what, and we can make it. The results have inspired me to get even more active and try even harder, and I know there’s a lot of people that feel the same. We’ll all support each other, and we will make it. It’s going to suck, and I don’t want to put down the very real fear and danger folks are in— but I also don’t want to give in to that feeling of hopelessness and doom. There are so many people all over the world facing similar plights, or worse, and the least we can all do is keep fighting and supporting each other! Again I don’t want to step on the very real anxieties and fears and sadness from the results of this year’s election, I just feel some encouragement is in order amidst all the fear. For every person that refuses to turn on each other and continues to stand with all those who suffer just like us in our own homes and all over the world, we will be stronger for it. Take care of yourself, and take plenty of time to cry and fear of course, that’s not wrong, but don’t forget it isn’t over. There’s still a lot of love in this world!

[sa7abnews]

Time's up on the Harris basement strategy. Liberal media minions need to do their jobs

New Post has been published on https://sa7ab.info/2024/08/12/times-up-on-the-harris-basement-strategy-liberal-media-minions-need-to-do-their-jobs/

Time's up on the Harris basement strategy. Liberal media minions need to do their jobs

It has now been over three weeks since Kamala Harris became the presumptive nominee of the Democratic Party, and in that time, she has not deigned to give a single interview or hold a single press conference, aside from answering two questions on a tarmac Thursday. We have gone from Biden-Harris to Hidin’ Harris. It is unacceptable, it is dangerous, and it’s time for the fawning members of America’s liberal news media aka defacto members of the Harris-Walz team to step up and demand better.HARRIS MOCKED FOR TAKING LESS THAN 2 MINUTES OF QUESTIONS AFTER 18 DAYS: ‘THIS IS THE BEST KAMALA COULD DO?’Less than two weeks from now, our unremarkable vice president is set to accept the nomination in Chicago. For the first time in modern American history, she will not only have received no votes this cycle but may well not do one interview as a candidate for president.Instead of actually hearing from the person vying to be the most powerful leader in the world, we get campaign officials and surrogates, mouthpieces for a candidate in hiding who cannot speak without them, but that should stop now.The progressive lapdogs in our gaslighting media should stiffen their spines and demand that Harris stop hiding behind surrogates and speak for herself. Anything less from her campaign is just a trial balloon that can be walked back while they throw spaghetti on the wall to see what sticks.Just Thursday, Harris campaign advisor Phil Gordon took to X to state that his candidate does support an arms embargo against Israel after reporting in the New York Times suggested it was being discussed. Sorry, Phil, we can’t just accept your word for it. Harris has to say it. KAMALA HARRIS FINALLY FIELDS QUESTIONS FROM PRESS AFTER DODGING MEDIA FOR 18 DAYS SINCE BECOMING DEM NOMINEELet’s say a campaign spokesperson like Jen O’Malley Dillon goes on a Sunday show and says Harris would allow fracking for the next 25 years, sunsetting it after. If Republicans get traction saying, “see, she wants to ban fracking,” or if leftists gain traction saying this is too much fracking, Harris can simply say, “Jen misspoke as to my position,” and change it. Our liberal media is under no obligation to enable this obfuscation. In fact, Americans would respect them more if they started to do their jobs. It is time to demand that the campaign give us the actual candidate, the person who can’t claim words or a position were taken out of context. After all, there are questions that need answers amid the most unorthodox presidential election most people alive have ever seen. For instance:*When did you realize Biden was incapable of running for a second term?*Why wasn’t this decision made earlier to allow a fulsome process to choose a candidate that gave voters a voice?*Is President Biden making the decisions today? *Do you regret helping to raise bail money for criminals who burned down parts of Minneapolis under your running mate, Minnesota Gov. Tim Walz’s watch? *You say in speeches that on day one you will start fighting inflation, but why isn’t the Biden-Harris administration already doing that? CLICK HERE FOR MORE FOX NEWS OPINION*Even if your border portfolio was dealing with the “root causes” of mass illegal immigration, do you bear any responsibility for the Americans murdered under your administration by illegal immigrants?You get the idea. It is not a short list of questions. And at this point, asking them of campaign officials does more harm than good. They can’t actually answer them. All they are doing is using the news media as their own private polling firm.It is time for Kamala Harris to get out of the basement. She now says she’s working to schedule an interview by the end of the month, three weeks from now, and only schedule one, not do one.It is absurd, there is no reason on Earth why somebody who wants to be president needs a month and a half to prepare for one interview, If elected, it is Harris who will get the 3 AM phone call, and she won’t have 45 days to respond.It is time to demand that Harris speak for herself. The American voters deserve nothing less. CLICK HERE TO READ MORE FROM DAVID MARCUS

[godstrayed]

To be fair, his occultist clan had moved to Hawkins for a particular reason which was tied to the supernatural events happening. It was a tip and a rumor that had moved the small group of them into the shit town that looked like a picturesque scene from a Texas chainsaw massacre. It took a whole lot of convincing to allow Billy to even be put in the public school since the cult didn’t really allow for that. The sect firmly believed in homeschooling and Neil was the head, determiner of what was to be followed.

However, Susan, his step-mom, was newer and Max had only ever gone to public school. And frankly, Susan wasn’t fit to be a teacher to both Billy and Max. At least, not how Billy’s mom had been. If Max was going to public school then Billy was too to keep an eye on her and to also scope out the townspeople. 

Billy for as long as he could remember was raised in this. The only difference was he had his mom’s influence on him before she decided to leave - leaving Billy behind in the shitshow of zealotry. She had been kinder from what he remembered, not fully subscribing to all the ideas Neil taught, and tried to instill some kindness into Billy. 

All young men should be able to fight, know how to kill these unnatural things; be able to protect their communities. It was always an us vs them scenario. A reminder it was Neil and his people over the outside world. Kill or be killed.

Billy had seen them. The monsters that lurk on the edges of society trying so desperately to fit in. Some appeared quite human. But it didn’t matter ‘cause as soon as they were sniffed out by someone from the cult… well, they ended up dead. From a house fire, from being shot, or just plain disappeared. They’d be lucky to find a body in a lot of the scenarios. 

And even if he didn’t fully believe all of it there was no way he could speak a word of it to anyone on the outside. Who would believe him? And even if they did, he’d be forsaken by the only people he had ever been around his entire life. If not killed himself for betraying them…

Figuring out Steve was fairly easy ‘cause Steve already had a massive target on his chest when Billy showed up. The King of Hawkins. Doesn’t help that they run in the same circles and Billy is vying for his throne. 

He had his suspicions but he had to make sure ‘cause despite everything, Steve doesn’t seem like a cold-hearted killer. Doesn’t seem like the type of monster from the storybooks that needed killing or that killed humans. He had to make sure so if it was true he could do something. Looking at Steve was like looking at a fucking puppy. Billy was far from a bigot. He knew some of what his clan did was fucking insane and some was necessary to save innocent lives from monsters who did have bloodlust.

It was just hard to imagine Steve Harrington as that kind of monster.

But something was killing people in Hawkins. Something was out there in the woods. And his clan was out in those woods. They’d kill Steve without batting a fucking lash.

But he doesn’t trust Steve to not try to bite his head off after everything so he’s not taking off his goddamn necklace. It would be insurance if he was wrong but he doubted he was. After all, Steve knows he knows. He hadn’t come looking for Billy and had done his best to avoid him. Steve didn’t want problems. Steve didn’t seem bad at all.

So, he can only say he doesn’t want to see someone like Steve not be aware of what’s waiting out there for him. 

Stepping inside the nice home he finds himself peering around curiously. Makes sense. Already knew Steve was well off and the house looked pretty from the outside. Much better than the rundown home he has.

Thing about the cult was they all lived in the same neighborhood of shitty houses to stay close with one another since they didn’t mingle with the townsfolk, all dirt cheap ‘cause most of the people had shit jobs. They didn’t mingle, rarely went to college, and stuck to things that could keep them unaffected by the outside world. And it meant, any outsider was spotted immediately and stuck out like a sore fucking thumb. Trust and believe any unknown vehicle was reported on the hotline of phone calls that would have one member warn another and so on til everyone knew an outsider was amongst them.

“You got it made, huh?” He asks with a tilt of his head back in Harrington’s direction with a crooked grin. Was he worried Billy was here to hurt him? Didn’t Steve know if he wanted to, he would have already done it? He surely knew how. But the thought had never crossed his mind after burning him with his pendant. A real shithead move but a forsure way of figuring it out. He steps further into the home and walks right into the living room and drops to a sofa making himself comfortable.

“Don’t wolf out on me, alright?” He says after a moment, “I am here ‘cause I know what you are. And I know you sure as shit are a green novice werewolf. Doubt you know what the fuck you’re doing and that poses all kinds of danger. For you, mostly. But for others too. Listen, I am being real as fuck. You gotta hide it better.”

He didn’t want to sell out his family. Or himself. But he was at a crossroads here and wasn’t sure how honest he was going to be yet. He just knew he wanted to keep Steve from being fucking murdered when he had no intention of harming anyone.

@godstrayed just can't help being an asshole...

ㅤㅤㅤㅤwhy don’t you invite me in for a few minutes so we can start over?

ㅤBilly Hargrove was a jackass.

ㅤThis was essentially an undisputed fact within the first week he'd been in Hawkins, and then a month later, it was just accepted by everyone in his orbit or forced to deal with him on a regular basis, Steve included. He had enough shit on his plate, considering like two days after their fight and then facing down a pack of werewolves with the Chief of Police, a psychic powerhouse of a little girl and a pile of kids, he'd realized the very awful truth: he'd been infected. Three days surrounding the full moon found him utterly wrecked with nobody to turn to for help with it, so he did the only thing he thought he could do.

ㅤHe pushed through and pretended everything was fine.

ㅤHis face healed up too quickly, but since he'd taken off basically the whole week between his actual injuries and the panic of that first full moon, it was hard for anyone to tell - except maybe Billy Hargrove himself, who knew what the damage had looked like. Steve had come back to school like nothing had happened, put on the act like he actually gave a shit about the social hierarchy that he'd been loosening his grip on before Nancy dumped him, and buckled down. Everything was fine, it would all be normal and nobody would ever have to suspect.

ㅤThe month passed with his façade firmly in place and he could almost forget that it was real until the week before the next moon, when he was restless and anxious, quick to temper and if that meant he leaned into Billy's competitiveness, what the hell was wrong with that? A lot, actually, because he didn't know how hard Hargrove had been watching him, or why. He also had no way of knowing how the longer nights of winter were probably the absolute worst to start this bullshit on and a hell of a lot of other shit that was honestly pretty vital to his survival, but he was learning quickly. Too bad it was messy.

ㅤIt was messy and he didn't know how, but he was pretty sure that Billy Hargrove knew he was one of the monsters now. The guy had seemed curious, a little amused, when he'd gotten back, but then came the week before the moon and he'd doubled down on his antagonism as Steve snapped back, and Steve was pretty sure it was the three days of the moon that really convinced him. Steve didn't stay home those days because he couldn't risk the school calling his dad, so he ended up in class on essentially no sleep outside of the naps he could score in short bursts - he spent all night running through the woods, chasing rabbits and bounding through the fresh snow that had fallen and frankly? It was nice in the moment. Everything else surrounding it sucked, but he didn't feel like a monster. He was just tired those days, and Hargrove was up his ass, which he just didn't have energy for. The week after, he was in too good of a mood and feeling too relaxed and easy to really take it too personally, though he was pretty sure the bastard was being a dick on purpose.

ㅤThen came the silver, and that was just that. He hid the sudden shock of bright hot pain quickly so that other people wouldn't notice, but Billy had the saint's medallion and he'd been watching. It had been intentional, which meant that they both knew that he was a monster, and they both knew each other knew. The jackassery only increased from there, and frankly? Steve had seen what werewolves were like, had fought for his life against them, so he got it. He didn't know how Billy Hargrove knew about them, but he assumed it wasn't good, so he tried to just give him space. He wasn't relinquishing his hold on the social scene or his act because it was protecting him, but he also wasn't interested in anything to do with Hargrove. That was just dangerous.

ㅤIt made his sudden appearance on the Harrington doorstep even more surprising, and Steve wasn't even sure why he'd opened the door, but he stood there for a moment, staring at him and trying to decide if this was going to end with one or both of them bleeding or dying. His eyes flicked down to the very visible silver medallion hanging against the other's chest with a little internal cringe, but he made eye contact again right after. If he didn't go for this, shit would keep going as it had been, and nothing about it was good, so 'starting over' sounded like a good plan. Could he trust Billy?

ㅤNo, obviously not, nothing suggested he could trust him, but he licked his lips a little nervously, fingers twisting on the doorknob before he released a long breath, nodding and glancing away to move out of the way of the other entering. "Yeah, yeah, okay, let's start over then. Come in."

[herstuf]

“They’re sisters it’s not queer baiting”

my siblings from this hell site, nobody knew they were sisters until book 3. Before the reveal there was like 2 hints to the possibility of them being sisters. They are so heavily queer baited throughout the books before that- people used to go crazy over the idea of them being endgame. The idea of Sophie and Agatha being together was pivotal to a lot of our childhoods and it was all crushed in like ten sentences two years after we were introduced to them. Nobody is actually shipping them, this isn’t fucking house of the dragon? But we are allowed to be upset about it!

There are so many moments in the books before the “sisters” reveal that made us think they would be together. Here’s some examples:

“Nearby, Tedros managed to reach his head from under boys and saw Sophie spring past. “Help!” he yelled— Sophie stepped on his head as she ran to help Agatha, who was being pelted with pebbles by Beatrix.” Chapter 13, book #1 this was almost directly after Sophie declared that Tedros was The One for her, and she immediately chose to protect Agatha over him.

“Tedros dove beside them. “Let me help,” he said, taking Sophie in his arms. “No—” Sophie wheezed—“Agatha.” Speechless, Tedros left her to his princess’s arms. Agatha pressed Sophie to her chest, hands soaked with her blood.” Chapter 30, book #1. Chooses her best friend over the prince she’d been vying for in her last moments.

“‘Who needs princes in our fairy tale?’ Sun exploded through fog, coating the two castles in gold. As the grass around it greened, the Storian blazed with new life and soared back to its tower in the sky. Across the shores, children’s robes, black, pink, blue, melted to the same silver, dissolving their division once and for all.” Chapter 30, just after Agatha kisses Sophie and saves her life with true loves kiss. The blatant queer symbolism in the description of the rainbow of colours which are then described as dissolving and erasing division is symbolism for the idea of finding acceptance and love, even with those previously thought of as “enemies” or “off-limits.”

“‘You make me happy, Agatha,’ said Sophie, ‘It just took me too long to see it”… “But Sophie had revised the prince with her sewing kit. Now he had boxy dark hair, goonish bug eyes… and a black dress.” Chapter 2, Book #2. Sophie had a pillow she previously stitched with a prince and princess, and had now stitched likeness of Agatha over the prince, symbolising Agatha as her Prince Charming and HEA.

“And Sophie and Agatha lived happy ever after, for girls don’t need princes for love to call. . . . No, they don’t need princes in their fairy tales at all.” Chapter 5, Book #2. Technically this is part of the manipulations from Dean Slader but it is a good reminder of queer undertones in the books overall.

Various quotes from book 2 that just stand out from a queer perspective:

“Agatha reviving her with love’s kiss,” “I won’t intervene in your lovers quarrel,” Chapter 5. ““Despite the storm in her heart, Sophie managed a smile. She had never seen something so beautiful. Then again, she’d never seen girls dance without boys.” Chapter 6. “happy together . . . without a boy in sight. ‘How can Agatha not want this?’” Chapter 7. “‘Just want to make sure she’s safe.’ Sophie peered down at the two armored knights, one short, one tall, standing in the blue pumpkin patch near the Woods Gate. ‘You sound . . . like . . . a . . . prince . . .’ Chapter 11. “Kissed a girl to life like all the best princes,” Chapter 11.

“‘I need more than a friend,’ Agatha had said. But what if she could make Agatha happy again? What if she showed Agatha she didn’t need Tedros? That their friendship was greater than any Ever After with a prince.” Chapter 13

And some quotes from book 3 before the reveal that made it all the more surprising to us when they were revealed as sisters

“Sophie. This time no anger came at the name. Only an echo, like the password to her heart’s cave.” Chapter 2. 

“Strange, wasn’t it, Sophie thought, moving closer. She’d kissed Agatha . . . Agatha had kissed Tedros . . . and yet, she’d never kissed Tedros” Chapter 13, symbolising kissing a boy would be exactly the same as kissing Agatha

Honestly there’s more but I am so tired of typing already sorry.

As someone who was in the 9th grade when the first book came out, and who was first questioning my own sexuality at that time, I latched onto these books because of the queer coding between Agatha and Sophie. I was stoked when the books came out each year because I honestly hoped they would end up together. For them to be revealed at the last moment as sisters? It was crushing to me and many others, and it came out of nowhere. It was my very first experience being queer baited.

Many of you might not be of the opinion that it is queer baiting, since apparently in the later books the girls are revealed to be bisexual (which is awesome! I never read past the 3rd book sorry!) but it doesn’t change the interpretation of queer baiting that many of us growing up with the books had. Being excited about a possible relationship only to have that ripped away and made impossible so suddenly is crushing for anybody. Nobody is shipping them, because gross, but we are upset about the narrative of it. And it is exhausting being continuously told that “it’s not queer baiting, they’re sisters!” when we literally had THREE YEARS to develop a ship for them before having that reveal. Nobody is shipping them, but we are allowed to continue calling it queer baiting because it literally was, and with the movie it is a revival of that feeling.

And for people who didn’t read the books? Imagine what watching that on screen felt like for them.

[13uswntimagines]

Cutie Pie (Christen x Reader)

Request: christen x reader one? Maybe where the reader has a child (1-2 years old) and the Team doesn't know. Reader and her child are at a game right behind the bench and the kid accidentally drops his paci down to the bench and the teammates there interact with them without knowing that it's christens girl? Reader also is really tall and fit and a tomboy!

“Alright half-pint, you ready for this?” You asked the little girl in your arms, bouncing her just a touch as you stepped through the stadium gates. 

“Yeah, Mama!!!” She cheered around her pacifier, staring around the stadium in awe and wiggling excitedly. 

You were happy that she loved coming to games so much, as they were kinda a big part of your life. You weren’t quite sure what you would do if she didn’t. She was your soul and a certain soccer player had your heart, and you were glad that you didn’t have to choose between the two. 

You smiled indulgently down at her and kissed her slightly chubby cheeks. “I’m glad baby,” 

She wiggled again, her little bounces getting more and more wild with every step you took in the stadium. You hadn’t really planned on having Riley, but now you couldn’t imagine your life without her and her wonder at everything around the two of you.

“Chris?” She asked as you passed a giant poster of the national team, pointing towards where your favorite forward’s blinding smile was blown up 100 times its normal size. 

You would be forever grateful for how amazing your girlfriend was with your daughter. 

She came into your life nearly a year and a half ago, and you had been extremely reluctant to introduce her to your 6 month old (You didn’t want either of them to get attached before you knew it would work out), but Christen took the role of parent very seriously. She treated your little girl like she was her own, and the two had an unbearable bond. You knew that even if things didn’t work out the way you wanted them to, Riley would always have a friend in the forward. 

“You bet. I’m sure she’s super excited to see you!” You said, glancing down at your ticket to and looking for the right section, navigating through the crowd without issue (something you were used to considering how private you and Chris were about your relationship, the only person on the team who knew about you was Tobin). 

“She score?” Riley questioned, her pacifier bobbing adorably in her mouth and her little eyebrows furrowing. 

“I’m sure she will, just for you kiddo,” You smiled, blowing a raspberry into the little girl's neck, and earning a giggle. “Now, do you think you can help me count the rows so we can get to our seats?” You asked as you passed under the sign with your section number and the pitch came into view. 

Riley nodded, puffing her little chest up. She may only be 2, but you and Christen had been working hard on her colors and numbers. She still needed help, but she was super smart for her age. 

“Alrighty then baby, let’s go,” 

*****

The team wasn’t usually this distracted. They were a group of highly competitive women who were at the top of their game, which meant that they could usually block out all of the noise from the stadium, even if it was just warmup. However, the cutest kid they had ever seen was sitting just behind the bench, being held by a very attractive lady. 

“Oh my gosh, have you seen the little girl?” Kelley asked, slinging an arm around Christen and Tobin’s shoulders, nodding towards the toddler in the stands. 

A gooey smile (something that didn’t go unnoticed by Tobin) broke across Christen’s face the second she saw her two favorite people. She noted how you had dressed the little one in the jersey she had gotten her for Christmas, a bold 23 visible every time she flashed her back towards the field. There was just something about having a part of herself visible (something tangible) on the girl she thought of as a daughter. “Yes, she’s absolutely adorable in that jersey,” 

She wiggled her fingers at the little girl who squealed excitedly and waved back. Her mom wrapped a protective arm around her belly to prevent her from accidentally wiggling under the guardrail. 

“Too bad it’s got Press’ number on it” Megan laughed, wrapping her arm around Christen’s other side, nudging the woman’s ribs. Christen rolled her eyes and shot the little girl another little wave, giggling when she bounced wildly in her mother’s arms (Christen might have also greatly appreciated the way the girl's reaction forced you to flex to prevent her from falling). 

“And her mom doesn’t look too bad either,” Ashlyn added, wiggling her eyebrows. 

The woman behind the little girl was tall, and the black ink that swirled up her arms only served to make her muscles more visible (Christen would call her drool-worthy after she finally told the team she was dating her). 

“You’re married, remember?” Ali grumbled, slapping her wife in the stomach. 

“Yeah, but If I wasn’t…” Ashlyn shrugged, cackling when Ali hit her harder. Christen frowned, suppressing a sneer. You were hers, even if the team didn’t know yet. 

Tobin smirked, gently grabbing her training outfit to prevent her from moving forward. “Come on, you can go flirt later. We have to get changed for the game,” She laughed towards Ashlyn, subtly pulling Christen towards the tunnel. 

The rest of the group laughed and followed after them. There would be plenty of time to say hi to the small child later after they had won. 

The forwards still sent another small wave towards the toddler clearly frowning now that her favorite person was walking away (she also may have winked your way just for kicks). 

*****

You could tell that Riley was having a blast. Her little hands wrapped around the bars of the railing so she could be as close to the action as possible. She waved to every player as they passed her (no matter how many times they did) and giggled exuberantly every time they waved back. 

It seemed that the team on the bench was far more interested in making your little girl laugh than watching the game (and you could only imagine how it would be when they finally realized that one of their teammates was basically her second mom). 

“Babe, you gotta stay a little away from the edge alright?” You said softly, tapping her shoulder when her little head went just a little too far through the bars. 

She definitely had your tendency to get in over her head. She ignored you, too enamored by Christen darting down the field, and shooting the ball. It sailed right past the goalie’s hands and before you could grab your little one she was leaping up and down, head still through the bars screaming “Goal!!” as loud as she could around the pacifier. But her enthusiasm caused the small object to fall out of her mouth.

“Uh oh,” Riley said, turning to you, her bottom lip trembling. 

You scooped her up, and she immediately nuzzled into your neck. “It’s ok babydoll,” you murmured into her hair, bouncing her and looking over the railing.

You leaned over the side, only to see one Kelley O’Hara holding your daughter's pacifier and rubbing her head. “Lose something?” She asked, quirking an eyebrow up at you. 

“Sorry, she got a little excited,” You said blushing a little bit. A little smirk graced Kelley’s lips you looked absolutely adorable with some red in your cheeks and paired with the backward cap it made you practically irresistible. 

“Don’t we all when Pressy scores a goal?” Megan winked up at you, wiggling her fingers at your little girl when she peeked up from your shoulder. 

“That’s fair, but she’s a very big fan,” You smiled, bouncing the little girl in your arms and blowing a raspberry just under her chin. 

“Well in that case, why don’t you two come down on the field? You know, so we can return this?” Ashlyn asked, grabbing the pacifier out of Kelley’s hand and jingling it a little. 

“What do you think babydoll?” You whispered into your daughter’s ear, as she was suddenly too shy to look at the soccer players who she had been interacting with not even minutes ago. 

“Wanna go,” she mumbled into your neck, just loud enough for the girls on the ground to hear. Kelley smiled wildly. “Well, little miss speaks after all!”

“Come to the stairs and we’ll get security to let you down. The games about to be over anyway,” Megan said, pointing towards where a little stairway was located. 

You nodded and headed in that direction, unaware of Christen’s furrowed eyebrows on the field. 

*****

“Oh my gosh, that kid is freaking adorable,” Alex said, trotting up beside Christen just as the final whistle blew. Christen turned towards where Alex was looking, awing at the sight before her. 

Riley was shyly standing behind you, clutching the back of your tank top so tightly that it was pulling down the collar (simultaneously showing off some of the swirling lines she knew spread across the skin of your shoulders). 

She would peek out to get a glance at one of the soccer players vying for her attention, and then tuck back into you the second she realized they were looking at her. 

“Isn’t she?” Christen smiled so wide her cheeks hurt. She might not be biologically related to your daughter, but she was 100% her other mom. She loved that little girl so much it hurt  (even when her pigtails were crooked- you were great at a lot of things but hair certainly wasn’t one). 

“Your gooey is showing,” Tobin said, nudging the forward. Christen opened her mouth to respond but was cut of by a very excited squeal. 

“Chris!!!” It yelled, just before a little body collided with the forward’s legs. She quickly bent down to lift the little girl up, throwing her in the air before allowing her to settle on her hip. “Missed you,”

“I missed you too babydoll,” Christen said into your daughter’s hair, holding her tight. She absolutely loved her job, but one major downside was that she couldn’t take you and Riley with her all of the time. At least she had Tobin to keep her up to date most of the time since you lived in Portland, but there was absolutely nothing like holding her two favorite people in person. 

“You better at hair and clothes,” Riley mumbled into her neck, pulling back just a bit to wave her hand around her head. You tried. You really did, but there was a reason you always kept your hair short. You weren’t into bows and frilly things, but your little girl absolutely loved them. So you did your best and were very grateful that Christen was so good with that kind of stuff. 

Christen threw her head back and laughed “I know baby,”. She rubbed Riley’s belly “Did you enjoy the game?” 

“Yeah, you score goal for me and mama,” Riley cheered and kicked her leg as if recreating the goal. Christen laughed again and began walking in your direction. “That’s right. I scored just for my favorite girls,” 

“Hey I scored too you know, and I want some baby bear hugs,” Tobin said, appearing over Christen’s shoulder. 

Riley wiggled wildly in Christen’s arms, practically throwing herself at her favorite aunt. “Aunt Toby!!” She yelled as Tobin dramatically spun her in circles. 

Christen watched the two with a wide smile, only looking away when she felt a presence beside her. 

“Hey superstar, you looked amazing out there,” your smile was evident in your voice as you wrapped your arms around Christen’s waist from behind, kissing her ear and resting your head on her shoulder. 

She signed happily and leaned back into you for a second, before spinning in your arms. “Hey darling,” she said, leaning up and placing a kiss on your lips. 

“Wait, you know Christen?” A voice appeared very close to you, and you reluctantly pulled away from your girlfriend to look at one Kelley o’hara’s wide eyes. 

“Well she’s my girlfriend, so yeah,” Christen shrugged, leaning up to kiss you again. 

You hear Kelley and several other team members sputter, but you were far too preoccupied to actually care. That was until a little voice joined the mix. 

You pulled away when you heard little feet approaching you, squatting down to catch your very excited little girl. You stood with her in your arms, unable to stop you smile when Christen wrapped her arms around the two of you. 

“Yes baby?” Christen asked, running a hand down your daughters back to try and settle her excited wiggiling just a little. 

“Mama, mommy, we go eat with aunt Toby?” Riley asked. And Christen’s sent her an indulgent smile blinking back tears (you were happy that Tobin was so accepting and great with your babygirl). Sure Christen might not have been biologically related to her, but Riley was 100% hers.

[mybunnyparadenme]

Ah wow so cool to have found you on Tumblr! I'm a big fan of your fic :) For the Bunny chart post, it would be so cool to see a Princess Kenny/Marjorine fic, maybe with Marj as her lady in waiting or something? ^-^

Hhhhhh thank you, I'm so flattered! /)///w///(\ Glad you found my blog too! Here's the fic, THANK YOU for requesting the girls!! I hope that you don't mind it's super angsty! ^^;

--

D2 - Marjorine/Princess Kenny

Princess Kenny had to be the most beautiful girl at the ball tonight.

Of course Kenny's always the most beautiful girl regardless, Marjorine thought to herself as she watched her dear friend dance with a dark haired prince from a far off kingdom. How couldn't she be? Her golden hair was done up in an intricate braid, exposing her slender neck and pale shoulders, and the lilac of her dress highlighted her gorgeous eyes, making her look like a goddess in human form. Marjorine felt pride color her cheeks, knowing that she'd had a hand in her appearance. She'd spent ages running a brush through that long hair until it gleamed in the light, plaiting it carefully so not a single strand fell out of place. And her hard work had definitely paid off, Kenny had been dancing all night and she still looked as immaculate as when they'd arrived.

At least until the awful foreign prince reached up and carelessly ran his fingers through her hair, tugging at her braid and leaving several strands loose in his wake. He looked smug as he curled her hair around his finger, and Marjorine was ready to stomp over there and tell him off for being so rough with her princess, but before she could even take the first step, Kenny had that same finger bent backwards and was whispering something into his ear. Something harsh, given the worry in the prince's pain-laced expression. The exchange only lasted for a moment, and then Kenny gave him a sweet smile as she curtsied goodbye. Almost immediately, she was in the arms of a new dance partner, the handsome Elf King of Zaron.

Marjorine let herself relax again. The elf was known for being well-mannered, no doubt he would treat Kenny with the respect she deserved. She watched the two of them dance with a smile on her face, though it quickly became strained when she saw Kenny throw her head back and laugh at something he'd said to her. They seemed to be hitting it off very nicely, and... and that was a good thing! They were at this ball to scope out potential suitors after all, the goal was to find someone she could not only get along with, but rule a kingdom with. This was a good thing, wasn't it? So why did the air suddenly feel like it was too heavy to breathe? She quickly turned from the dance floor and made her way over to the open balcony several feet away.

I could use some fresh air, she told herself. That was all she needed, and then everything would be fine.

The cool breeze felt good against her heated cheeks, a definite relief from the stuffy air in the ballroom. Marjorine tilted her head up to marvel at the beautiful moon overhead, so full and big it looked like she could reach up and touch it with her fingertips. But as she lifted her hand and clutched at empty space, she felt her heart sink at the realization that the distance between her and the moon was similar to the one between her and the princess she loved so much. Marjorine was proud to be Kenny's lady in waiting, her confidante, but that was all she would ever be. A selfish part of her was hoping that tonight would be a bust, that Kenny would turn her nose up at all the people vying for her attention, and it could just be the two of them for a little while longer... but Kenny had a whole country to think about, and what was one girl in the face of a kingdom? She would just have to be content with the hand she'd been given.

"There you are, Marji!" A soft, elegant voice called, moments before a pair of arms wrapped themselves around Marjorine's waist.

"Y-Your highness!" Marjorine cried, stiffening for a moment before her body relaxed in the familiar embrace. Her worries always melted away when Kenny was holding her. "What are you doing out here?"

"Looking for you of course." Kenny whispered in her ear, her lips lingering just long enough to make Marjorine shiver. "It was getting so dull in there without you."

Marjorine shifted so that they were face to face, her arms coming up to loop behind Kenny's neck. It wasn't proper to show this much affection in such a public place, but after seeing so many pairs of hands around the girl she loved, Marjorine couldn't deny herself this moment of comfort between them. Still, duty demanded that she say, "We should head back inside, they'll notice you missing soon."

"I'd rather be out here with you, though." Kenny murmured. She knocked their foreheads together, looking into the other girl's eyes with an intensity that made Marjorine shiver. Her eyes were the color of lavender, but there was nothing calming about her gaze. "Can't we stay out here a little while longer, my dear?"

They both knew she couldn't deny her princess anything, especially not when she used such sweet endearments. She swallowed hard and nodded, trailing her hands over her shoulders (oh, they were so achingly smooth) and down her arms until their fingers were interlocked. "Of course, Kenny. Anything you want."

Seeing her smile was almost a punishment, so radiant it nearly left her blinded. "I want to dance with you, Marjorine."

And then they were swaying as soft music drifted out into the balcony, dreamy and beautiful and so perfect Marjorine had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from tearing up. They weren't dancing formally, the way Kenny had been taught all her life with steps to memorize and rules to follow. This was a dance they'd done hundreds of times, in the middle of the night when they weren't tired enough to sleep or after a boring meeting to let off some steam. It was a dance all their own, intimate and sacred and meant only for the two of them, Kenny taking the lead because that was what she was meant to do. Marjorine was the only one allowed to see this side of her, the girl who could rule a kingdom all on her own without a king by her side. But there were laws, and expectations being placed on those delicate shoulders, and they could only pretend for so long before they'd have to go back and face reality.

But they still had this moment, right now.

Kenny danced them into the far side of the balcony, out of view of the rest of the ball room. Marjorine could feel the cold stone wall against the fabric of her dress, but it didn't compare to the warmth coming from Kenny's body pressed flush against her own. Their lips were only inches apart, but she was distracted by the loose strand of hair that the awful prince had loosened from Kenny's braid. She reached up to tuck it behind her ear, but Kenny caught her hand and pressed a gentle kiss against her work-roughened knuckles.

Marjorine gasped and felt her cheeks burn. "Y-Your highness, you-"

"Kenny." She murmured into her skin, turning her hand to kiss the inside of her wrist. "Not 'your highness' or 'princess' when it's just the two of us. Use my name."

"Kenny." Marjorine breathed, shuddering as Kenny's lips trailed higher, until they were on her neck, her chin, her cheeks. "Kenny, my Kenny... m-my..."

"Just yours, Marji." Kenny whispered, and then their lips met and there were no more words spoken. If Kenny tasted the salt in their kiss, she didn't say, but her mouth worked feverishly against Marjorine's as if she could counter it with the sweetness of her tongue, and make up for the fact that moments like these would soon be fleeting at best.

And nonexistent at worst.

[camillemontespan]

you can’t just leave [drake & camille part one]

My writing is a bit rusty but I hope you enjoy this! I’ve had to split this into two parts as I’m sleepy and so a cliffhanger it has to be!

So much angstttttt.

***********************

Her dress was too tight. 

Although it was made of the finest and lightest silk, Camille's dress felt constricting around her slender frame. 

The music that lilted around the ballroom was too loud. 

Even though it was only strings, the sound of the violins filled Camille's ears and she couldn't hear herself think. 

The ballroom was too warm. 

But the French doors that led out to the terrace had been flung open, allowing the cool night air to breeze through the gilded ballroom. 

Her dance partner was clasping her hand too tightly, holding her too close.

But Liam was the Prince and she had to dance with him whenever he requested her hand. He was a kind man, respectful, funny even. 

Liam wasn't Drake Walker. 

Drake, his best friend, and Camille's secret.

Drake had been difficult to get to know at first. When Camille had arrived in Cordonia, she had firstly been surprised by his apparent dislike of her. After all, he didn't know her. Anytime she asked him a question or tried to talk to him, he would respond with sarcasm or bluntness. He would only address her by her last name. 

Camille persevered. 

Gradually, she had broken down his walls. He admitted that he had kept her at arms length deliberately. He actually liked her. Hell, he said, I think I more than like you. 

He would find her in a crowded room. He would seek her out. He would take her outside of the palace to do normal things, like go to a pizza restaurant or a dive bar. The palace was claustrophobic and the suitor competition was fierce. Camille needed normality. Drake could provide that. 

They both pretended they weren't dates. 

But they were dates. Everytime they met in secret, they got to know each other a little more. Drake opened up and told her about his family - dead father, sister who upped and left, mother living in Texas. They shared secrets and spoke in whispered voices about things they had never said out loud before. 

Feelings became stronger. 

Hands would lightly touch in the dark. 

Shy kisses gave way to urgent and desperate embraces. 

'I love you,' he had breathed in her ear, his breath tinted by whiskey. 'Fuck, I love you so much.' 

'I love you too,' Camille had whispered back. 

All this said in darkness at 3am. 3am when the whole world except for them was asleep and nobody could hear the searing honesty under the silk sheets. 

Then the sun rose and Drake and Camille would return to their charade of pretending to be just friends and Camille would take part in the suitor competition in a bid to win Prince Liam's hand in marriage. 

Whenever Camille danced with Liam, Drake would sit in the corner of the ballroom, nursing a glass of whiskey and unable to tear his eyes away from Camille. She could always feel his intense stare on her. She could always sense his presence. 

But tonight, she couldn't feel his eyes watching her every move. She couldn't feel his presence. 

Camille sneaked a glance around the corners of the room and found that Drake wasn't there. 

********

His head was slightly foggy from whiskey but Drake had never felt more alert in his life. 

He was packing his clothes quickly into a battered leather bag, not caring about folding them neatly. He needed to get out of the palace and away from this situation. 

Drake knew he should have told Camille his plan to leave. She deserved better. But after months of watching Camille excel at every aspect of this competition, and watching Liam fall head over heels in love with her, Drake couldn't take it anymore. 

He loved Camille. But he knew that in the harsh light of day, he stood no chance against a Prince. Drake was a commoner, the boy who rode on Liam's finely tailored coat tails. 

A Prince vs a commoner vying for the heart of a beautiful girl. 

Fuck that. 

Better to leave and save face. Better to escape to a new life, move on and forget about Camille Montespan. 

Camille was a dream he couldn't imagine into real life. A fever dream. 

He took another swig of whiskey and then continued to throw clothes into his bag. 

Nobody would miss him. Liam would be busy with Camille. Everyone else at court acted like he didn't exist. Drake didn't matter. 

As he threw a pair of jeans into the bag, Drake heard a knock on his door and he knew he had been caught. He could recognise Camille's knock anywhere. Abrupt and quick, no fuss. 

'Fuck…' he muttered. He continued packing though, hoping that she would assume he was out and would go back downstairs to the ballroom. 

'Drake, I know you're in there,' Camille said through the door. 

Drake swallowed. No, he had to keep quiet. 

'Drake, I asked Maxwell and he hasn't seen you leave and he's been hanging around outside obsessing about the llama pen!’

Drake sighed. 

Fucking llamas. Who the fuck thought it would be a good idea to hire llamas for a fucking ball?

Oh yeah, the nobility.

Admitting defeat, he dragged himself across the room and opened the door to find Camille who was standing with her arms crossed, looking less than impressed.

‘I thought we were working on your social skills!’ she sighed. ‘But instead you’re hiding!’ 

She gave him a smile to show she was only fake angry.

But her smile fell slowly as she looked past him into the room. Her eyes settled on the bag filled with clothes.

Drake prepared himself for her real anger fairly soon.

*********

'Drake.. Why are you packing up your clothes?' 

A horrible, awkward silence filled the space between them. 

‘Drake?’

Camille’s voice was laced with anxiety now. Her hands had clasped into fists at her sides and her eyes were penetrating his. 

Drake cleared his throat. ‘I’m leaving.’

His voice was low and gruff. He kept his eyes on hers, willing her to understand why he was doing this. She had to understand. 

‘Why?’ Camille asked. She stepped forward; Drake stepped back. Camille stopped and a wounded expression filled her face. Drake instantly hated himself.

Drake could feel his heart hammering against his chest. ‘I have to leave,’ he whispered, hearing his voice crack and strain. ‘I can’t take this anymore.’ 

‘What do you mean?’ 

Drake looked down at the floor. 

Camille stepped forward again and caught at his wrist, refusing to let him go. ‘Drake, what do you mean?’ she repeated.

Drake closed his eyes. ‘I can’t stick around and watch my best friend fall in love with you,’ he murmured. ‘I can’t sit back and watch. So I’m leaving.’

Camille’s eyes were huge now. ‘You can’t just leave,’ she said, her voice rising. ‘You said you love me.’

Drake opened his eyes now and settled his gaze on hers.

‘Exactly,’ he replied. His heart was pounding in his chest now and he could feel his skin turning cold. ‘I love you. That’s my problem.’

*************************

Camille stepped back and blinked away hot tears that she could feel forming. 

'But..' she whispered. 'I love you too.' 

Drake's shoulders dropped. This was killing him. He could hear her heart breaking and it was all his fault. 

'I just can't watch the woman I love be with someone else,' he muttered. 'Camille, I know I've only known you for five months but these have been the best five months of my life. But that's all I'm gonna get. Five months. Liam will propose to you -' 

'We don't know that!' Camille burst out, moving towards him quickly. She grabbed his arm and pulled him towards her. 'Liam could propose to Madeleine or Olivia or Kiara or Penelope! He could pick any of those girls!' 

Drake let out a frustrated groan. 'You know that's bullshit!' he said. 'You know how much he cares about you! He's always seeking you out, taking you on romantic walks around the palace grounds, dancing with you at balls. You're his favourite. Camille, I've known him since I was five years old, trust me when I say that I know how Liam thinks. I know when he likes a girl. He is going to ask you to marry him.'

Camille shook her head fiercely. 'Then I'll say no.' 

Drake let out a dry laugh that was devoid of humour. 'You're going to reject the Prince of Cordonia? You can't. That would be humiliating for him and social suicide for you. Everything you have achieved in this competition will have been for nothing.'

'Maybe I don't care about that!' Camille shouted, finally breaking. 'Maybe I want to be with you, have you thought about that?!' 

Drake surveyed her silently. His eyes penetrated hers. 'All the damn time,' he finally said. 

Camille let out a shuddering breath and wrapped her arms around herself. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she looked down at her feet. 

Drake stepped forward and tucked a finger under her chin, bringing her face up to look at him. 

'I think about being with you all the time,' he whispered. 'About taking you out for dates. Actual dates, not secret ones. I think about dancing with you in public and kissing you without caring about what people will say. But we can't do that.' 

‘If we told Liam how we felt..’ Camille whispered, ‘maybe he would understand-’

‘He’s my best friend,’ Drake interrupted, his voice still soft, coaxing her, trying to calm her down, trying to make her see sense. ‘I can’t betray him.’

Camille clenched her fists against her sides. ‘But you already have. We’ve been together so many nights. We’ve kept this a secret for months. We could just come clean and he will understand in time. He has to understand!’

Her voice was rising in desperation. But the more she tried to convince him, the more she saw his walls being built back up. The walls she had worked so hard to break down. As she tried to persuade him, he would look away, looking anywhere in the room but at her. If she reached out to touch him, he would step back. 

‘Drake, I love you,’ she said. ‘That has to mean something.’

Drake felt the lump in his throat and his heart beating hard in his chest. This was brutal. Part of him really wanted to listen to her and go along with what she was saying. They could tell Liam. They could be honest. They could admit the truth and finally be together. 

‘You know I love you,’ he murmured, finally fixing his brown eyes on hers. ‘But I can’t watch my best friend be with you. He will propose and you will have to say yes. Forget your feelings; this world forces you to put your feelings into a box and lock it away. Trust me when I say I have first hand experience with that. When he proposes, you will say yes and you will present your best smile to the world. You will marry him and become the princess. Later, you will become the Queen of Cordonia. I won’t be around to see this; I refuse to. Please, Camille. Don’t ask me to watch you marry him. I couldn’t take it. Please.’

He was actually begging her. Begging her to let him go when deep down, all he wanted was to be with her. 

Camille started to shake her head but Drake stopped her.

‘If you love me,’ he whispered, dealing the fatal blow, ‘you will let me go.’ 

***********

To Be Continued

[internalsealpanic]

Stiff Peaks and Soggy Bottoms

mood board by: @knightfall05x​ (wuv you)

summary: You, Tim, and Kon try to bake. It ends well. 

A/n: Thanks to @littleredwing89​ and @multifandomgirl-us​ for proof reading. I was watching Kitchen Nightmares while writing this. I am surprised how fluffy this came out. You can blame my need for more poly and this piece by @symeona​. I have not shut up about this piece 50 years later (Hi Sym *waves*-Fish). I forgot to mention that reader is more or less gender neutral or I attempted.

warnings: Terrible cooking

masterlist

Kon yawns, scratching at his broad chest and running his hand through his tangle of curly black hair. He blinks one eye open successfully to the dim light flooding into the end of the hall likely coming in from the living room. The lights dance, glowing softly with faded color against the dark glossy wood of the floor. 

 Kon’s first sleep-addled thought is, Oh, Aliens. Ok, cool.

 It takes his brain a full minute to realize how much that doesn’t make sense. The apartment is dead silent, lacking the telltale whirring most spaceships give off when they’re hovering, the sounds of nervous fingers tapping against a stack of papers echoing in the mostly empty space. Kon strained his ears trying to focus on the other sounds flitting in the room. He can hear the steady calming beat of your heart come off rhythm, jumping a fraction of a beat faster. It wasn’t fast enough to say you were in danger. It was just fast enough to tell that you were extremely engaged in whatever was occupying your attention. Kon thinks it over. The last time he checked looking over papers- lab reports, especially- was the bane of your existence. He listens again. This time making out the voices coming from the TV. Kon wasn’t awake enough to understand what they were saying. 

 5:47 AM

 Kon groans trying his hardest not to laugh while he stares at his phone. You are an actual psychopath. Who wakes up at 5 AM? Villains that’s who. Did you even sleep? Why do you and Tim hate sleep so much? 

 Stepping into the living room as quietly as he can, he finds you huddled against the right side of the couch far away from the TV, your thick wool comforter draped over your head and shoulders making a fluffy tent. Strands of your messy bed head sticking out and swaying as you rock on your heels. Your stack of papers long since abandoned on the arm rest beside you. Kon can’t help but smile at how adorable you looked, still sleep rumpled and red-nosed from the cold. 

 Eyes glued to the TV, you pull up your knees to your chest revealing your fuzzy Red Robin socks. Kon frowns then makes a mental note to get you some Superboy socks later. You curl deeper into your comforter, easing and pressing into the armrest. All of your apprehension fading and relaxing as the rest of the world melted away. Kon smiles devilishly at your inattention. He tiptoes towards you which was entirely unnecessary because it didn’t matter that Kon was about as stealthy as a disco ball not when all of your attention was directed at the TV. 

 Kon launches himself at you too quickly for you to even react or comment or throw a pillow at him. You shriek as he lands on you, his muscular body squishing you into the couch. You wince hoping the neighbors didn’t hear. You’re not too worried about Tim waking up considering how tired he was. 

 “Morning, gorgeous.” Kon greets, winking and wrapping his arms around your waist. The audacity. You groan attempting to glare at him. He simply gives you a dopey smile. You have to blow out a raspberry to keep yourself from smiling back. You strain your lips into a flatline. The crow’s feet at the corners of your eyes betray you though. The corner of Kon’s mouth twitches, those big baby blues shining even in the dim light. He knows he’s won you over. 

 You’re too petty and sleep-deprived to give in. You roll your eyes at him, lips still wobbling and tingling from the effort of maintaining your unimpressed frown. Still, without resistance,  you shift the comforter and refold yourself to accommodate his intrusive form. Large arms wrap around your waist tighter as he lays his head in your stomach. How he finds this position comfortable for his neck is beyond you but you do appreciate the warmth. Kon’s smile widens as he looks up at you. It looks positively smug. Your nose scrunches up bracing for whatever Kon is about to say. 

 “Aw, baaabe, it looks good on you~” You look down at the oversized Superboy hoodie you’re wearing which was two times bigger than it needed to be as was standard of your hoodies.  You mutter a curse. Kon had been pestering you to wear it. It’s not that you didn’t want to. It’s just that you had a soft spot for the Impulse hoodie Bart got you a few years ago which meant it was your got-to-hoodie despite the fact that it was fraying.  It was in the wash so you decided to give this one a try and honestly, it is really fucking comfy and more importantly warm.  You huff at him, feeling your cheeks color. You glare at him, his dopey smile still plastered on his face. You make the executive decision to ignore him. 

 This decision does not last long. 

 About two minutes into your silent treatment, Kon whines and pouts weaponizing those baby blues. “Aw come on, gorgeous, you can’t stay mad at me forever.” He nuzzles into your stomach tickling your drawing a smile out of you. He grins at you and finally, you let yourself smile back fully. “Asshole.” You grumble.  He knows you can’t resist him when he’s being cute and calling you ‘gorgeous’. That is just plain cheating. Still, you relent. You wrap your arms loosely around his shoulders, running your hand gently through his dark hair allowing your fingers to tangle in his curls. The arms around you tighten a little pulling you closer to him. 

 Kon doesn’t need a reminder of how absolutely adorable you are but it is very much appreciated. Kon loves looking at you as the soft glowing colors flash across your face highlighting your features and softening them. In the dim light of the room and under the blankets, you press closer to him all the sharp edges of Gotham's alleys stripped away leaving you sleepy-eyed and very huggable. Between you and Tim, you were the one people pointed to when they thought Gothamite but that was the fun of it. He and Tim, they were the only ones who got to see this softer you. The you that you let get enraptured by hobbies and dumb little things. Kon held you close, relishing your presence. This was the version of you they got to keep for themselves and he wouldn't trade it for the world. 

 -------

 Tim shifts feeling either side of him vacant.  Tim rolls over, arms searching for either you or Kon as his mind catches up. The warm sunlight brushes over his skin as he rolls over once again, stirring him from his sleep. Tim blinks, eyes adjusting to the morning light. 

 9: 10 AM

 He groans, shifting up and burying his head under the pillows hoping to once again fall asleep. 

 “Oh no no no no!”

 “Shush! Don’t jinx it!”

 Tim’s eye cracks open.  He lifts his head a bit tilting it to find the bedroom door open, your voices filtering in like dust in a sunbeam, pleasant but ultimately not helpful. 

 “I can’t jinx a pre-recorded show, genius!” 

 Tim sighs. Sleep was, inevitably, lost at this point. Tim debates on whether to keep himself under the covers and finally be able to hog the thick blankets. Or he could, possibly, investigate the commotion happening in your shared living room and risk freezing. Sadly, he chose the latter. 

 Blearily, Tim searches the room for a shirt only to find one of Kon’s discarded on the floor. Well, it’s not the first time he’s borrowed one of Kon’s shirts. 

 Tim wasn’t surprised to find you out of bed. After all, the idea of sitting still ate you alive. You were always, always the happiest when you were in motion when your hands were working to make something like some part of you was constantly vying for the chance to be something instead of just being. Tim completely understood the feeling. 

 Kon had once accused you of being a workaholic when in truth at the moment you had been avoiding work by doing one of your side projects. He had also accused both of you of being sleep allergic which is probably true but at least, Tim’s drink (read: poison) of choice was tea and not a cocktail of monster energy drinks and misery. 

 It was odd to find Kon out of bed though.  Kon could laze around in bed for days if you let him, so his being up was worth investigating if only to make sure the apartment didn’t burn down.  

 “Look what you did!”

 “It’s prerecorded, jackass!”

 “You cursed him and gave him a soggy bottom”

 Tim can tell just how long you’ve been glued to the T.V. based on the way your vowels slant to mimic that of the hosts. Tim’s slightly chapped lips curl as he shakes his head at the way you and Kon cock your heads towards the T.V., attention completely captured by what seems to be a cooking show. You held your breaths, waiting for the judge to say something. Kon shifts up, leaning his head against your shoulder.  Your limbs were tangled loosely against each other. It was a rare, lazy sort of affection that never failed to make Tim smile. 

 “Ok, no. That’s just mean.” You huff into Kon’s hair, looking absolutely petulant and cute. Tim works to stop an ‘aaaaawww’ rising from the back of his throat lest you throw a pillow at his head. 

 “Babe, it’s Paul Hollywood. What were you expecting?”

 “Human decency. She worked hard on that.” You whine, genuinely looking upset. 

 Seeing, your reaction Kon relents burrowing himself closer to you for comfort. “True.”

 Tim turned his attention to the T.V.. What he found made his brow shoot up. 

 “Great British Bake Off?” Tim asks, sliding into your left side and placing his head on your shoulder. There is a reason you guys bought an L-shaped couch. Said reason was named Conner Kent who liked laying on top of people. Those people being either of you. Tim snuggles into your side, earning him a kiss on his nose.   His nose scrunches feeling itchy. He lets out a small sneeze into the back of his hand. You blanch at him while Kon snorts, throwing him a box of tissues from the coffee table. 

 “Mornin’, Space Case.” You mumble giving him another kiss, this time on the corner of his lip. Tim blushes,  his face brighter than the sunlight outside your window. Tim is, sadly, incurably adorable.  

 Kon smiles at both of you smugly for what neither of you has any clue. Not until you see what Tim is wearing and not until Tim sees what you’re wearing. You groan and Tim blows out a  breath through his nose while Kon presses his positively glowing smile into your hoodie. He’s not going to shut up about this anytime soon or ever. 

 “Do you two even know anything about baking?” Tim asks, crossing his arms over his chest and smoothly changing the subject. 

 You and Kon share a look. 

 “Nope”

 “Yes”

 “Microwaves and watching this show doesn’t count.”

 “Ooook, fine. I don’t. Buuuuuut considering none of us can-”

 “I can cook.” Tim defends, clipped. You roll your eyes dramatically. Kon smirks, also doubtful. You flicker your eyes to Kon to meet his and with the brief contact, you know you’re on the same page. 

 “Microwaves don’t count, Tim.” Kon shoots back, pulling himself off you so he can show Tim the full extent of his Cheshire smile. You can see Tim drawing his hackles up, so both of you, being the little shits you are, continue to goad him. 

 “You can cook in theory,” You drawl, letting the challenge embed itself into the syllables. Tim cuts you a look. You simply look at him innocently. Tim  knows  that you’re baiting him. He definitely knows this and yet…

 “Fine!”

 “Fine?” 

 “Fine. We’ll even make something from the show!”

 “Even chocolate eclairs?” Kon says a little too eagerly. You were just gonna say meringues but chocolate eclairs sound fantastic.

 Tim throws up his arms and exasperates. “Sure! Why not?”

 You and Kon share a dopey smile, smug and preening as you look at him. Tim groans, placing his head in his hands. He knew this would happen. He knew. You and Kon high five and make a little “yeah!” noise in celebration.

 This will not end well.   

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

 You twitch your lips staring down at Tim’s phone, deleting and retyping the message for the third time. You weren’t  sure  how to explain this without having Jason falling to the floor laughing. Your eyes stung from the smoke so you decided to just send him your third try. 

 Tim: Hey Jason, theoretically, say your oven caught on fire like via laser beam or something, do you just pour water on it?

 You wait a few minutes, watching the three dots indicating he was typing only for him to stop typing without replying. You make a small noise, which was thankfully lost to the bickering behind you when Jason’s phone number flashed on the screen. You’re always nervous about talking to Tim’s family. Tim had once assured you that you were overthinking it but still. To be fair, it was easier than dealing with Kon’s. Actually, no. No, it wasn’t. Both were intimidating but in very different ways. You do have to say that Jason, scary as he was, was easier to approach than say Bruce. 

 “Baby bird,” Jason says, the edge of a wheeze gripping his throat. Clearly, having just recovered from laughing his guts out. He breathes, hand slamming against what you suspect was either a kitchen countertop or a workbench or both knowing Jason. “Ok, ok, I’m good-” He clears his throat. “Kay, tell me what happened.”

 You flick your eyes toward the fire and your boys who were more or less still bickering, their voices tangling with the crackling of the flames. You’re mildly surprised that neither of them is on fire but you’re not holding your breath. They’ll probably be somehow combust in the next five minutes. You love them but they’re disasters.

 “We were trying to bake- shut up-” Jason does not snort any quieter. “And well, Tim thought-”

 “It was Kon’s idea!”

 “You let me!” Kon defends sounding utterly betrayed. 

 You groan and Jason snickers.  “What do we do?”

 “Have you tried apologizing to it?”

 “Jason, I’m being serious.”

 “So am I. Now, apologize.” You sigh exasperatedly. Waynes are assholes. 

 Tim raises a brow at you and you give him a shrug not really knowing what to tell him. “Apparently, we need to apologize to the oven.” You deadpan, immediately regretting even relaying it. How have you never decked Jason? It wasn’t fear. After all, you’ve decked Batman. Ok, in your defense lack thereof, that one was by accident or moreover reflexive. 

 “Hey Kon”

 “Both of you have to apologize too!”

 “First of all, I was in the bathroom getting towels when you two chucklefucks decided to use laser vision to preheat the oven.”

 You hear Jason fall out of his chair. Distantly, you hear someone calling Jason an idiot but you weren’t too familiar with the voice. You instantly thank yourself for not turning on the camera considering what state you three were in. Kon was covered in chocolate, your hair-as well as your poor phone- was caked in batter, and Tim? Tim was covered in everything but mostly flour which keeps making his nose twitch like a rabbit. Though, you wouldn’t be surprised if Kon’s already taken a few pictures. You yourself have taken a few.  

 “Ok but seriously what do we do?”

 You hear some rustling and a chair squeaking back into place. 

 “No…”

 “First off, did you close the oven?” Your eyes flicker to them. Placing Tim’s phone between your shoulder and ear, you mime the advice. Tim frowns skeptical but Kon kicks the oven closed anyway. 

“Ok, it’s closed now. Should we put water in it?”

 “NO. Have you never put out a kitchen fire before? How do you three eat?”

 “We live in the middle of downtown, what do you think?”

 Jason sighs disbelieving and finally sounding appropriately exasperated. You could see him running his hand over his face.  “Who let you three live together?” This made your lips twitch up. “I dunno. Kon and I just started mooching on Tim and then suddenly we each got a key to the apartment.” It was an oversimplification of events but there was a fire and you had to get at least one joke in. 

 “Do your neighbors have- Wait, don’t you have a Kryptonian clone with freeze breath?”

 You blink and slap your palm against your forehead. The other two seemed to get what you had just remembered and act appropriately with Tim looking defeated and Kon finding the situation hilarious. 

 “Thanks, Jay.” You mutter wanting the Earth to swallow you whole. Esme, your chubby rat, squeaked nuzzling against you as she wormed her way out of your hoodie. She may or may not have been the primary reason for the size of your hoodies. She smiles at the phone, wide-eyed and happy as if she could see Jason. You hear a soft laugh coming from Jason’s end. 

 “Is that Esme?” Your brow ticks up not quite sure how to answer. “Uh yeah.” You answer dumbly, giving Esme little scritches that she leaned into happily making all her little happy noises.     

 “Give her a cuddle for me.” You give Esme a kiss on her nose and she snuggles in reciprocation. Kon pouts face still full of chocolate, “Where’s mine?”

 “You’ll get one once our apartment isn’t about to burn down.”   

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

 Fresh out of the shower, you plop down next to Tim letting your wet hair flop onto his face and his fuzzy Wonder Girl sweatshirt. Tim huffs at you taking another bite out of the hot fresh-ly ordered stuffed crust pizza. The cheese was still gooey and molten. It made your stomach rumble like nobody’s business. You whine childishly trying to get Tim to hand you one. He looks at you, mouthful of pizza, and grabs one only to hand it to Kon. You gasp at him. You stretch your legs over their laps in protest only to retract them immediately after Kon pokes at your feet a couple of times tickling you. 

 You hide behind Tim, glaring at Kon and sticking your tongue out. Tim, the traitor, moves out of the way letting Kon’s long arms capture you. You shriek almost sounding like Esme as he pulls you in sitting you in his lap. You sigh in defeat as Kon places his chin on your head. You don’t even want to see the triumphant smirks on both their faces. 

 You grab a slice and through the mouthful of cheese and grease, you murmur “We really need to learn how to cook.” Tim hums in agreement, leaning against Kon, aka the cuddliest heater in the world. You lean back into Kon as another signature bake is brought up to the judges. You all watch with bated breaths as you wait for the results. 

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

 You marvel at the fresh ingredients laid before you and the posh man standing in your kitchen rolling up his sleeves. 

 “Hey, Duckie, are we in trouble?” Kon whispers from behind you. He’s got your back, he said. 

 “Kind of?” Tim bleats, his voice a little high. 

 You snort raising an eyebrow at him hiding your smile behind your hand. “Timmy, what does kind of mean?” 

 “I can hear you.” Alfred deadpans. You and Kon stiffen.  You’re pretty sure even Tim straightens up, probably out of habit. 

 “Do any of you know how to cook?” Alfred asks in the primmest sounding accent you’ve ever heard. 

 “Nope, we live downtown for a reason.” You snark reflexively. Tim glares at you and hisses silently.  You shrink and mutter an apology which Alfred takes graciously.

 “I am assuming you don’t then. Well, it’s lucky that I have a free afternoon.”

 Tim eyes him suspiciously. “What happened to B?”

 “Your father can take care of himself.”

 “You sure?”

You think you see Alfred smile at that. 

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Thanks for reading!

tag list:  @batarella , @anothertimdrakestan , @lucy-roo , @multifandomgirl-us , @idkmanicantenglish ,@birdy-bat-writes ,  @boosyboo9206 , @americasmarauders , @l-inkage @arestorationofbalance , @cloudie-skay , @wunderstell

[sa7abnews]

Time's up on the Harris basement strategy. Liberal media minions need to do their jobs

New Post has been published on https://sa7ab.info/2024/08/09/times-up-on-the-harris-basement-strategy-liberal-media-minions-need-to-do-their-jobs/

Time's up on the Harris basement strategy. Liberal media minions need to do their jobs

It has now been over three weeks since Kamala Harris became the presumptive nominee of the Democratic Party, and in that time, she has not deigned to give a single interview or hold a single press conference, aside from answering two questions on a tarmac Thursday. We have gone from Biden-Harris to Hidin’ Harris. It is unacceptable, it is dangerous, and it’s time for the fawning members of America’s liberal news media aka defacto members of the Harris-Walz team to step up and demand better.HARRIS MOCKED FOR TAKING LESS THAN 2 MINUTES OF QUESTIONS AFTER 18 DAYS: ‘THIS IS THE BEST KAMALA COULD DO?’Less than two weeks from now, our unremarkable vice president is set to accept the nomination in Chicago. For the first time in modern American history, she will not only have received no votes this cycle but may well not do one interview as a candidate for president.Instead of actually hearing from the person vying to be the most powerful leader in the world, we get campaign officials and surrogates, mouthpieces for a candidate in hiding who cannot speak without them, but that should stop now.The progressive lapdogs in our gaslighting media should stiffen their spines and demand that Harris stop hiding behind surrogates and speak for herself. Anything less from her campaign is just a trial balloon that can be walked back while they throw spaghetti on the wall to see what sticks.Just Thursday, Harris campaign advisor Phil Gordon took to X to state that his candidate does support an arms embargo against Israel after reporting in the New York Times suggested it was being discussed. Sorry, Phil, we can’t just accept your word for it. Harris has to say it. KAMALA HARRIS FINALLY FIELDS QUESTIONS FROM PRESS AFTER DODGING MEDIA FOR 18 DAYS SINCE BECOMING DEM NOMINEELet’s say a campaign spokesperson like Jen O’Malley Dillon goes on a Sunday show and says Harris would allow fracking for the next 25 years, sunsetting it after. If Republicans get traction saying, “see, she wants to ban fracking,” or if leftists gain traction saying this is too much fracking, Harris can simply say, “Jen misspoke as to my position,” and change it. Our liberal media is under no obligation to enable this obfuscation. In fact, Americans would respect them more if they started to do their jobs. It is time to demand that the campaign give us the actual candidate, the person who can’t claim words or a position were taken out of context. After all, there are questions that need answers amid the most unorthodox presidential election most people alive have ever seen. For instance:*When did you realize Biden was incapable of running for a second term?*Why wasn’t this decision made earlier to allow a fulsome process to choose a candidate that gave voters a voice?*Is President Biden making the decisions today? *Do you regret helping to raise bail money for criminals who burned down parts of Minneapolis under your running mate, Minnesota Gov. Tim Walz’s watch? *You say in speeches that on day one you will start fighting inflation, but why isn’t the Biden-Harris administration already doing that? CLICK HERE FOR MORE FOX NEWS OPINION*Even if your border portfolio was dealing with the “root causes” of mass illegal immigration, do you bear any responsibility for the Americans murdered under your administration by illegal immigrants?You get the idea. It is not a short list of questions. And at this point, asking them of campaign officials does more harm than good. They can’t actually answer them. All they are doing is using the news media as their own private polling firm.It is time for Kamala Harris to get out of the basement. She now says she’s working to schedule an interview by the end of the month, three weeks from now, and only schedule one, not do one.It is absurd, there is no reason on Earth why somebody who wants to be president needs a month and a half to prepare for one interview, If elected, it is Harris who will get the 3 AM phone call, and she won’t have 45 days to respond.It is time to demand that Harris speak for herself. The American voters deserve nothing less. CLICK HERE TO READ MORE FROM DAVID MARCUS

[barbers-glimmerin-darlin]

At The Touch Of Your Hand

Charlie Barber x (Female) Reader (Historical AU)

As a young woman whose entire life has already been mapped out for her, you believed there was very little to look forward to as you entered the ballroom. It was just another ball, during another season, with the same foppish men shallowly vying for attention. However things are bound to take a turn for the unexpected when Charles Barber makes his re-entrance to society after six years in obscurity.

Chapter 3

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 

Warnings: Period typical sexism, historical inaccuracies 

Word count: 2.9k

“I’ll not be listening to any more of your incessant griping tonight Judith.” Your father’s voice was firm and unwavering, his distaste for his wife’s unending list of complaints evidently getting the better of him. 

“You cannot possibly think him to be an agreeable man Edward! Not after he-”

“Enough Judith!”

Your mother’s mouth bubbled open and closed as if she were impersonating some incredibly affronted fish, it was very rare that father would plainly tell mama he had tired of listening to her whining. You swapped a furtive glance with Jemima, the tension spiking to a palpable degree, your mind instantly began scrambling to fill in the gaping hole left in your mothers remark.

After he what? What could he have done, this enigmatic man, whom you had never heard of before this night, to have warranted such obvious distaste from your mother? You could not help but feel that whatever it was should be much cause for concern, if it meant that your mother was unwilling to host him. Judith Bell would usually be seen falling over herself for the opportunity to have such a man welcomed to dinner, an impressive man, titled. 

Before your racing mind had the chance to create a whole plethora of beastly scenarios to cast this man in, along came one of the very few things in the world that made you want to disable all intelligent brain function in your mind.

Hartley. 

You regrettably saw him approach you over your father’s shoulder, straightening his gloves and smoothing his flaccid hair as he neared. Every last cell in your body heaved a long groan at the sight of him, so bland, so thoroughly unimpressive, truly he was an unremarkable sight to behold. In no time at all, he stood proudly before you.

“Miss Bell, I believe the first waltz is almost afoot.” He declared. You saw your mother’s previously enraged face fracture into an unbearably bright beam at his appearance, all distaste for Lord Barber’s presence seemingly forgotten. 

You flashed a tight smile as he held out his gloved hand for you to take. You accepted, placing your hand in his with the lightest tough you could manage, as if placing your hand solidly within his pudgy one would solidify your future with him. Unfortunately you feared that there was very little you could do to escape that. 

He led you briskly onto the dancefloor, amongst the sea of brightly coloured silk taffeta frocks, and then proceeded to draw you into a hold appropriate for a waltz. It was far too intimate for you, even though his hands were in no danger of straying, you would have much preferred a livelier jig that required much changing of partners. 

As the rhythmic arrangement of the waltz began to fill the room, you willed your feet to move in a reasonably graceful fashion, it’s not that you were a bad dancer, you were just much better when paired with a partner you actually wanted to dance with. Robert was a long way from fitting that criteria. 

You could not help but note the hotness of his hand upon your shoulder, and you guessed it would probably be sweaty if he were to take that glove off, you repressed a shudder at the thought of his slimy hand upon your skin. Sweaty hands were indicative of nerves, what on earth could he be nervous about? If he could not struggle his way through a meagre waltz without being overcome with nerves, what chance did he have of upholding one end of a fiery debate, or withstand a passionate feeling about anything?

You allowed your eyes and mind to wander as you twirled about the dancefloor, you spotted a few familiar faces in the crowd, many of your mother’s acquaintances gathered to watch their own daughters on the dancefloor, your mother was no exception. She watched you with beady eyes, looking for mistakes in your footing or your posture, clutching her dainty glass of sherry in her clawed fingers. 

You were vaguely aware of Robert droning on about a business venture his father was allowing him to head, something pertaining a new weaving technique for linen, you really did not care to give much attention to it, you occasionally emitted a noise of agreement to create the illusion of engagement. 

As you rounded the dancefloor once again, your eyes swept over a broad form that was becoming undeniably familiar all too quickly. Charles stood a little way back from the dancefloor, conversing with a stout man who you recognised as the host of the ball, Lord Harrington. Although upon closer inspection, you were forced to reconsider your observation that he was participating in conversation. It appeared that he was being talked at rather than talked to, his attention otherwise much diverted, much like yours. His glittering eyes were very much fixed on the couples dancing before him.

Unbeknownst to you, his eyes were not travelling aimlessly amongst the group of merry dancers, his gaze was solely tracking you. He watched as the buttery yellow light shimmered upon the lavender fabric of your gown, sparkled through your hair, and highlighted the barely exposed curve of your shoulders. He drank this in all without your knowledge, your attention far too occupied with ensuring Hartley did not step on your silk slippered feet. What an enchanting little creature he saw twirling before him. 

“Did I see Lord Barber making conversation with your father earlier?” You were forced to tune back into Hartley’s voice as he spoke directly to you, stopping your eyes from repeatedly searching out the towering height of Barber,

“Yes, I believe he knows my father.” You replied flatly, not really eager to discuss the man with Robert. For reasons you couldn’t quite explain, Charles had begun to feel rather sacred to you. 

“I’m interested in making his acquaintance myself while he’s in town, quite the recluse he’s been for the past five years or so from what I understand.” Robert remarked, this did admittedly capture your interest. Why would a man like him have hidden himself away from society, other than the obvious fact that it was a dreadful environment, it was practically created for powerful men like him. 

“I confess I was unaware of his existence until tonight.” You offered blandly, while you were tempted to probe Hartley for more information, you found his predisposition for gossiping more repellent that intriguing. 

“People don’t talk about him much anymore. Though what I have heard them say is undoubtedly interesting, I’m sure his reappearance tonight will be the talk of the town by tomorrow breakfast.” Robert’s sentence was punctuated by a ridiculously salacious chuckle at the end, which made you long to put more distance between your bodies. 

“Undoubtedly, people do little else but talk the day after a ball.” You deadpanned, avoiding eye contact with his misty eyes. 

“Although I dare say there ought to be rather a lot of talk of just how ravishing you look in this gown.” Your stomach dropped at his words, spoken in a voice that he had forced down into a lower octave. You flicked your eyes up to his, only to find him inconspicuously allowing himself a good look at your chest. You swallowed back the tart response that your brain formulated, much in favour of finishing the dance as quickly as possible. You settled on a lifeless little laugh.

As soon as the band began to cease their performance you delicately pushed yourself out of his hold, and lowered into a quick curtsy. 

“Thank you for the dance Mr Hartley, it was quite… satisfactory.” And without waiting for his response you turned on your heel and began to hasten away, in search of Jemima. You were eager to tell her in agonising detail how utterly lecherous he had been. But you didn’t even make it off of the dancefloor before a broad chest blocked your path. Your eyes were obscured by a wall of icy blue and white, and you didn’t even really need to glance upwards to confirm the identity of the individual. 

The scent of fresh mint and fragrant pine greeted your senses, cleansing them of the heavy musky smell, with an undercurrent of body odour that you had endured with Hartley moments before. You refrained from indulging in a deep inhale as you summoned the courage to raise your eyes towards his face. 

Charles Barber’s smirking face.

“In a rush, Miss Bell?” He asked, his honeyed voice vibrated through the air, breathing against your ears like a summer wind. You momentarily forgot every word you had learned since infancy, and struggled for a response. 

“No I- I mean yes I was just- I’m not in a rush per say I just-”

“Were making a fleeting exit from your partner over there?” He stopped your aimless flailing with his words, allowing his full lips to quirk even further into an amused smirk. You felt your cheeks warming rapidly.

“I was just in search of my sister.” You replied, unsure if it was proper to admit that you were, in fact, shamelessly fleeing Hartley. 

“Well, by the looks of things, he will presently approach and ask you for another dance. Allow me to be so bold as to assume that you would like to avoid such an occurrence.” Charles remarked, quickly glancing over your head to where you assumed he could see Robert.

“I would be reluctant to dance with him again so soon.” You said quietly, unsure of his next assumption. 

“Well in that case, would you do me the honour of the next dance, Miss Bell?” Your heart gave itself to flittering beats as you absorbed his words. You could hardly fathom the idea of sharing a dining table with him, and you were being offered a dance? The pristine white glove upon his expansive hand moved into your line of sight as he offered his hand to you. You could not help but raise your eyes to his, though you promptly wish you hadn’t when you were met with the scorching intensity of his gaze. It was fight or flight really. 

“Yes my lord, I would be honoured.” You replied, placing your hand firmly in his. 

The experience of being led into a dance by Charles Barber was worlds away from that of the artless movements of Hartley. You knew that much. 

You stood facing each other, as part of a long line of men and women standing parallel to one another along the centre of the marble floor, you could not help but notice that he was the tallest in the line by a considerable amount. Your heart was racing as you heard the shaking violin strike up the opening measures of the dance. The line of ladies ducked into graceful curtsy, directed at the men before them, and then the dance fell into an elegant sequence of turns and fleeting touches of hands. 

It was not two measures into the dance that Barber clearly felt that he was in rhythm enough to begin to talk to you as you moved around each other, and the other occupants of the dancefloor. 

“Are you enjoying the evening?” He asked as you passed close by one another, his eyes firmly fixed upon yours, paying no mind to his feet or the people around him, though his body continued to move with a grace and ease you would have thought impossible for a man of his stature. 

“Very much so, Lord and Lady Harrington do always host the most beautiful parties.” You replied politely, though it was untrue that your night had been pleasant up until this point, the unfamiliar feelings fluttering about your stomach presently were enough to erase all memory of the previous encounters from your mind.

“I agree with you wholeheartedly Miss, though I might add that I think Lord Harrington has very little to do with the festivities you see around you. I believe it is fair to say that Lady Harrington is the brains of the operation.” He concurred, his face breaking into a smile, one you might call mischievous if you were so inclined to such flirtatious words. You could not stifle the laugh that escaped at his remark towards the esteemed Lord Harrington.

“Are you well acquainted with the hosts, my lord?” You asked him, the smile laid upon your face beginning to ache slightly, though you could not for the life of you force it down. You gasped silently as your hands entwined, as he led you side by side down the line formed by the other couples, as part of your dance.

“Old friends of my late father’s.” He explained, looking sideways at you. His hand dwarfed yours, it warmed his glove in a way that was so different to the sticky heat of Hartley’s hand. You found yourself wishing that there were no gloves separating your hands from touching skin to skin. A tingling sensation began in the palm of your hand, still held in his, and worked its way to the tips of your fingers and up your arm. In that moment, you decided the touch of his hand was something quite inexplicably magical. 

“And you, Lord Barber? Are you enjoying yourself?” You asked, longing to hear the velvet of his voice again. He smiled down at you warmly, sending the tingles from your hand all over your body. 

��I am enjoying the evening far more than I anticipated, it has been pleasant to see old friends.” He started, his eyes moved swiftly once up and down the length of you, never hesitating anywhere for too long. As he met your eyes again, his smile curled into a smaller one, far more intimate, meant only for you. “It has been even lovelier making new acquaintances, which is not something I usually find myself able to say.” He tells you. 

Your mind raced to stumble through the meanings in his well measured words. Did he mean meeting you? Part of you screamed that he must mean that, why else would he have bothered to make such a point of saying it to you? A larger part reasoned that he had undoubtedly met many new people tonight, and why in this vast room full of people would he single you out as a lovely new acquaintance?

All too soon it was time for your hands to part once again, you already missed his large warm palm and it hadn’t even left yours yet. As he opened his fingers to loosen his grasp on your hand, and pulled his palm away from yours, your eyes widened as you felt the tip of his middle finger trace a burning line across your palm as he slipped his hand away from yours. A shiver shot down the length of your spine at the sensation, which you had felt so keenly despite the presence of your silk glove. 

Another glance towards his regal face showed you that his smile had faded, melted into a look of deep concentration. The chocolate of his eyes had darkened, the light sparkled in the depths of them. So many thoughts were rushing through them, but you couldn’t comprehend a single one of them, your own brain was still trying to make sense of the litany of feelings coursing through you from the mere brush of the tip of his finger along your palm. 

It was a wonder you had managed to complete the dance without bumping into a single other occupant of the dancefloor, as you had quite forgotten that you were sharing the space with anyone else at all besides him. You could scarcely remember a time before you found yourself cradled in his gaze, you could not remember what your hand had felt like before it had been encased by his. It was only the end of the melody that brought the end of the dance to your awareness, you found yourself short of breath, though you were absolutely certain it had nothing to do with the steps of the dance. 

You bowed to each other once again, as was customary, and then he went a step further by enclosing your hand in his. He lifted your slightly quaking hand up towards his face, and you held your breath as his warm lips pressed down gently upon your glove. Had you not have held your breath, you were quite certain he would have robbed you of it. The impression of his lips seemed to burn your knuckles in a delightful way, in a way that made you yearn to tear the white silk from your body and request that he press his lips to your bare skin. You couldn’t correct the way your own lips parted slightly, something which he seemed to note as his eyes roamed your face as he straightened back up to his full height, allowing your hand to fall back to your side. 

“Thank you for the dance Miss Bell, it was quite… enchanting.” He spoke softly, caressing your face with his eyes for a moment longer before inclining his head, turning, and leaving the space, your eyes were stuck to his wide shoulders as he left. You were pulled out of your little world, where you and he were the only inhabitants, by Jemima’s voice suddenly at your ear.

“Just to warn you, sister dear, mama is quite enraged.”

Tags: @millenialcatlady​ @safarigirlsp​ @mariesackler​ @direnightshade​ @sacklerscumrag​ @stumbleonmywords​ @fizzywoohoo​ @hopeamarsu​ @roanniom​ @kylobien​ (Please let me know if you would like adding or removing!)

[destielharlequinchallenge]

The Destiel Harlequin Challenge Master Post: 2020 Mega Bang

Participants in the 2020 Destiel Harlequin Challenge completed an amazing 20 fics and 3 sets of artwork! You can learn all about those here!

Spectre (fic by a_dusky_gold, art by aceriee)

This whole thing… this was supposed to be a fucking farce. A way to keep Nicholas Vaught occupied until the deadline he’d given Dean would run out, and he’d still get the money to send Dad to the Town Hall rehabilitation for alcoholism, because that was the goddamned deal.

There were no such things as ghosts or magic or a Book of Life. Dean knows, okay? He wasn’t the Army’s goddamned Mystery Raider for nothin’; he knows history, he knows artifacts, and he knows that the Book of Life is an ancient myth that is about as real as werewolves or vampires.

And yet.

“The Book of Life,” the man had said. Dean can’t even remember his name.

Shit, shit, shit.

Dangerous Ground by Amethystaris

Special Agents for the Department of Diplomatic Security, Castiel Novak and Dean Winchester have been partners and best friends for three years, but everything changed the night Cas admitted the truth about his feelings for Dean. And when Cas was shot a few hours later, Dean felt his reluctance to get involved was vindicated.

Can a camping trip in the High Sierras save their partnership?

Honour Undressed by andimeantittosting

Among his friends, Castiel, Lord Milton is everyone’s confidant and, along with his trusted valet, the fixer of problems. But there is one secret Castiel has never shared: he is in love with his valet and has been for years.

Born in the gutters, Dean Winchester was assigned as Castiel’s batman in the war, and when Castiel travelled home to take up his title, Dean followed him as his valet. To assist Castiel, Dean is not above a little burglary or blackmail. But the one thing he wants for himself is Castiel’s heart.

When Castiel’s closest friends become the target of a blackmailer, certain truths come out. But while Dean determines to seduce Castiel, Castiel is adamant that he must resist, for if there is one rule a gentleman must follow, it is never to dally with his servant.

Havenport by BlueMasquerade

Castiel cleared space on his desk by the expedience of sweeping the previous contents to the side. He set the bundle down in the center of the surface and studied the knots in the rope before expertly untying them.

The book was old, its leather bindings cracked and crumbling. He carefully opened the cover to reveal the pages within, each hand cut, the edges beautifully deckled, the text written in pen and ink.

“This is written in ancient Enochian.” Castiel looked up, gaze narrowed. “Where did you obtain a book written in ancient Enochian?”

“Is that what it is? All I could tell is that it sure as hell isn’t English.” Mr. Winchester grinned, a dimple flashing in his cheek.

an aching in my heart by contemplativepancakes

When Dean’s best friend dies, leaving behind her daughter, Dean knows he has what it takes to give Claire the life she deserves. The problem is, they’re not related by blood, and Claire’s long lost uncle gets called to take her in. Castiel Novak was bad news when he was in highschool with Dean, and judging by his blue hair and tattoo sleeves, nothing’s changed. Castiel ran out on his family once before, and there’s no way Dean’s going to let that happen to Claire without putting up a fight.

Fools and Fate by Danica_Dust

Castiel Novak fled his coven to escape the rigid, predetermined Fate laid out for him within its confines. Desperate and alone, he took shelter in the city of Sacriloga, forsaking all magic and living off whatever he could steal. There, witches like Cas are hunted. They are feared. And they are burned.

When Jack, a young witch also on the run from his own coven, seeks out Cas’ aid, however, Cas finds that he cannot reject the boy, leaving him to his sure destruction. Especially after the newest visitor to Sacriloga makes his presence known: the legendary Hunter, Dean Winchester, who has been following Jack’s trail.

Sworn to the Men of Letters, Hunters live by one principle: thou shalt not suffer a witch to live. Dean’s path was never meant to cross with Cas', but a desperate stunt and a single mistake forces them into an impossible union—holy matrimony.

The war between the witches and the Men of Letters is an ancient one and Cas' most dangerous enemies bring a Fate worse than fire. Unable to ignore his growing feelings, yet powerless to change what he is, a choice must be made.

A suffocating Fate on one hand. A precarious freedom on the other. And in between, the kind of love that makes fools of us all.

Ozone by Deancebra

A young magic user who wants desperately to live. A jaded recluse who has forgotten what living means. They’re each other’s only chance.

Dean’s wild magic is killing him. The mage guilds have given up on him, and it’s only a matter of time before he dies in a spectacular, catastrophic bang. His only hope is an exiled wizard who lives in seclusion—and is rumored to have lost his mind.

The years alone on his hilltop estate have not been good for Castiel Novak. After the magical accident that disfigured him and nearly destroyed the village, he drifts through his days, a wraith trapped in memories and depression. Until a stricken young man collapses on his driveway, one who claims Castiel is his last chance. For the first time in fifteen years, Castiel must make a choice—leave this wild mage to his fate or take him in and try to teach him, which may kill them both. The old Castiel, brash and commanding, wouldn’t have hesitated. Castiel the exile isn’t sure he can find the energy to try.

A Demon Like Him by EllenOfOz

Dean Winchester doesn’t want to be a warlock. The idea of working in a lab, channeling demonic magic into enchanted batteries is not what he wants to do with his life, but it’s a dangerous opinion to have—his father was a powerful and well-connected warlock, and Dean is expected to follow the family tradition.

His only way out is to fail the demon summoning class—failure means expulsion from the Warlock College. Despite Dean’s best efforts to fumble the summoning, it works. Although not the way anyone expects.

Dean’s demon, Castiel, is an incubus, but also a powerful mage on a mission to rebalance the magic that is being stripped from Demonside by warlocks.

Dean must choose: fail out of his final exam and turn his back on becoming a warlock, or help Castiel and graduate. But he doesn’t count on how hot the incubus is, or how close they have become in just a few days.

A Working Relationship by fangirlingtodeath513

The homes that Castiel Novak designs for Angelic Houses are to die for. They’re pristine, perfectly designed and organized, and they’ve caused more than a few bidding wars. It’s the perfect job—he’s organized, good with math, and he’s able to pick up on design trends relatively quickly. The only thing that isn’t perfect? His obnoxious older brother, Luke. Castiel’s been vying for a position on a flipping team for years now, but Luke has never even considered it. When a lecherous gossip reporter overhears an argument, they receive an offer they can’t refuse.

They’re invited to compete on Flip Off, a competition where two people flip houses and compete for the highest profit. Castiel wants the leverage a win would bring him, but he also wants to prove himself. Enter Dean Winchester, a contractor with his own team and one that’s blissfully unconnected to Angelic Houses, allowing Castiel to prove himself without any help from the family company.

The undeniable attraction between them certainly doesn’t help matters, but Castiel is resolute in his decision to make a move only after they’ve finished working together. At least, that had been his plan until Dean made him an offer he simply couldn’t refuse.

Crashing In by followyourenergy

Castiel Novak is convinced he’s the last unwillingly single person in Lupine Cove. Even Gabriel, his perpetual bachelor brother, has found love. It’s probably because Cas leads the most boring life in existence. He’s a gay man living in a rented, one-room cottage in the same small coastal town he grew up in, just getting by as the owner of the same convenience store he was practically raised in. The most excitement he gets is chatting with the locals or maybe, if he’s unlucky, oversleeping and rushing to work. So when a baby is left at the Safe Haven drop-off at the local fire station, he takes the opportunity to step in for the child temporarily, at least until suitable parents, plural, can be found.

Life certainly gets more interesting.

And it gets even more interesting when a handsome man comes crashing—literally—into his life.

Make Me Believe by GhoulsnHalos

Ten years ago, Castiel Novak’s stepfather disowned him, taking from him his place as hereditary heir to the head of the Hunter and Warrior Guild. Now, he’s a self-made, and celebrated, master gem and metal smith. Castiel doesn’t believe that the God’s decide your soulmate. Until he designs what can only be a gift fit for his soul mate, who in contradiction to the etiquette, if not the laws of Neffroen, must be a man.

Dean Winchester is convinced that he is a lowly, dumbass, no magic hunter who couldn’t possibly be on the same social scale as a Novak. So, why is it when he spots the jewelled torc in Castiel’s shop, Dean develops an obsession over the neckpiece and its creator? It can't be anything to do with the will of the Gods, no matter what anyone says, because that's baloney and Dean's not into men.

When Castiel’s long-lost brother turns up and suggests he ought to challenge their stepfather and that Dean is destined to help Castiel rule the clan, Castiel takes some convincing. The real problem is Dean. Can Castiel with the help of family and friends convince Dean of his place by Castiel’s side? Can Dean play the part everyone expects of him to help Castiel regain his rightful place in society?

Shielded Heart by JuniperJones

Arthos, the Infinite City, is a place of alien wonders and indescribable beauty—and, most importantly for Dean, it’s also halfway across the universe from his abusive ex-fiancé. He came to the city desperate for a fresh start, but he finds himself downtrodden on a world of aloof alien beings with little hope of finding his place—and a good chance of being kidnapped or killed before he can even settle in.

At least until he is saved by an irresistible alien with piercing eyes and a seductive smile.

Castiel is the living embodiment of temptation, and he makes no effort to disguise his desire for Dean. But when his past threatens to drag Dean into a dangerous underworld, Dean discovers Castiel isn’t who he claims to be. After enduring so much suffering, can Dean bear to take a leap of faith with this mysterious alien? Can he trust Castiel with not only his life, but his heart?

Stumble and Fall by Kitmistry

Castiel was raised to do one thing: serve his country, whether that was fighting a war or becoming an expert spy. But when his lover is charged with treason and executed Castiel defects. He has evidence that can destroy the KGB’s entire spy ring in New Mexico, he has names of scientists involved with atomic weapons who send information to the Soviets, and he won’t stop until he has revenge.

Putting all his trust in the Americans, Castiel finds himself under the protection of U.S. Marshal Dean Winchester, who is too cocky and attractive for his own good, but at least seems to know what he’s doing.

When a routine transfer to a safehouse goes horribly wrong, Castiel and Dean narrowly escape with their lives. With the Marshals compromised and Castiel being framed for murder, he and Dean are on the run from KGB and law enforcement alike. They have no one to trust except each other, and nowhere to go that their enemies can’t reach.

The Shots We Don’t Take by MandalaRose

Still nursing the tatters of a broken heart and trying desperately to stave off the terror of his impending graduation, college senior Cas Novak decides it’s time to blow off a little steam. Not just any hook-up will do, however. The last thing Cas needs right now is a distraction. On the lookout for someone he can enjoy a steamy night of passion with before leaving them behind entirely, Cas thinks he’s found exactly what he needs in cocky university hockey star and well-known playboy Dean Winchester.

Dean is gorgeous, doesn’t date, and is the singular most infuriating person Cas has ever met. He’s the perfect one night stand...that is, until Dean decides he wants an instant replay of what was supposed to be a one-time event. Will Cas’ offer of friends, sans benefits, convince the arrogant love ’em and leave ’em hockey defenseman to find an easier score? Or will Dean wear down Cas’ defenses and lure the sexy nerd in the dorky trenchcoat back to his bed?

Bullets Over the Bayou (fic by mattzerella_sticks, art by dontbelasagnax)

Everyone wants Castiel Novak to quit the force, including Castiel. But he stays on despite the toxic work environment he’s surrounded by. Still believing he can do some good despite the many lines of red tape impeding him. Luckily, a pair of scissors by the name of Dean Winchester drops into his hands, and he finally feels like he can do some good.

Dean Winchester thought he would be in New Orleans for a day or two. Identify the body of his deadbeat father and then move on. No one knows he’s here. His mother and brother are blissfully unaware of the danger his father roped him into. With a parting gift of a journal, delivered to him the same day he received word about his father, Dean has become the target of a group of people who want him dead. The same people who killed his father.

Racing against the clock, can Dean and Castiel figure out what is so important about John Winchester’s journal that someone would kill for it?

Masquerade by noxsoulmate

It had begun as such a good plan; one that benefitted them both. And masquerading as Castiel Krushnic's boyfriend during the weeks of balls, galas, and charity events certainly was no hardship. With the impending end of their arrangement, though, Dean Winchester must admit that behind the mask of an aloof CEO lies a man he could fall in love with. Or maybe, he already has…

The Medium by raths_kitten

Detective Dean Winchester hates it when his Chief sends a medium to consult on his cases. But this time, the murder is closely linked to Castiel’s world and they both need to work together to solve it.

Any Semblance of Touch (fic by saltnhalo, art by c-kaeru)

1925, New York.

Dean Winchester’s life’s work is protecting the world from the supernatural relics that could destroy it. When an amulet with the power to control the tides is shipped to New York, he must intercept it before it can be used to devastating effects. This time, in order to succeed, he needs a powerful psychometric… and the only one available has sworn off the magical world altogether.

Castiel Novak’s gift comes with great risk. To protect himself, he’s become a recluse, redirecting his magic into museum research. But with the city’s fate hanging in the balance, and faced with the power of Dean’s charm and persuasion…

He can’t force himself to say no.

The Love of a Righteous Man by SargentMom573

Five years ago, Captain Dean Winchester defied his father, Senator John Winchester. With his brother Sam, and his spaceship Impala, Dean found his place among a ragtag fleet of pirates and smugglers. Their latest mission left him with a price on his head and a scar on his heart. When a surprise attack separated him from Sam and revealed a Sith weapon, he would do whatever it took to bring his brother back – even sacrifice his own happiness.

After Emperor Michael’s death broke the psychic link between them, Emperor’s Hand Castiel Novak spent years drowning his sorrows at the bottom of a barrel. Mostly sober, three years ago he found a new purpose as the Impala’s Chief Medical Officer, and Sam Winchester’s guide in the Force. And a good friend in the Impala’s gruff but kind Captain.

Dean and Castiel must work together to bring Sam home alive. But when Castiel’s last mission is exposed, will Castiel complete it and destroy any hopes Dean had for a family? Will Dean forgive Cas’ horrific purpose before it is too late? And give them both what they really want — the love of a righteous man.

SKID by spnsmile

Dean Winchester swore off love after getting dumped and fired from his job the same day. Badly drunk, he ended up balcony-hopping until a pair of hands snatched him inside a darkened room. But it's no hero, it's someone with deep voice whispering threats with a gun pointed at his back. Dean’s too drunk to deal with life but one good look at his hot assailant plus enough beer sold him to his accursed fate. The next morning, he found himself engaged to the most notorious leader of a powerful clan, Castiel Novak.

Married life in the compound for a month was not as blissful so when he could, Dean fought for that freedom. Castiel relented and as Dean tried to put the pieces of his normal life together, getting a bike messenger job and dealing with pain in the ass clients, he now also needs to deal with the dangerous presence of his very jealous and very protective husband watching over him.

Is his life ever going to get back to normal?

[lost-in-fanfic]

The Woman - Thomas Shelby x reader (Part 2)

A/N: So here is part 2, I hope you all enjoy it. Part 1 link below. Not my Gif and please don’t steal my work :)

Warnings: Mention of killing, quiet a bit of bad language. 

A brief summary: After receiving a mysterious note, Tommy is about to meet with the woman hired to kill him. 

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4

Word Count: 2538

“This is fucking mental Tommy!” Arthur shouted for the tenth time that morning. After Tommy had run out of The Garrison last night without warning Polly had demanded to see the note. He had consequently spent the rest of the night, and now this morning stood in the kitchen at Watery Lane being told he was making a stupid mistake. Gripping the back of the chair, Tommy let out an exasperated sigh, his patience was wearing thin and it was time he headed to his meeting. He had been to meetings with people who wanted to kill him before, but normally he manged to get the business done without any of the others realising what he was up to. “Thomas,” Polly was leaning against the fireplace looking at her nephew, his eyes staring down at the floor, “when you get a note, from someone who won’t even give their name, saying they have been hired to kill you, it isn’t generally a good idea to go and sit down for a cosy chat. At least let Arthur and John hide in the backroom.” She was just as tired of arguing as Tommy. Tired of watching him seek out ways to find danger, it came easily enough in their lives, why did he have to always hold the door open for it? Finally, he looked up at her, then Tommy straightened up as he pulled his peaky cap onto his head, fastened his coat, and moved to the door. “Today is going to be a busy day here. Arthur and John, keep an eye on the bets and don’t forget to watch Sam Guest, he’s won a fucking lot recently and no one gets that lucky on a fixed race. Polly it’s safe count day.” He opened the door and stepped onto the street just before he closed the door behind him, he turned back and said, “and if any of you set foot in The Garrison this morning, I will shoot you myself.” With that he slammed the door and headed up the road.

Tommy pulled out his keys, finding the correct one for the back door of The Garrison knowing that the front door would still be bolted from the inside this time of day, however as he drew closer to the pub, he could see the front door wasn’t locked at all. In fact, it stood ever so slightly open with no sign of damage to suggest it had been forced. Tommy took his gun from its holster and held it up as he slowly pushed open the door, just for a second he pictured the ambush he was about to walk into and thought to himself he should probably have brought John and Arthur after all.

(Y/N) had arrived early that morning, keen to be as prepared as always. She had made a note of the heavy sliding bolts on the front door the night before, and when a small argument had broken out earlier in the night and distracted the barman, she had taken the opportunity to check exactly where the back door was and find out just how easy that lock would be to pick. This should be a day like any other in her life, but that morning she had found herself strangely nervous to meet with Tommy and regretted her rash decision to arrange a face-to-face meeting.  In her career she had developed a policy of never giving out her name and only met with people face to face on rare occasions. The only time she had broken this rule was with people she was certain would not be a threat to her in the future, such as grateful targets that she decided to let live or the odd desperate housewife. Tommy Shelby was definitely not desperate and could very possibly be the biggest danger to her future she had ever faced, yet here she sat waiting for him.

When he entered the pub the last thing Tommy had truly expected was one woman, sat on her own at a table in the middle of the room. She had moved the other chairs away from it so there was just one for her and one for him. Leant back smoking she looking as relaxed as if she owned the place and he were walking into her territory, not the other way around. This woman, however, could not have stood out more against the grey of Small Heath. Her hair was shinning in the light coming through the dusty windows, each strand perfectly in place, her bright green dress fitted each part of her body perfectly and was so stylish she would have looked more at home in one of Ada’s magazines than sat in The Garrison. Tommy was so taken aback he did not even realise he was still pointing his gun at her.

“I did promise not to kill you during this conversation Mr Shelby, I would appreciate it if you lowered your gun.” Her voice was like silk as it reached him and without really meaning to, he put his gun away, closing the door behind him. She motioned to the seat opposite her for him to sit down, but her initial spell over him seemed to weaken somewhat as he realised he was not accustomed to being offered a seat in his own pub. Instead, he walked over to the bar, leaning against it he took a cigarette from his case and rolled it over his lips before striking a match and lighting it. All the while never breaking eye contact with the woman before him. (Y/N) refused to let his stare cause her to back down, she looked straight back at him. Quickly though she realised how right she had been in thinking that meeting Tommy like this was a big risk, his eyes seemed to be seeing right into her, and she was fairly sure if one of them did not break the silence soon there was a very big chance her carefully built defences would crumble. Exhaling his first draw on his cigarette Tommy decided to take the opportunity to try and control the conversation. “Well, you know my name, seems only fair you should tell me yours.” His voice oozed with confidence and sent a thrill deep into (Y/N)’s core. “I’ll tell you what Mr Shelby, how about I ask what I need to know so I can make my decision and at the end of the conversation you can ask me any question you like, which I swear I will answer honestly. If knowing my name is still important then, I shall give you the truth. Alternatively, I could just give you a fake name now and we can go into this telling lies.” She matched his confidence with every word, putting out her cigarette as she finished, showing she was ready to get down to business.

Tommy couldn’t help but allow the smallest of smiles to tug at the corner of his mouth as he sat down opposite her unbuttoning his coat and motioning for her to continue. “As I said, I am here to decide if you deserve to die.” She began, “Almost certainly do.” Tommy’s answer cut across her, she wasn’t expecting him to speak yet, and would never have imagined that would be the answer he gave. Raising her eyebrow slightly she scanned his face, his jaw was set and eyes fixed, there was no hint that he was joking or even scared of the idea of dying.

“Mr Shelby, my client has hired me for a specific reason. I have several rules in my business and one of them is I will only carry out the contract if that reason is justified, regardless of whatever else maybe true of the person.” She paused as Tommy flicked his ash into the tray, his face was expressionless, but there was something in his eyes. (Y/N) was convinced that she had never seen a more crystal-clear blue in her life and although they seemed cold and calculating she had a gut feeling that if only she knew him better, they would be the only key to reading how he felt. Tommy said nothing, he had never been more intrigued by a woman so quickly and he wanted to ensure he paid attention to everything she said, after all this woman may yet try to kill him.

“I am here to get your side of the story, regarding Daniel Owen better known as Danny Whiz-Bang.” Whatever Tommy had been expecting her to say it certainly wasn’t that. (Y/N) noticed the way his eyes unwittingly widened in shock, once again she had surprised him putting him entirely on the back foot, she had always relished being in control of every situation and there was something even more intoxicating about having any sort of power over a man like Thomas Shelby.

The end of Tommy’s cigarette glowed as he inhaled deeply, taking the opportunity of a brief pause to get himself back in check. “Daniel Owens was killed by Billy Kimber. I killed Billy Kimber. End of story.” His voice was deep and controlled as he tried to reveal as little emotion as possible. (Y/N) leant forward slightly, the fact that he didn’t fully understand why she was here excited her. “I know that. My client is more interested in the fact he was there at all, after all you had already killed him yourself, hadn’t you?” Tommy decided enough was enough, putting out his cigarette he leant forward to match her, “who the fuck is your client?” his tone had changed it dripped with menace and power. “I told you Mr Shelby, I will answer one question at the end. Don’t worry,” she could see his eyes darkening, there were only so many times you could poke a stick at a dangerous animal before it attacked, and she felt she had pushed her luck far enough. “I only have one more question for you, why did you let Danny Whiz-Bang live?” her tone was different, she was no longer toying with him, vying for control, she genuinely wanted to know why he hadn’t just killed him. If Tommy were more of a fool, he would have thought she cared.

“Danny Whiz-bang didn’t kill that Italian, the monster that lived in the mud in his head did. He brought that monster back from France, he saved my life over there in that mud, so I killed the monster and sent Danny away so he could try and clean his head out.” It was the truth; he had known since they returned from France that Danny had no control at times. Tommy had brought his own monster back with him and the thought of what that monster could turn him into is what kept him fighting.

“Very well.” (Y/N) had listened to every word he had said, the honesty in his voice was clear. This time she found herself on the back foot, the truth concealed just the tiniest shred of vulnerability and that was something she had not expected to find. Over his shoulder she spotted two silhouettes, which she strongly suspected of belonging to his brothers, hovering by the door. “Thank you for meeting with me this morning Mr Shelby.” Standing up she slipped into her white coat and made towards the back room and the door she had come in through earlier. “Hang on,” said Tommy standing up as well, “you owe me a question remember? A deal is a deal.” His eyes were back to being their calm crystal blue, if there had been a moment in which he had been even close to vulnerable it had passed. There was, however, a slight tinge of desperation to keep her there in his voice which even Tommy wouldn’t have been able to explain. (Y/N) turned back to him and nodded. “What’s your name? I assume from your note it starts with W.” There were other more important questions he should probably ask, like if she was still going to try and kill him, but all he wanted to know was her name. (Y/N) couldn’t stop a small soft smile from forming and she bit her bottom lip to try and stop it. Every single part of her willed her to lie, or distract him, she couldn’t risk giving any part of herself to him. Not even her name was safe to give, but even the strongest woman can’t hold out fully under the gaze of those eyes. “I use the W for business. My name is (Y/N), oh and by the way I think your brothers are getting impatient.” She replied, nodding towards the door where Arthur and John were waiting. As Tommy turned to look, she silently slipped away, gone by the time he turned back.

He stood there stuck in silence for a moment, her name playing through his head like a song, as if she had placed him under a spell again. It was only a first name though and he felt cheated, he had clearly meant both names. Tommy Shelby did not like being cheated. He gathered himself together and then went out the front where Arthur and John were stood with guilty faces. “We didn’t come in Tom.” John said as soon as he walked out, he sounded like a child that had been caught going for the biscuit tin. Tommy didn’t care though, he just wanted to know where (Y/N) was going. “Round the back, she’s wearing a white coat, you can see her green dress hanging out the bottom and she’s got (y/h/c) hair. Follow her and tell me where she goes.” He barely looked at them just gave the order and began to move back to the house. “She?” said Arthur, “The killers a she?” his confusion evident. “Yes Arthur, a woman, now go before you lose her.” Tommy strode off. “Polly is gunna love this.” Muttered John. The brothers hurried around the corner looking for the white coat and green dress. “Watch out!” shouted Arthur as he turned the corner colliding straight into a woman wearing all black. “Sorry.” She muttered scurrying up the street.

When Tommy had turned his back (Y/N) had moved quickly, going to where she had left a bag earlier by the back door. Knowing she only had moments she pulled off her coat, grabbed out a black skirt that she put on to cover the bottom of her dress, turned her coat inside out so it was now black and put it on over the top. Looking down she checked that no green was now showing. Next, she took out a wig that was several shades darker than her natural colour, it pulled on easily as she gathered her own hair up. Finally, a simple black hat with a vail to cover her face. Checking quickly in the mirror she was pleased to see she looked just like a young widow, not an unusual sight in Small Heath. Leaving out the back door she rounded the corner and walked straight into Arthur Shelby, muttering apologies she moved out of his way and headed back to the boarding house.

@comebackjessica​ @nemesis729​ @spacenijntje​

[waywardwrestlewritingwaif]

Stripped

My heart is aching for my darling rat bastard since his breakdown after Wrestle Kingdom. I want him back in NJPW so much. Or failing that, I want him in AEW causing havoc. 

Pairing: Jay White x OFC

Word count: 3,914

Content advisory: Sexual situations (takes place in a strip club), language

The stage is littered with those stupid fucking plastic stars because the owner likes the effect of the girls moving through it. “Stardust” he calls it, like it’s supposed to make everything magical. A fucking hazard is what it is. The floor gets slippery during the night and those stupid things kill any kind of friction you might be able to get in the skyscraper platforms and stiletto heels you work in. So you and all the other girls who work here have to focus on not slipping on stardust while you’re also focusing on shaking your ass and gyrating just right for the drunk businessmen or frat boys or bachelor parties or vaguely creepy loners you rely on to pay your rent. A shift turns into this ninja-style obstacle course of trying not to get your legs broken by the owner’s preferred decorations and trying not to get your face broken by guys who think you owe them more than dancing. 

But it’s a fuck of a lot more lucrative than waitressing or telemarketing, which are the two jobs you’d be likely to get other than dancing, and you’d still get treated like garbage at those places. So you spend time between dances picking these stupid goddamned stars off of your boots, because you don’t want to make it more dangerous to work here than it has to be, and reminding yourself that you could do, and have done, worse. 

Tonight is what you’d call a good night: decent crowd, decent tips, enough turnover to ensure that no one gets too possessive, the clientele drunk enough to be generous but not so drunk as to be violent. So aside from the threat posed by the imitation stardust, you head out to your third dance of the night with a sense of confidence. That is, until you see him. 

You can immediately tell that he’s drunk, obstreperously drunk. He’s slumped into his chair, spread out in an ungainly fashion. The bouncers hover close by, knowing that he’s far enough along to cause trouble but he doesn’t. The waitresses continue serving him, which is a little surprising. The guy must be tipping a fortune. If the mark is generous enough, they’ll bring him drinks until he’s unconscious. They’re supposed to cut him off at a reasonable point and the bouncers are supposed to get him into a taxi, even if they have to take the money out of the register, but if the guy’s throwing enough money around, the servers will toss security a share to look the other way for a bit. 

You’re noticing all this while waiting your turn on stage because you can barely take your eyes off him. His long hair is pulled back into a messy half-ponytail and his beard looks scruffy but there’s something magnetic, something intense about him. Contrary to his body language, his eyes look clear and manic, darting around like he’s expecting someone to jump him at any moment. His shirt is already loose and has a few buttons open and the more he slides around on his chair, the more you’re able to see. And dear god what a treat it is to see. Every time he breathes, there’s a ripple of muscles in his chest that looks like something out of a superhero comic or romance novel. You move around so that you can get a better look at him from different angles and so that you aren’t just sitting by the bar, dumbstruck and practically drooling. 

By the time it’s your turn on stage, you’re so keyed up you’re worried that you’re going to forget what to do or end up wiping out on the star-shaped death traps on stage. Every girl is paying special attention to him because he’s pushing so much money at them. And a lot of them are probably thinking the same thing you are: that he’s young and gorgeous and the chances of getting that combined with that much money and being too sloppy drunk to pose a real threat is like finding the pot of gold at the end of the damn rainbow. You’re all essentially auditioning for the role of “girl he’s going to want to take to a room upstairs for a private dance” and you are determined to absolutely kill this audition. 

You know you look good and you know you can move with the best of them but in order to make your turn really special, you need to channel what he’s making you feel, you need to make him understand what he’s doing to you and you need him to know that you’re inviting him to do more. You usually like to stick to your planned routines because you’ll be more confident on your feet but this is all about getting closer to him, about eye contact and the scent of pheromones and trying to bait a perfect trap. 

He seems to recognize the extra effort you’re putting into your work and gives a crooked smile as he tosses money towards you. He’s not even looking at the denominations, just casually tossing bills on the stage. This is going to be a very profitable evening for you if he does nothing other than stay around for a while. But you want more than that. Up close, there’s an aura about him, equal parts spoiled brat and caged animal, something contemptuous about the way he sips his drink, surveys the surroundings, even the way he looks at you when proffering bills. But when the two of you lock eyes, there’s something else, this desire, a need in him that he wants you to fill. 

You slide gracefully down on all fours in front of him, still undulating to the music, moving close enough that you can speak to him without having to raise your voice. 

“Baby, if you want to have some real fun, you know you can ask for a private room,” you coo. 

“So people keep telling me,” he smirks. 

He obviously wants to see if you’ll be offended, if he’s managed to hurt your feelings by letting you know that you’re just one of many vying for his attention and his money. But his tone isn’t dismissive, it’s challenging. 

“Aw, are you trying to make me jealous, handsome?”

You raise yourself up on your knees, running your hands over your breasts, then down between your legs, never breaking eye contact. He keeps his arrogant expression fixed in place as he produces a few more bills, holding them out between his fingers. So you lean forward, stretching slowly, like a cat in the sun, making sure he can see how flexible you are. You take the bills between your teeth and as you feel his hold on them loosen, you make sure that the swell of your bottom lip brushes the tip of his finger. 

Spinning yourself around, you rise to your feet again in one smooth motion and start to back away as the last few bars of the song signal that your little audition is ending. You make sure to give him a last look and the hint of a smile as you step backstage. When you do, you immediately move so that you can see what he does. 

He downs his drink and spends a long few moments contemplating the glass as the next girl takes to the stage. His eyes drift up to her and he drops a few bills but then you see him beckon one of the staff over. You can’t help but smile. He’s asking for you, you can feel it. 

*

“Guy’s pretty loaded,” the security guard cautions you. 

“Yeah,” you chuckle, “in more ways than one.”

The meat slab in a suit laughs at your joke and reassures you he’s there if you need him before he steps into the darkened booth at the end of the hall. It’s not something they advertise but the clubs keep cameras in the private rooms, so that security can keep an eye on things and take action if clients get out of line. Not every club does this, of course, and you’ve worked at some places where being in a private room meant you were on your own. This place is Fort Knox by comparison. 

You open the door where your Prince Charming is waiting for you. He’s sitting on one of the leather chairs, spread out like he owns the place, a bottle of scotch, the expensive stuff, sitting on the table next to him. Even in the low light you see his sparkling eyes lock on you. 

“Well it’s nice to see you again, handsome.”

You walk closer to him, loosening the robe that you’d thrown on before coming up. As it falls open, it catches on your breasts, the diaphanous fabric just barely covering your nipples, which grow hard at the sensation. 

“You’re the lucky girl who gets me to herself tonight,” he slurs. 

You spread your legs so that they’re on either side of his as you bend over to him. The fabric of your robe brushes against his skin as you bow your head close to whisper, “I feel pretty lucky right now.”

You step back and press a button to start the music, allowing the robe to fall from you as you start to sway for him. You don’t get too close, not right away. Building anticipation is always the best, watching that hunger build in a man’s eyes, all the more so because this one is so arrogant and full of himself as well as being gorgeous. You want to see just how worked up you can get him. So you hang back just a little, letting him watch the way the soft light plays on your skin and the movement of your hands over your body. 

After a couple of minutes of this, he gives a slow clap and pulls out more money for you. 

“You don’t have to do that here,” you remind him. “You’re all paid up.”

“Yeah, well I want to make sure I get the best service.”

“That’s what I’m here for, honey.”

“Jay,” he snaps. 

You give him a little frown, not exactly sure what he means. 

“My name,” he clarifies, as if you’re stupid for not understanding. “Not baby, not honey, not handsome. My name is Jay White.”

A circuit connects in your head as you hear him. 

“Jay White. You’re a wrestler. I’ve heard of you.”

“I’m not just “a” wrestler. I’m the best on the fucking planet.”

“Well then I really am lucky.”

You can hear the tension in his voice and the sooner you can stop this line of conversation and get him back to thinking about your body, the better. You move closer and gyrate slowly downward and back up just in front of him, your hands resting on the arms of the chair just a couple of inches from his. 

He still has the money in his hand and his expression remains sour. 

“Take it,” he nods towards the bills. “I’m a rich man. I can buy whatever the hell I want.”

You smile and shake your head. “You don’t have to do anything. Just relax and enjoy. Not that I don’t love that sexy accent.”

“Oh really? What kind of accent is it?”

It’s starting to feel like he’s brought you in here just to pick a fight, which is throwing you off your rhythm in every sense and also frustrating because it’s not making him any less attractive to you. You keep your slight smile as you lean close to him. 

“It’s a New Zealand accent.”

“You sure it’s not Australian?”

You nod. “I spent a couple of summers working in Australia and New Zealand. I can always tell the difference.”

He pushes his face close to yours, the scent of alcohol so strong that you feel like you’re going to get drunk from the fumes. “Were you working as a whore there too?”

Instead of responding, you pout a little and give him a sad look. At first, he scoffs but after a few seconds, his body relaxes a bit and he looks, if not apologetic, at least happy to move on. 

“Well, show me what you can do, then,” he drawls, taking another drink of scotch. 

You’re happy to oblige, winding your body around him in a serpentine fashion, making sure he’s close enough to feel the heat radiating from you, even pushing your hips close enough that he might be able to smell how turned on you are by him. And that’s only augmented by the feeling of his breath against your thighs, or the low moans that escape him when you hold yourself precariously close, barely respecting the rules of not touching that exist here. 

The music is slower than what plays in the club, sinuous and sensual and you move in perfect time with it, your body flowing like water around him. His thirst is palpable. You catch him adjusting himself or rubbing his palm against his groin with increasing frequency and the more turned on he seems to get, the more lustful you make your movements. 

You’re bent over him, drinking in the sound of his panting and grunting, when he speaks again. 

“I quit my job today,” he grumbles. 

You’re a little offended that he can detach himself so easily from the moment but when you look at him, his expression hasn’t changed, like what he’s going through here is linked somehow to what he’s done. 

“Why did you do that, hon- Jay?”

He smiles when you correct yourself and leans close, his breath condensing between your breasts for a few seconds before he responds. 

“Because I’m too fucking good for them.”

You don’t know who “them” means but you know better than to tell him that. 

“So they don’t deserve you,” you purr. 

“Goddamned right they don’t. Look at all this money I’ve got. Doesn’t mean a fucking thing if I don’t have respect.”

“Why wouldn’t they respect you?”

 He snaps his leg to one side, hitting your knee and almost making you collapse on top of him. 

“Come closer,” he whispers. 

You’re not really sure how much closer you can get without breaking the rules, but you incline your head close to his, so that his lips are next to your ear. 

“They don’t know what they have in me,” he hisses. “They don’t know how fucking lucky they are, how much I’ve given up for them. They just want to make me the leader of the fools in their company because they think that’s the best I can do. But you don’t think that, do you?”

His eyes glitter like a tiger in the jungle shade but you meet his gaze and don’t look away. 

“No,” you tell him, “you look like a damn rock star. You look like a king.”

“I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

He smiles and runs his hand up the back of your thigh, grabbing your ass and holding you in place while he grips your arm with his other hand. He presses his lips against the skin of your inner arm, lightly trailing kisses over the sensitive flesh before giving a sharp bite to your wrist. 

You give a little cry just as the door slams open and the security guard who’d accompanied you up here bursts into the room. 

“We got a problem here?” he roars. 

Jay slumps back in his chair with a defeated expression, like he’s preparing himself to be thrown out of the club by his hair. You rise as gracefully as you can and go to the guard, who’s obviously waiting for you to signal what needs to be done. 

“It’s ok,” you tell him calmly. You walk up to him so that your conversation won’t be overheard. “I kind of goaded him on.”

It’s not really true that you goaded him but it is true that you’ve been wanting him to touch you all night and it’s possible that he picked up on that. 

“Looks like he got a bit grabby.”

“Yeah, it’s not a problem for me.”

You keep your eyes trained on Jay, who’s watching your interaction with the beefy man and obviously trying to figure out what’s going on. In return, the security guard scowls at him and cuts a serious look at you. 

“You want me to turn off the camera?”

There it is, the magic question. The women who work here are dancers, strippers, and their job is only to move in an erotic way, to excite their clients. They’re kept secure by the presence of cameras that alert security if a client is getting out of line, if he’s breaking the rules by actually laying hands on one of the dancers. But there’s what’s allowed and what’s really allowed and that question is at the heart of it. 

The cameras protect the women but they also protect the club: they prove that all that’s going on in the private rooms is dancing and titillation, not prostitution. But if a woman wants to, she can tell security to turn off the camera for a while, meaning there’s no record of what happens. None of the girls are obliged to do it, and the official position of the club is that it’s not allowed, so if you get caught, they’ll fire you immediately. But if you’re ok with offering more than just a dance and willing to give the security guard a cut of the earnings, he’ll shut off the camera in the room and you can do whatever you want with your client. 

You’re not actually planning on charging Jay White anything more unless he wants something really kinky but you’ve already made so much money off him that you can cut the guard in and still have a great night. 

“Yeah,” you whisper, never taking your eyes off Jay, “that’s what I want.”

“It’s done,” the guard grunts. As he turns to leave, he gives your bicep a little squeeze. “You know I’m here if you need me.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.”

The financial details will get worked out later. Not all of the guards are so mellow but this guy, nicknamed “Bob” by the girls, is old school. He knows you have to bend the rules to make ends meet and knows that no one is making a fortune from what happens here. He never tries to shake the girls down, never assumes that being off-camera means he can just pretend the room is empty. He’s the perfect person to have working at this moment for you. It’s like fate. 

He leaves without another word and you stand in place until you see the tiny red light in the corner go out. Then you walk back over to Jay, bracing your arms on the chair so that you’re hovering just above him. 

“So what does that mean?” He nods towards the camera, apparently having noticed you looking at it. 

“You mean the little red light?”

“The little red light that’s gone out.”

“Well that means that you and I have some privacy, Jay White. That means that the rules are relaxed a little.”

He smiles a little and wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you down onto his lap and giving you a nice preview of coming attractions. Yes, you think, the trailer definitely makes you want to see the movie. You continue to grind in rhythm with the background music but you’re no longer pretending that it’s the focus of your attention. Instead you lean in and press your lips to his, softly letting your tongue slide into his mouth and weaving your fingers into his hair. The kiss is every bit as electric, as passionate, and as needy as you’d hoped. The two of you remain lost in it, moaning and sighing, your bodies writhing against each other, seeking greater contact. 

It’s him who finally pulls back, his eyes hardly focusing as he runs his hands up and down your back. Finally, he pulls you close to him and buries his head in your chest, kissing every bit of flesh he can reach from your collarbone to your breast. When his mouth reaches your nipple, he locks his lips around it, licking, sucking, even nipping at the taut bud as his hands squeeze greedily at your back. 

He bites down sharply and you cry out at the pain, trying to twist away from him, but he’s more than strong enough to hold you in place. He swirls and flicks his tongue over the offended flesh, sighing and mewling as he does. The gentleness of his touches is enough to resolve any hesitation on your part, and you let your head fall back, moaning at the sensations he’s giving you. 

It’s a couple of minutes before you realize that your skin is wetter than it should be and you pull back, your first thought being that you’re bleeding from his bite. His head falls against your chest when you move and it’s then that you realize that he’s crying. Under normal circumstances, you’d ask him what was wrong, but this seems anything but normal, so you thread your fingers deeper in his dark hair and scratch gently at his scalp. 

“I just gave up on the only thing I’ve ever wanted,” he sobs, the tears coming harder. 

“Because they didn’t see the value in you.”

“I don’t know what the fuck is going to happen to me.”

His arms close tight around you and you can’t help pressing kisses all along the side of his head, down his neck as far as you can reach. 

“What if they’re right? What if I’m not as good as I think I am?”

You force yourself back so that you can look him straight in the eyes. 

“Stop it. You know that’s not true. You know you’re one of the greats because you came in here and fucking told me so yourself.” He looks at you with a forlorn expression. “Don’t let assholes make you think you’re worth less than you are.”

In one smooth movement, he stands up and sets you on your feet, wrapping his arms loosely around your waist so that the two of you are dancing like teenagers in high school. You pull him close and bury your head in the hollow of his shoulder, the way you always imagined yourself doing with your crushes back in the day. 

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” he rasps. 

“You’re gonna be fine, baby,” you reassure him, completely unsure why you feel that way. “You’re gonna be great at whatever you do.”

“You mean it?” He pulls you tighter against him and buries his face in your shoulder. 

“Absolutely.”

“So are you gonna stay with me until I get on my feet again?”

You’re aware that it’s the alcohol talking, that he’s reached the stage where he’s willing to grab onto anything that looks like a stable point in a flood, and it hurts a little that you really mean what you’re about to say. 

“You’re damn right I will. I want to see just how far you can go.”

He smiles against your skin and pulls you even closer. The two of you sway back and forth to the music, languishing in the temporary security of each other’s bodies. 

[sluttyten]

All the Stars in the Night Sky

summary: hendery is a rich playboy type in public, lonely in private, and when he lets you into his life, neither of you are sure you’ll ever be able to leave

length: 16,255 words

tags: male reader, smut, daddy kink, angst, idk it felt like it got a little emotionally dark sometimes, some family troubles, happy ending (I promise)

Hendery would never admit to his friends (if he could really call them that at all) how miserably lonely he found this life. 

He was rich, sure, and that meant that many doors were opened to him, that he had dozens and dozens of people vying to be his friends or to warm his bed for a night or two. When he’d once attempted to go near the topic with his close friend (the most genuine one of the bunch), Xuxi had laughed and gestured around them while saying, “How can you ever feel bad about anything in your life when you have all this? Like you’ve got an entire chest of drawers and an additional display case just for jewelry.”

That was true.

Jewelry was nice, it could buy him attention and a few friends, but it was nothing real or meaningful.

So Hendery set out on a great journey to find something that would fill the gaping hole of loneliness. Along the way, he earned the name of richest playboy in East Asia, Huang Guanheng, or Hendery to his friends.

He fucked his way across the world’s map, his body count growing each day. None of the girls or boys in his bed were it, they couldn’t fill up that void of loneliness. Xuxi and Dejun tried their best, but they were both in a similar state to him—earning money faster than they can hemorrhage it in an attempt to feel better about their lives.

On the first night you met Hendery, you were covering a gala where his father was the guest of honor. Most of the reporters were left outside the event, but you had managed to catch the eye of the eligible Guanheng as you’d dressed for the gala in the hopes of getting inside, a nice sleek suit paired with a bowtie.

He looked you up and down then gestured for the security team to allow you inside. You couldn’t miss the hisses and curses behind your back as you left the cluster of other reporters to enter the party. As you came up beside Guanheng in his handsome suit, his hands glimmering with rings, he plucked your phone out of your hand and watched as a guard stepped forward to frisk you.

“Hey!” You smacked at the guard’s hand as he got a bit too handsy at your inseam.

Guanheng called off the guard, but didn’t hand back your phone. Instead he tucked it into a hidden pocket of his suit jacket. “You can have this back later. It’s a media blackout event, so I can’t have you taking photos or recordings, you know, but it would be such a shame for someone like you to miss out an event like this.”

You decide that you don’t really mind. Even without photos or video inside the gala, you would still have the experience of being inside, and your boss would love that more than whatever pictures you got from outside. And besides, you were personally being invited inside by the most notorious young man on this side of the world.

“You can call me Hendery.” He said as you stepped through into the heart of the event. And then as you looked over at him, he smiled and leaned closer, laying the charm on so thick that you could almost taste it, and he said, “Or you can call me Daddy.”

If you weren’t already so attracted to Hendery, you would have left right then. Fuck your phone, a line like that one he’d just given you would usually have you walking the other way. You’d known him for less than five minutes. You were a reporter meant to be covering this event in an official capacity, and he had to go and make an inappropriate comment like that? Cocky assholes were not your type.

But, lucky for him, you actually did have a weakness for guys who liked being called Daddy, and more importantly, you had a weakness for the pretty curl of his smile and his dark eyes and the comforting weight of his hand at the small of your back.

Your knees felt weak.

You’d heard about the games he played before. A friend of yours had once met him at a party and she’d given you the step-by-step of his seduction. The way he’d charmed her thoroughly and then he’d gotten himself drunk before he fucked the breath from her lungs and left her so jelly-legged that she was still a little unstable when you saw her two days afterwards.

So you weren’t terribly surprised by anything that followed. Hendery was charming. He knew all the right things to say, he knew the way to look at you to break through the last of your walls, and he definitely knew just the right things to whisper in your ear any time that you began to mentally talk yourself down from pursuing where the night was inevitably going to end.

And that’s how you found yourself in the bathroom with Hendery, facing yourself in the mirror as he fucked you. The sound of your bodies colliding and your moans, his low instructions for you to call him daddy, all the sounds of the two of you together echoed off the dark tiles and the mirrors of the bathroom, and you gazed into the reflection as you felt yourself growing closer and closer to your orgasm.

Hendery’s ringed fingers came down hard on your ass, and the sting of pleasure sent you crashing through your orgasm.

You only barely managed to hold yourself up to still look into the mirror as you came for Hendery. You looked up at the reflection of his face, and what you saw there scared you a little. You saw the dark look in his eyes, an emptiness as he fucked you like it would make him really feel something, but it was then that you saw that all his charm and seduction was just a mask, and right then you were seeing Hendery without his mask, robotically fucking you to make himself feel something.

When he cums inside the condom a moment later, you look away from his face, and the next time you look up after he’s pulled out and is disposing of the condom, you find his mask back in place. A cocky smile as he tells you that you sounded so sexy moaning daddy for him, begging for his cock.

But now that you’ve seen beneath his mask, you can hear the hollow sounds behind his words.

He rocked your world absolutely, you’ve never had a better orgasm. But even after you leave the event that night, you can’t forget the way he’d looked, and how even with all of that lack of true emotion or passion for what he was doing, he’d still treated you so good all night.

Your body craved another orgasm by his hand, or rather by his cock.

Luckily, you had the perfect excuse. You’d left your phone in that hidden pocket of his jacket. A full day and a half passed before you finally really needed your phone and you finally confirmed to yourself that you could go to a Hendery again if he would have you.

You called your phone from a friend’s, and you were so pleased when three rings in, someone picked up on the other end.

“Hendery?” You asked cautiously as he’d not said a word.

“Yeah, I’m guessing you want your phone back?” He says.

You cradle the phone closer. “I do sort of need it. Have I missed any calls?”

Hendery’s quiet for a second and then. “Two from your boss. Hope that doesn’t mean anything bad for you.” His voice is flat, tired, and you wonder if you just woke him even though it’s edging toward two in the afternoon. He yawns. “You can come pick it up at my place.” He rattles off the address, and you write it down on your hand.

His house is huge, gorgeous, and so out of reach from your position in life that it almost hurts when the gates swing open after you press the buzzer button. The taxi you’d taken here still rumbles and puffs exhaust behind you, and you just know the driver is still craning his neck to take in the place, probably thinking he should’ve charged you more for the ride. But the gates clank shut behind you, and then it’s just you, a massive drive way and a fountain and large green shrubs that are neatly trimmed, and the house looming up before you.

A butler—an honest to god butler with the penguin suit and everything—opens the door for you and tells you he’ll lead you to “Master Hendery.”

It takes the entire walk through the house to Hendery for you to decide that the butler is not joking about calling Hendery ‘Master’ as he even begins addressing you formally. You pass maids as well, handfuls of them dusting and sweeping and carrying laundry. And it’s all just incredible to you because it takes you as long to reach Hendery’s bedroom from the front door as it takes you to walk from your favorite take out place to your sofa in your apartment.

“This is fucking insane,” you say as you step through the doorway the butler holds open.

The door snaps shut behind you, and you take a moment to look around at the entryway you’re in. There’s a sitting area to your left, a spacious bathroom visible through a doorway to your right. And just right there you’re overwhelmed with the luxuriousness of Hendery’s lifestyle.

“Are you coming in?” Hendery asks, his voice from somewhere deeper inside his palatial suite of rooms. You finally do walk further inside, passing through the sitting area to eventually find yourself in his bedroom.

There’s a large unmade bed with a pair of feet hanging out the side and someone still snoring beneath the blankets. A bay of windows looks out over the side lawn of Hendery’s home, a manicured lawn with a pool and more neatly trimmed shrubbery. It’s against those windows that you find Hendery. He’s got his legs stretched out the length of the windows eat while he stares down into the yard and pops mouthfuls of something into his mouth from the plate in his lap.

You clear your throat, and he snaps away from the window, looking at you. Your gaze slides away, back to the figure in his bed.

Hendery stands up, dropping the plate onto the window seat as he gesture for you to follow him. “That’s just Xuxi. You know, Huang Xuxi.”

You do know. Everyone who’s paid any attention to the life of Hendery knows Xuxi as well as Dejun, the two most wealthy and most prolific with their sexual encounters, just one rung below Hendery on the list.

Hendery doesn’t say anything else about his friend, instead he leads you back through the sitting room, in through the spacious bathroom, and out the other side into his closet. You try not to let your eyes grow to wide at the wealth you see amassed in this one room. Hendery ignores your expression, the look of wonder on your face, and he points at the window into the room, another window seat, where your phone is plugged into a charger.

You don’t even consider what a strange place this is for your phone to be. You just walk over and scoop it up, sit down to check your notifications. You have two voicemails from your boss, the first irate, the second still irate but slightly concerned as you normally return his calls within an hour at most, and his two calls were 24 hours apart. You quickly shoot off a message to him apologizing and explaining the situation in as few words as possible, promising him that you have a story for him.

Being at the gala hadn’t been all fun and fucking with Hendery. You had actually been working too, gathering bits of information for you to compose into a story, which you’d begun on during the last day and a half.

“So everything okay with your boss? Not fired?” Hendery asks, and you look up at him, having half-forgotten that he was there and halfway believing that he would’ve left the room and returned to his bed and best friend.

“Not fired, I hope. He was just angry that he hadn’t heard from me.” You stand up and unplug your phone, tucking it into your pocket. And then you hesitate. You came all this way for your phone, it seems such a shame to leave so quickly. Especially after you’ve been thinking almost non-stop about Hendery’s cock.

Something in that must show in your eyes because Hendery smirks. “You’re a thirsty bitch, aren’t you?” You gaze works down from his smirk to his chest and then even lower to the loose linen sleep pants he wears. “Bet you forgot your phone in my pocket on purpose so you could come try to get me to fuck you again.”

You hadn’t planned that, but it truly had worked out that way.

Hendery comes closer, and you sink back down onto the windowseat, and when he stands right before you, you find your mouth level with his swollen bulge in the front of his pants.

“Do you want me to fuck your mouth, slut? Want Daddy to make a mess of you?” Hendery asks, and he pushes his fingers through your hair, tilting your head back so you’re forced to look up at his face again. “You want Daddy’s cock again?”

You swallow and suddenly your tongue feels too big for your mouth. You nod silently.

“Then open up.” Hendery runs a hand down to your jaw, thumbing at your bottom lip. “Show me what you want.”

Your mouth drops open, and you look up at his face, ready for your mouth to be filled with his big cock. Hendery tsks at you, and he reaches down to push his pants down, freeing his cock, and then he pushes immediately into your mouth.

Hendery doesn’t wait for you, he just pushes in, setting off your gag reflex, and he moans as you choke around him. He only pulls back slightly to let you breathe a bit, and then he pushes forward again. This time you take him slightly better, still gagging a bit, but Hendery seems to love that. He swears and moans, puts his hand on the back of your head and sinks forward until you’re straining to take all of him in, but you’re pretty sure that you can’t possibly take even the little bit of him that’s not yet between your lips.

“You’re taking Daddy’s cock so well,” Hendery tells you, stroking the back of your head. He starts thrusting, pulling back to thrust in sharply again. Your jaw aches already and you’ve barely even started, but the hunger for Hendery makes you brush off the ache as if it’s nothing.

You close your eyes, open up your mouth as wide as you can, and you let Hendery fuck your throat. You reach for his hips, trying to hold yourself steady, and Hendery fucks your mouth harder at your touch, he sinks into you like he’s searching for something, hungry for the feel of you around him. You think again of that look in his eyes while he fucked you at the gala.

Looking up at him now, you see him watching his cock pushing between your lips. The light coming in through the window sets his face alight, all sharp angles and perfection. His jaw clenches when you moan and suddenly try to push forward, fucking your throat down on his cock instead of the other way around.

Hendery swears and the hand on the back of your head pushes your forward, his other hand curls against the back of your neck, his thumb brushing the length of your throat in the front. You feel at last the final bit of his cock passing between your lips, your face buried against his abdomen and you’re actually choking around him now, your body rejecting this and you love it, the way that Hendery keeps holding you down on him.

He cums to the feel of your throat convulsing around him, shooting his load deep down your throat. You can feel the drool leaking from the corners of your mouth, even some tears dripping down your cheeks.

Hendery starts to pull out, and you make an awful noise of choking again. He strokes your neck and throat, murmuring some words to you that you can’t make out over the sound of your heartbeat and your own coughing.

Hendery pulls most of the way out, but you’re not ready for him to leave you yet, so you suck around what of his cock is left in your mouth, and he thrusts shallowly a few more times, weak pumps of cum leaving him, and at last you both pull away from each other.

It’s quiet for a moment.

“Who’s that?” Xuxi asks where he leans in the doorway, clearly amused at what he stumbled in upon. You wipe at your mouth, and Hendery just tucks his dick away.

“Don’t worry about it.” Hendery turns away, moving toward a smaller doorway that you missed before, leading into yet another room in this labyrinthine suite of rooms. “You know the way out!”

You’re not sure if he’s addressing Xuxi, but you’re positive that he’s addressing you. You push to your feet and brush by the other wealthy man, who turns to watch you. After a few feet, you hear him walking to catch up with you.

“So, what are you doing hiding in Hendery’s closet?” He sticks close even when you push out the door of Hendery’s room. You can’t remember which way you came from, but Xuxi taps your shoulder and then points to your left. You start that way with him tagging along. “I know you weren’t here when I passed out this morning, and Hendery never mentioned a booty call.”

“He had my phone,” you finally tell him. “We met at the gala the other night. He took my phone and I forgot to get it back before I left.”

Xuxi hums in thought, and before he can think of anything else to say, you’ve reached the front door and shoved your feet back into your shoes, dancing through the door so he can’t try to say anything more. But unfortunately, his legs are longer than yours and he catches up.

“Let me give you a ride home.” He suggests. You don’t know what he’s playing at, so you turn him down.

“I’ve got a friend on their way to come get me.” You lie, but you’re already pulling your phone out to message one of your friends who doesn’t live too far away to come pick you up. “It’s too late now for me to cancel on her. She’d be pissed.”

Xuxi doesn’t seem too impressed by what you’ve just said. He offers it up once more and then heads away to his shiny luxury car parked nearby. You’re still standing there waiting for a response from your friend when Xuxi’s speakers begin booming from the bass, and he shoots off around the driveway, sending up a small shower of the little white pebbles that make up the drive. The gates open and close behind him, the booming of the bass fades away.

Still no answer from your friend. You try another. Call your first option. No answer from either of them.

It’s not necessarily cold outside, but you shiver as a breeze skirts around the side of the house. Your phone sits silent in your hand, and you feel like all the windows of the house are watching you, the maids and the butler and most of all Hendery. You tell yourself that’s foolish.

But even if it’s foolish, you think it must be true that you were being watched in some way, because after ten whole minutes of waiting with no response from your friends, the front door of the house open behind you.

“You can come back inside, if you’d like.” Hendery stands there, looking weary. He looks so different from how he looked when you first laid eyes on him. Gone is that glamor, the rich boy polished to a shine in front of all the cameras. Here you see the tiredness, the soft edges that had been so sharp in public. “You’re clearly waiting on your ride, and it’s rude of me to just leave you waiting outside. Plus, I owe you an orgasm, don’t I? Come inside.”

He sweeps his hand in a gesture for you to step through the doorway, and it doesn’t take much more than that for you to return inside Hendery’s home.

Back within his suite of rooms, Hendery plucks at your clothes while you walk toward his bed. You shed them obediently, leaving a trail from his door until the mess of his sheets, which he tumbles you into.

In the haze of lust that takes you over, you’re not even sure what all positions Hendery bends you into. You’re aware only of the pleasure, of his cock and fingers breaking you apart only to pull you back together and do it all over again. His stamina is incredible, and it’s only when you cannot physically stand another orgasm, that Hendery finally backs off, rolling over into his back, and casting the condom toward the trash half hidden in the corner.

You curl up and look at him. The cool shuttered look on his face. He stares up at the ceiling.

“Hendery.” You reach over and hit him in the chest. He jumps and grabs your hand, pushing it away. You try not to feel hurt, but you do anyway. After all that you just did together and he rejects even just a little touch of your hand? You clear your throat and try again. “Hendery, are you—“

The last word, okay?, hovers unspoken in the air when Hendery sits up and walks away, grabbing his pants from the floor and yanking them up. You wait for a moment to see if he’ll come back, and when he doesn’t, you go looking.

You find him in the bathroom washing his face. Or, more accurately, staring down into the sink with water dripping from his face.

Part of you thinks that now is the time for you to leave. He’s clearly going through some stuff and doesn’t really want you there. He just wants someone he can bury his cock inside of, nothing more. Even if you have to walk home from here, maybe it’s better than staying.

The other part of you feels that you should stay. He’s clearly going through something, and maybe he just needs to someone to stick around and be there for him through whatever this is. But when you take a step closer to him, Hendery looks up, and the second that he spots you he comes over and sweeps you into his arms, trying to kiss you and pick up again where you left off in bed.

You push at his chest. “Stop. Are you okay?”

Hendery makes a sound of frustration, and tries to kiss you again. You push at his chest again.

Hendery spins away, walking into his closet, walking deeper and deeper, and you follow him this time, slipping through that narrow doorway from one room of the closet into the next.

He walks through a section that is nothing but shoes, another that seems to be just suits. You follow him through a private laundry room, and you see a maid slipping back through a narrow door as Hendery passes by. You follow him until there’s nowhere else to go.

In a small square room at this end of his suite, there are windows set into three of the four walls. Half of the ceiling is also glass, and below that is a pile of pillows and beanbag chairs. Hendery collapses down into one of them, and then looks over at you. There’s a flicker of surprise before it’s replaced once more by a somewhat petulant expression.

“Why did you follow me?” He asks.

You fold your arms in front of you. “Because you’re clearly upset about something. I don’t know what. I know I’ve only known you for hardly even two days, but there’s clearly something going on with you and you’re using sex to cope.”

Hendery rolls his eyes, grabs a pillow and squeezes it against his chest. “You can leave now. You got your phone. You’ve had my dick as well as a month’s worth of orgasms. Bye.”

His absolutely dismissive tone stokes a fire to life inside you. You hate the way that you’re just trying to show some genuine concern for him, and he’s just brushing you off and being rude about it. He was mostly fine until you denied him fucking your again. And now he’s throwing a tantrum basically, like a spoiled rich boy, unused to not getting what he wants.

“You’re such a rich brat, you know that?” You stand firmly in the doorway.

Hendery doesn’t look at you, but the way that his head turns ever so slightly lets you know that he’s listening.

“Throwing a tantrum because I won’t let you fuck me for the fifteenth time today? And getting genuinely pissed off when I’m trying to find out if you’re okay.” You want to storm out of the room but you also want to storm over to him and drop down in his lap, make him look at you and tell you why he is the way that he is. “But maybe you’re right, Hendery. Maybe I should leave you here all alone in your ivory tower. You’re right, I got what I came for: my phone. And I got to be fucked by you again. Maybe you’re used to just being used for sex, for what you can give to others without being given much of anything else in return to recognize when someone is trying to actually show some interest in you and your personal wellbeing.”

Hendery turns his head again, almost facing you, but just looking at the floor, refusing to make eye contact. You think you must’ve hit a nerve of some sort.

“If you really want me to leave then tell me to leave. I’ll go. But I hope we’ll see each other again, Huang Guanheng. I hope the next time I see you, you’ll smile and mean it, that you won’t just drop the smile as soon as you think no one’s looking. I’ll see you around.” You turn today leave.

A hand catches your wrist. “Wait,” Hendery says. “Don’t leave me alone.”

You half turn back to him, and he squeezes your wrist.

“Stay.” He says, and with just that one word, a part of you breaks and you feel like you’ll never leave him.

Hendery pulls on your hand, drawing you closer and down to sink into the beanbag chair with him. He doesn’t look at you, but he softly pleas again, “Just stay. I hate sleeping alone.”

You sit for a while together silently, squished together in a beanbag chair as the sun sets, and at some point you rest your head on his arm and you just look at him. Hendery falls asleep, his head tilted back to look up at the glass part of the ceiling, and you watch his eyes close and hear his breathing fall steady and slow.

Maybe it’s weird to just watch him while he sleeps, but where else are you going to look? Any time that you shift, his arms twitches beneath you, as if he’s ready to pull you back to keep you from leaving him.

Hendery looks so soft as he sleeps. So relaxed, freed of whatever it is that plagued him while he’s awake. His pretty hair falls back from his face, leaving his forehead visible, unblemished by a frown or stern set of his eyebrows. His lips are parted and you notice that they’re turned up in a slight smile. You admire his profile—the line of his nose, the length of his eyelashes, all of the little attractive qualities about him. The sound of his breathing is like a lullaby.

You’re nearly about to fall asleep yourself when you realize that Hendery is awake again.

You don’t know when his eyes opened, but between one slow blink of your heavy eyes and the next, you realized that Hendery was gazing up at the sky through the ceiling, the stars growing more visible as night settled.

“I’m lonely, that’s my problem.” Hendery says the words softly as if he’s not sure if he really wants you to listen. “No one ever sticks around, and even if they do, they don’t really care.”

You get more comfortable with your head on his shoulder, and you tell him, “I’m here, Hendery.”

“Because you wanted dick.” Hendery keeps staring up at the ceiling, beyond it to the stars. “That’s why you’re still here.”

“Yes, at first.” You answer honestly. “What are you looking at, anyway?” You shift your head closer to his. His ear touches your cheek. “Do you know astronomy, Hendery?”

He jerks his head. “No. I just like looking. It’s dark enough and clear enough around here that we can actually see the stars somewhat decently.”

His arm beneath your head curls, draping over your shoulder. It’s comfortable, and you sink into Hendery’s touch, keeping your eyes up on the night sky as well. “Do you know anything about any of the stars?”

So Hendery begins telling you a few things, pointing out the constellation you can see, telling you stories behind the constellations, stories that you’re not familiar with, but the longer Hendery talks about them, the more you can see that he’s put some time into learning them. After a while you look away from the stars and back to his face, to the passion in his eyes and the smile on his face, the way that he stares up at the stars in awe.

You wake up in the morning with an achy neck and no memory of actually falling asleep. The last thing you remember is Hendery’s musical voice painting a story of a dragon across the night sky.

But now, Hendery is nowhere in sight.

Sunlight pours through the windows of the room, and you squint, shielding your eyes against the blaze. You rub at your eyes as you sit up, and a blanket falls down into your lap. You drag it up around your shoulders like a cape as you pass back through his extensive closet and the bathroom. The sitting room is empty as well, but he’s sitting on the edge of his bed, raking his fingers through his hair and talking on his phone.

Not wanting to pry, you quietly head back to the bathroom, hoping that by the time you’re finished showering and everything, his phone call will have ended.

His shower is massive, and it takes you somewhere close to three minutes to figure out all the controls, but finally you do stand in the glass shower, steam pressing against the walls, warm water massaging your back, racing through your hair and relaxing the ache in your neck. You start singing, quietly to yourself at first and then louder. The acoustics in the bathroom are wonderful, and you’re admiring that as you wash down your body, when another voice joins in.

You swear and turn around toward where you think the door. Your voices echo around the room, but Hendery speaks again, “You’re awake.”

You feel a spray of cold air cutting through the steam, and then you see Hendery, his bare form stepping up to stand beside you under the showerhead. He smiles, once again that charming playboy rather than the vulnerable side of himself he’d shown you last night.

“Plans today?” You ask him.

“Not really. Do you?” His gaze flicks up and down your frame, dragging slowly up from your feet, lingering when he reaches the apex of your thighs, then suddenly he’s gazing into your eyes with a fiery hunger, a half-hidden plea for you to stay, to clear your schedule for him.

You drape your arms over his shoulders, moving so you’re standing in front of him, your wet bodies fitting together. “No plans. I can send my boss my story from the gala tomorrow. As long as you promise to keep me entertained today?”

Hendery lowers his mouth to yours. He slides a hand around to palm at your ass, the other comes up to press between your shoulders, holding your chest firmly against his. His busy fingers on your ass slip into the cleft between your cheeks, dipping in deeper and deeper until you moan and press back on his fingers, just wanting him inside you.

“You gonna be good for Daddy?” Hendery speaks the question against your lips, backing off just enough that you can moan for him. “Yeah, you want me to fuck you again? Thought you weren’t here just for my dick?”

You shake your head. “I’m not, but fuck, you’ve got me all worked up now.” You reach back to hold onto his wrist, keeping him from pulling his curious fingers away from your entrance. “Just touch me, please. Daddy.”

That’s what does it.

Hendery kisses you again, his mouth hot and sharp on yours as he steps forward, pressing you backwards until you feel the glass wall of the shower cool and damp against your back. He pulls your hips forward so his wrist isn’t trapped so uncomfortably between your ass and the glass. And then he slides his finger over your needy entrance, and when you make just the sound he’s been listening for, he presses it inside you.

You pull your mouth away from his, dropping it back almost painfully against the glass. Your moan echoes between the glass walls. Hendery fingers you and mouths at your throat, soon working another fingers inside you, opening you up for his cock.

When you’re bucking your hips forward, rubbing against his erection, moaning for him, that’s when Hendery pulls his fingers away.

He flips you around, pressing your chest against the glass, drawing your hips back flush against his.

“Look at you, slut, hungry for my cock, just needing to be stuffed full.” His hand comes down on your ass. You whimper. Hendery swears and you know he just saw you clenching around nothing, looking so invitingly snug for his cock. “You want Daddy to fuck you?”

“Yeah, fuck me.” You push back, only to feel his hand burning against your ass again. “Please, Daddy, want you to put your big cock in me, I need it so bad.”

Hendery takes hold of his erection, drags it between your legs, teasing it over your entrance. You feel weak, twitching with the need to get off and touch yourself, but you don’t even have to try that to know that Hendery doesn’t want you to touch yourself. He wants you to cum solely from what he does to you.

He slaps his dick against your ass cheeks, and then pushes into you.

It burns sweetly as he pushes in deep, as you stretch around him. Even though you had him multiple times yesterday, it feels all new today. Hendery pounds into you, nailing right into that spot inside of you that sends stars across your vision, pleasure unfurling through you and turning your vision white.

Hendery presses in as deep as he can go as you cum, your walls squeezing around his cock, feeling so sensitive but still craving to be touched.

He’s so into the feel of you around him, that you don’t think he notices when your hand slips from the glass, reaching around to wrap your hand around yourself, whimpering daddy all the while. Hendery thrusts into you still, continuing on to his orgasm, carrying you too toward a second one which you feel swiftly coming towards you.

“Ah, fuck,” Hendery groans, snapping his hips forward so harshly that you knock against the glass. A whimper spills from your lips. Hendery reaches around you, drawing you back again, and that’s when he notices that you’ve been touching yourself. He clicks his tongue in disapproval. “Trying to cum again on my cock? Well, come on, baby.”

He fits his hand against yours, his fingers lining up with yours, touching you while you touch yourself, pumping his hand on your cock all while he still thrusts deeply inside you.

You feel yourself growing close again, pushing back on his cock. Your moans and cries of daddy and Hendery! are swallowed up by the steam billowing around the pair of you, and Hendery cums without warning, pulling out of you so quickly that you don’t even have time to miss him before you feel his hot cum painting stripes over your ass, his soft moans he leaves against your shoulder along with soft kisses.

Your joined hands continue to work on getting you to your second orgasm, and it’s when Hendery bites down on your shoulder that you spill over. Hendery rubs you through it, kissing your shoulder and murmuring to you how sweet you look cumming like this, dripping cum over your fingers and the glass, making such a mess.

“I’m tired again,” you tell him, slumping forward against the glass.

Hendery hums and pulls his hand away, bringing it to his mouth to lick his fingers clean. You rest your cheek on the glass, watching him do this, and it makes you feel warm with desire still, but you can’t take more right now. Not even when he grabs you by the hips and drags you back under the shower’s spray, cleaning the cum off of you carefully. 

You end up down in a large overly fancy kitchen. A chef has several things going at once, and you’re not sure what to look at or do, but Hendery sits down at the table, pours himself a glass of juice, then pushes out the chair beside him, nodding pointedly at it. “Sit down.”

Breakfast, which is really more like brunch given the hour, is extraordinary and rich. You feel absolutely stuffed by the time you’re finished, ready to just laze about with Hendery. Until he gives you the news.

“I’m having a party here tonight.” He rubs a hand on your thigh, smiling a bit conspiratorially. “All sorts of friends are going to be here. Booze, drugs, whatever you like. Just don’t go writing about it.”

Being with Hendery makes you almost forget about your job. And you like him. You wouldn’t gossip about him even to get paid.

“DJ’s coming. Xuxi too.” And then he lists several other names that sound vaguely familiar, like you’ve heard them in connection with his name before—celebrities and other rich kids—and some less familiar names as well. “Will you stay?”

Hendery kisses your cheek and then goes lower to your neck.

You grown and push at him. You’re still sitting at the kitchen table. His chef is just a few feet away. His hands are constantly moving, massaging, stroking, attempting to entice you to stay.

When he kisses a sensitive spot on your neck and strokes at your thighs, you almost moan.

Instead you push him away more firmly this time. “You don’t have to make everything about sex, you know? Why don’t you show me around? Or tell me more about you?”

Hendery grumbles a little bit, but he stands up, takes your hand, and leads you out of the kitchen. He shows you around, showing the pantries, a greenhouse, the gym and sauna, the pool, the private movie theatre. There’s the great room, the sitting room, another sitting room, a study that holds so many books you can’t even take them all in before he’s whisking you away. He shows you the garden and the outdoor pool, the mini golf course his father had put in when he was younger.

“And where is your father?” You ask him as Hendery you pass by a gardener and the groundskeeper who are arguing over a flowerbed. “He lives here too, right?”

Hendery looks sideways at you. “Oh, you have a real Daddy kink don’t you? You trying to bump into my dad, baby?” He laughs and you can tell he’s completely joking with you. “Trust me, you’re not my dad’s type. He likes them pretty and dumb with big tits. You might be very easy on the eyes, but you’re not dumb at all. And your dick might be a bit of a problem for him.”

You can hear the bitterness clear in his tone.

You’re familiar with the story. Mr. Huang had been married to Hendery’s mother, by all accounts was head-over-heels crazy for her, but she passed away when Hendery was still very young. Mr. Huang quickly moved on to a young, hot girl. And after her there was another and another and another. An endless stream of models and actresses and heiresses, all beautiful and sweet, but none of them lasted too long.

“My father is in Moscow on business at the moment,” Hendery says coldly. “He’ll probably come back with my next mom.”

To change the subject (because you really don’t like the dark cloud that suddenly rains on Hendery’s parade), you ask him, “What’s your favorite room?”

Hendery brightens up a bit. “We’re on our way there now.”

You walk through a bit more of the garden, fragrant flowers and neatly trimmed grass, stepping stones cross a small pond swimming with koi fish. There’s a tall tree and a small picnic area, and then Hendery pulls you beneath a pergola woven with wisteria, then right through a pair of glass double doors.

The room inside is shaded on one side but on the other side sunlight spills through windows set high on the wall. It’s quiet inside, just dust motes dancing through soft sunlight. There’s a piano and drums, a violin and cello, guitars and microphones and every instrument you can imagine.

“Father always had me study music. I think he thought it would calm me down as a child. Pretty sure it made me louder and didn’t teach me nearly as much discipline as he’d have liked.” Hendery walks away from you, trailing his fingers almost lovingly over the instruments he passes.

When he reaches the piano, he looks back at you.

“Can you play them all?” You ask.

“Most of them. Not always well.” He sits down at the piano bench. “Do you play?”

You shake your head no.

As a child you’d often dreamt of playing the piano. Not necessarily to become a master of it, but just simply because you enjoyed the sound and that watching a pianists fingers flowing smoothly over the ivory keys was mesmerizing. Your parents hadn’t been able to afford the lessons and when you once attempted to play the piano in the music room at your school, you’d realized it was a little more difficult than you’d imagined. So you’d given up and never looked back.

Until now.

You slide down beside Hendery on the bench. “No I don’t play. But if you do, I’d love to hear.”

Hendery smiles. “Anything in particular you’d like to request?” He flexes his fingers, stretching them in preparation.

Suddenly you can’t think of a single song. Your mind goes blank and you just gaze at Hendery, all lit up in a heavenly golden glow. He’s so handsome, and right then as you sit shoulder-to-shoulder with him in his favorite room of this massive home of his, you really look at him and feel an ache deep in your chest. A stupid, silly ache. Like you’re falling in love with this rich playboy who’s just using you so he doesn’t feel lonely.

When you don’t give him a song to play, just continuing to stare at him distractedly, Hendery laughs his goofy but wonderful laugh, and he starts playing anyway. It’s not a song you recognize, but it’s lovely all the same. After that he plays another and another, and you listen intently, amazed by how well he plays, watching his fingers move over the keys.

“You’re really good,” you tell him.

Hendery runs a hand through his hair, messing with it nervously. “Thanks. Part of me always dreamed of playing, pursuing music as some form of a career, but my father insists that I follow him with the business. A career in music wouldn’t allow that.”

“Do you sing?” You ask, nudging him. “I bet you have a lovely voice.”

Hendery laughs, the sound filling the whole room. “I can. I’m better at rapping. When I was younger, Xuxi, Dejun, and a couple other guys seriously considered forming a group. Father brought his fist down on that. Even though he’s the one that got me started on music in the first place. So now I just satisfy myself with coming in here to mess around sometimes.”

For the better part of the next hour, Hendery picks up different instruments, playing a bit for you on each one. He’s still actually humming along to a melody as you leave the music room, exiting back out under the wisteria. The sunlight of the early afternoon feels great, kissing your cheeks, the breeze pushing pleasantly warm air over your arms. You tilt your face up to feel it all the better.

Hours later you find yourself emulating that pose. Your face is turned up to the sight of Hendery standing on the second floor of the house, speaking to the crowd of partygoers. He’s decked out again, hands gleaming silver with rings and bracelets. A drunken couple of girls giggles beside you, falling over each other, and one of them mentions how sexy Guanheng looks with his hair like that.

You have to agree. Sex hair that he’d never fixed does look quite good on him.

You’d raked your fingers through it as he went down on you, sucking your life through your dick until a knock on the door of his suite of rooms announced the arrival of Xuxi and Dejun, who in turn announced that other party guests were starting to show up.

And now he presented his hair messed by your fingers in front of the whole party while you stood below, drinking something Hendery had shoved into your hands before he dashed up the stairs to make a speech.

He’d already introduced you around to a few people. Xuxi and Dejun, of course, and then also a singer, an actor, a producer, a rich kid whose daddy owned a car company and made the guy a racecar driver the minute he turned 18. All old friends, he told you, and as you looked at them and Hendery, you could see the connections, the constellation that they made. Age-old lights gleamed in their eyes.

You wanted to tell Hendery that he wasn’t nearly as alone as he might think. He was like all the stars in the night sky, part of something greater than they could see from where they stood.

The party raged on. You saw faces you’d only ever seen in entertainment spreads before, heard names that you’d written about. There were things going on there that you knew would fetch a pretty penny if you wrote about them, but though your hands itched to write, they were tied behind your back by your promise to Hendery. Nothing you saw tonight would make it to the gossip columns.

Even when you saw Sicheng, Hendery’s actor friend, flirting with a pretty young actress who was rumored to be dating an actor that she was filming a movie with, you kept your hands still. Even when he pulled her into his lap and she kissed his face and giggled, you just distracted yourself from the urge to write a news story by instead staring at Hendery, reminding yourself of the promise, distracting yourself with fantasies.

Hendery caught you looking a few times. It’s the fifth time as you’re looking at him over the edge of your glass that he grins back at you, draping his arm over your shoulders. “What’re you looking at?” He laughs, pulling you close enough that he can affectionately rub his head against yours.

“Just you,” you tell him.

Hendery keeps smiling a wide, loose smile that spreads wider than normal due to the alcohol. He slides his arm from your shoulders, instead laying a hand on your thigh. You stare at it, remembering the way his fingers had moved on the keys of the piano earlier, wishing that he would touch you as he’d touched that instrument, to master playing your strings and keys as well as he was with the instruments in that room.

“You really like him, don’t you?” The boy sitting across from you both says. You look up and see one of Hendery’s friends looking at the pair of you and how close you sit, the familiar way in which he touches you. “How long have you known each other?”

Xuxi butts in then, “Like two days. I caught him blowing Hendery in his closet when I was leaving yesterday. They didn’t seem too close, something about a phone, right?” He squints at you and you nod. That is what it had been. Then. But things had changed for you since then. “Clearly I was wrong, and you’ve gotten closer since I left. I thought we both were leaving, huh? Not fair that you traded me in your bed for him, Hendery.” He raises his eyebrows at you and Hendery.

Hendery’s hand leaves your thigh, and he grabs for the drink in Xuxi’s hand instead. “Fuck off. As if it means anything when we mess around, Xuxi? And it’s not like it’s a big deal.” He gestures between you and him, and then tilts his head back and downs the glass in one gulp.

You want him to lean back beside you, settling his warmth around you like a comfort in this strange atmosphere of his friends and his guests, but Hendery moves farther away, drowning himself for a few moments in a drink that someone hands to him. And then after that he leaves you there as he goes to talk to someone he spotted across the room.

The night had been going well.

Hendery kept his distance after that, winding deeper and deeper into the maze of the house, always fitting himself into the hearts of groups, dancing away any time that you finally spot him. You comfort yourself in the company of his producer friend, Kun, talking about some of the tracks and artists he’s been working with lately, talking about the time you did a story on him and his partner before he branched off to make a solo production company.

You try not to feel hurt that Hendery’s abandoned you at the party he invited you to stay for. But as the night grows later, edging toward dawn, Kun leaves the party, and you consider leaving as well. You did tell your boss you’d send him your story today, and Hendery’s not paying any attention to you, so maybe you should head home. You go in search of Hendery to tell him you’re leaving.

One of the pretty girls from earlier in the night has edged her way closer to him, and you find Hendery with this girl pressed up on him, perched in his lap. She’s laughing and clinging to him, and Hendery lets her. And then his eyes land on you. His arm on the girl’s waist tightens and she squeals in delight, kissing at his neck, giggling and murmuring sweet words to him, slipping her hand down between them so she can touch him.

His eyes slide from yours as he turns toward the girl, pulling her mouth to his.

You shouldn’t be upset. You knew what this was.

You were a hook up at the gala, a one night stand when you came to get your phone. Hendery is just a rich boy, a playboy who fucks around with anyone pretty who catches his eye. It’s not anything more than just a no-strings hook up when you’re with him. You have no right to feel upset by what you see.

But you do anyway.

You turn on your heel before you see anything else. You move through the party without noticing anyone or anything, brushing by people, knocking over something that luckily doesn’t break onto the ground (no matter how much you want it to, just to see something that looks the way you’re feeling right now—jagged and broken and out of place, all spread over the floor).

Already you’re out the door and halfway down the drive when you realize you don’t have your phone. Or your clothes. You’re still wearing Hendery’s borrowed clothes and you’d left your phone in his room, and you’ll be damned if you have to come back here for either of those reasons again.

You’re already stripping out of the clothes the second you step through the doors into his room, and before the door swings shut behind you, you hear footsteps, and then the door pushes open again, Hendery says your name.

You glance back at him, at the even more unkempt state of his hair and the way that his shirt’s collar is tugged askew. There’s a smear of that girl’s lipstick on his throat.

He says your name again.

“What? Why’d you leave her? It seemed you really liked her, Hendery. I mean, please, don’t let me leaving ruin the fun you were about to have.” You say. “I’m just getting my phone and my clothes and then I’ll be gone, and you can go back to using sex as a coping mechanism and a means of distancing yourself from people who want to be close to you. Have you ever thought maybe you want to be alone? That you cause this for yourself by pushing people away, not letting them get close to you?”

You drop his borrowed shirt over the back of a chair in his sitting room, and you keep walking toward the bedroom. You hear him following you.

“Maybe,” you continue, “you don’t want to be vulnerable and open. You just want to keep to your dark broodiness, you want to keep yourself isolated so you have something you can complain about because you’re so incomprehensibly wealthy that you don’t have any other problems to deal with, so you’ve created one for yourself.”

You drop the pants, and then reach for your own clothes that are piled right where you left them the day before. His bedsheets are still a mess, you can see a gross cumstain on the sheets, and you freeze, remembering for a moment how it had felt as he fucked you on his bed, his body covering yours from behind, your hips grinding against the sheets, his teeth digging into your shoulder and neck, and the way you’d moaned at the feel of his cock pounding inside you, right against your prostate.

A hand touches yours, and Hendery brings you around to face him.

“Are you really going to leave?” His voice sounds small. “Don’t go.”

He dips forward as if to kiss you, to reel you back in to his orbit so easily. But you push at his shoulders, and say, “This is what I’m talking about. You’re using sex to make yourself feel better, to manipulate people into getting close. But you don’t want anyone to stay.”

“Please?” Hendery latches onto your hand again. “Stay. The chef’s already up, he’ll make us whatever we order, anything at all. Name the most delicious thing you can think of, and I’ll send down for him to make it. Stay for breakfast.”

“Hendery.” You groan, and push at his chest again. “I don’t care about that. I’m going to leave because I need to go home and sleep so I can finish my story for my boss. I’ll grab a burger on my way home, a cheap, disgustingly greasy burger. Why don’t you go find that pretty girl who was so eager to get into your pants. Or Xuxi, you’ve already made it obvious that he’s fine with warming your bed. Or I’m sure you’ve still got guests down there who would be so excited to have you fuck them or throw your wealth at them. And even if not, you’ve got all this around you, I’m sure you can preoccupy yourself somehow. Maybe count all that jewelry in your closet, but don’t pretend for a second that you want me to stay because I actually mean something to you.”

“I don’t care about all that! I don’t want it!” Hendery cries in frustration as he pulls the rings from his fingers and throws them across the room. You hear them bouncing and plinking off the tiles and the wall and the windows. “Don’t you get it? Haven’t I already made it clear? All of this money doesn’t do a damn thing for me! I’m still lonely. I still feel like no one appreciates me for anything other than my money or for sex. They all are only interested in what I can give them!”

But then he steps forward, his hand touches your cheek, and then he touches the other, cupping your face between his hands. And in a voice far gentler than the one he’d just been using, Hendery says, “Except for you. You are the first person I’ve met in I don’t even know how long who’s made me feel like I’m more. The way you look at me, I don’t feel like you’re looking at just me on the surface, you’re looking deeper. Maybe that’s a lame thing to say, but I feel like a person when I’m with you. Like I can feel things and want things, like I don’t have to give and give and give. I can see that you want me, that you love the way I make you feel when we have sex, but it’s not like that’s all I see when you look at me. You listen. Even when I’m talking absolute nonsense about stories of dragons in the sky, when I’m banging out a bad tune on the piano, anything I’ve said, you’ve listened.

“And you’re right. I do use sex to cope, to fill in this gaping hole of loneliness, and I fail every time and I’m still hollow and aching. I want to have people close to me, but it scares me. I haven’t— I haven’t been open with someone totally in years and I got hurt, and maybe I shouldn’t be telling you all this because we don’t really know each other well and you’re a reporter so if things go wrong then you’ve got this shit to write a story about. But I opened up and got hurt and I’m so lonely and tired of feeling used, and you’re the one person I’ve met in so long who doesn’t make me feel like a vending machine for what other people want of me.

“So stay. Please stay.” Hendery drops his forehead against yours.

And just like that, you do.

Not because he wants you to. Not because of that whole eloquent speech (well, okay, partially because of both of those things), but you stay because you want to. Because over the last approximately thirty-two hours that you’ve spent with Hendery, you got to see a side of him that you really liked. The boy behind the mask his father made for him. A boy who’s more than just lonely, but a boy who wants to be heard and seen, who wants to be loved for who he is. 

You don’t know what that trauma is from his past that hurt him so he pushes people away while  desperately begging them to come closer. All you know is that with his hands on your cheeks and his forehead against yours, you slide your arms around his waist and never want to let him go again.

Dawn finds you wrapped together in the garden, a thick blanket draped around both of you as you sit together and enjoy cheap, disgustingly greasy burgers from a 24 hours place that’s not too far off, just a short drive there and back. You rest your head on Hendery’s shoulder, listening to the sounds of nature waking, and the snores of a few partiers who passed out on the patio nearby.

Eventually, as Hendery starts nodding off, you convince him up onto his feet as the first rays of sunlight spread across the lawn, and together you return to his room, crawling into bed with dew still wet on your toes. 

Hendery really doesn’t like it when you roll out of bed when the clock shows it’s nearly noon. He groans and reaches for you, trying to grab onto any part of you to pull you back in, but you dance out of his reach. 

“I really do have to go home. If I want to keep my job, I can’t miss a deadline. I’m already cutting it dangerously close.” You lean back in and kiss his forehead, earning yourself a handsome smile from him. “I’ll see you later, right?”

Hendery nods. “Yeah, I’m not pushing you away. Hey.” He grabs onto your hand, squeezing. “I am really, really sorry about things. I like you, I genuinely truly like you, and you’re totally right about my coping mechanism and everything, and I’m stupid for trying to hook up with that girl last night when I’m fully aware of how much I like you. Like, a crazy amount. I promise,” he says so honestly and soberly that your heart beats faster, “That I am going to try my hardest to not do anything that will mess this up. So, please, come back after you’ve written a wonderful story about my father’s gala and the handsome and charming Huang Guanheng that you met there.”

A week later you find yourself back in Hendery’s arms, though this time he’s at your humble abode, squeezed into your bed, both of you pretending that you can’t hear your upstairs neighbor yelling at her husband. 

“It’s not as nice as your house.” You apologized when you let Hendery in, but he didn’t seem to care. His eyes moved over every square inch of your apartment. The small kitchen, the living room which was a futon and a coffee table that was covered with half-drunk coffee mugs, old drafts of stories your editor had sent you all marked up in red with necessary revisions, your laptop, a goldfish bowl that was now home to a lovely little cactus ever since your beta fish died, and a tall stack of books.

At the other end of your single-room apartment was a divider you’d drawn across the space to shield your bed from view if ever you decided to entertain anyone. Not that the divider seemed to block Hendery’s curiosity, and a few seconds after he stepped inside he was guiding you by the hand toward your own bed. It took no time to strip each other and then Hendery had you on your back, your fingers twisted in his hair as he sucked your cock.

Hendery’s mouth was heaven, his talent with his tongue left you speechless, tugging on his hair in a way that had him moaning in delight, and just as you’re riding up to the edge of your orgasm with your hips rocking up off the bed, Hendery pulls off, dropping all contact.

You gasp and sit up, ready to whine and beg, but Hendery’s just stepping back to root through his pocket for a condom.

“What are you doing?” You ask, clenching your bedsheets in your fingers. “I have condoms. Get back over here.” You reach under the edge of your bed, bringing out a condom as well as a bottle of lube. Hendery drops his pants back on the floor, and you tip back onto your back, spreading your knees apart for him to fit between your legs.

You look up at your ceiling as you listen to Hendery popping the cap on the bottle of lube, squirting some out onto his fingers. He kisses your thighs, nipping at them lightly with his teeth as he works the lube over his fingers, warming it up a bit before he carefully eases one finger inside you, opening you up for him, sucking at your cock once again.

In no time, Hendery has you close again.Three fingers in, his mouth working magic on you as well. You tug and pull on his hair, dragging him up off your cock, and Hendery kisses a fiery trail up your body until he reaches your lips. 

“I need you. Now.” You moan.

Hendery swiftly rolls the condom down his length, then pulls you up as he lies down. “I want you to ride, Daddy.” 

Too eager to have him inside of you, you immediately move to straddle him, sitting right down on him. Hendery wraps his hand around your dick, swiping his thumb over your tip, cooing at you and telling you how good you look riding Daddy’s cock. It’s hard to not focus on just getting yourself off.

The way Hendery’s hitting so deep inside you, his cock brushing past your prostate each time you drop your hips back on him. And his hand on your cock, jerking you off at the same pace as you’re riding him. It’s all too much.

“Hendery!” You cry out, so close to your orgasm. He pulls his hand away, instead grabbing at your hips, holding you right where he wants you so he can thrust up into you, fucking you with hard, quick thrusts that soon have you cumming untouched onto his belly. And as soon as you’ve finished, he’s touching you again, a hand wrapped around your spent, sensitive cock, and he continues fucking you at a brutal pace.

You’re certain your neighbors can probably hear you, but you can’t hold in your moans, whimpers of oversensitivity.

Hendery nails your prostate with each thrust, and your cock keeps blurting out drops of cum onto his belly, his hand milking you for all you’ve got. 

When you can take no more, you collapse on top of him, and Hendery just holds your hips tighter and chases his own orgasm, moaning in your ear, saying, “You feel so right around Daddy’s cock. God, so tight. Like you were made for me.” 

You moan and tuck your face into his shoulder, biting his skin lightly between your teeth as Hendery cums. His body shudders under you, his cock jerking and filling the condom inside you, and you cum again too at the feeling, just adding more to the sticky mess on your bellies. 

Hendery wraps his arms around you and you stay like that, dozing off with him still buried inside you. It’s only when your neighbors start arguing that you wake, and Hendery reluctantly leaves the bed at last to dispose of the condom. 

You roll over and bundle up in your sheets, then you notice him reaching for his clothes. “What are you doing? Stay.” 

You throw back the blankets, ready to forcefully pull Hendery back into bed with you, but you find that unnecessary as he drops his clothes and tackles you back into bed as if all he’d been waiting on was an invitation to stay. As if all he wanted was to be wanted in return. 

This time you wrap your arms around him, his head on your shoulder as you play with his hair, and you tell him that later you’ll make dinner for him, there’s a recipe you saw online you wanted to try out. Hendery clings to you, presses a smile against your bare skin, and tells you, “I can’t wait.”

And later, when you do finally drag yourselves out of bed (after another round or two), you cook dinner with Hendery hovering at your side, not quite sure how to help you but eagerly wanting to take part. And so what if it doesn’t turn out quite the way you want it? A little bit burnt around the edges, a dash or eight too much salt. You and Hendery made it together and you eat it together and laugh and then drown out the flavor with the alcohol he digs out for you. 

That night, after drinking yourselves to a point where you both feel light and happy, Hendery lets you do whatever you want with him. He lets you spread him out on your bed so you can kiss over every inch of him. He sighs with pleasure when you drip wine over his chest and lick it off his skin, drinking it from the hollow of his throat. 

Hendery cums embarrassingly quick when you grind against him, licking and sucking at his throat and murmuring dirty things against his skin, whimpering how needy you are for Daddy’s cock to fill you up again. 

He fucks you later against the window, telling you that he wants the whole city to see how you look with him inside you, and you look at your reflection in the glass. 

You see Hendery behind you, like the first time you were together, but this time his face isn’t cold indifference just trying to feel something. No, this time Hendery’s eyes burn with passion, his face shows the strain of trying not to cum again already as your walls flutter and clench around him. 

This time Hendery touches you all over, his fingers leaving burning trails over your skin, like asteroid tails on the night sky. 

This time Hendery kisses your neck and pulls you back against him so he can reach around you and palm at your cock, so he can feel it when you cum, dripping down over his fingers, painting the window. 

This time Hendery buries his face against your shoulder and doesn’t let go. He doesn’t put a mask on to hide his face from you. He just holds you close enough that you can feel his heart beating against your back. 

When you wake in the morning, it’s to the feel of Hendery slipping back into bed. His socks touch your bare leg. Cold fingertips skim your back, and you shiver, flinching away. His breath warms your shoulder and he sneaks his cold hand once more onto your skin, over your belly where he presses his palm flat as he whispers to you, “I got breakfast.”

You open one eye and look at him. There’s a flush in his cheeks like he’d run up the stairs. He’s wearing your jacket. 

“How did you get back inside?” You yawn and roll over, stretching your arms up and then flopping into place on top of Hendery’s chest. 

“An older lady was leaving just as I was coming back. She let me in.” Hendery pokes at you. “But I brought breakfast back. Get up and come eat it.”

Everything feels so domestic as you sit down on your futon with Hendery. He unloads the breakfast. You open your laptop, checking your emails to see if your editor has any news for you. You eat together. Hendery tells you about his dream from last night about being on an airplane, and something about a pregnant woman and a cat. It’s simple and easy and you both bask in the pleasure of each other’s company.

Hendery’s in the middle of pulling you apart on his fingers, swallowing your moans as he stretches your hole wider, when there’s a knock on the door of his rooms. You whine as he rolls you off of him, drags the sheet up to cover you both, and calls for whoever it is to enter. 

The man who comes inside is no one you've ever met, but you recognize him all the same. Hendery’s father. 

His eyes land on you first, half-hidden in his son’s bed, and then he looks at Hendery. “You’ve been keeping busy while I was away. My assistant says you haven’t been into the office.”

It’s been weeks that this has been going on with Hendery. You’ve spent nearly every day together to at least some degree, and you’ve definitely not heard him say anything about going into the office. Instead the two of you have mostly been spending time together, in between making out and having sex, you’ve also been watching movies together, teaching Hendery how to cook, he’s started teaching you a bit on the piano.  You’ve hung out with some of his friends, particularly Kun, the producer, as you convinced both of them to try to make some music together, and Hendery dove headfirst eagerly into it, and Kun was extremely supportive. 

But now, with Hendery’s father standing in front of the pair of you, you can already see that light that’s been growing steadily brighter in Hendery diminishing again. You slide a hand onto his shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. His father notices. 

“Maybe if you weren’t so focused on fucking whatever pretty creature slithers into your bed, Guanheng, maybe then you wouldn’t be such a disappointment,” his father says. 

Hendery drops his head forward, not looking at his father anymore. 

But you do. You glare at the older man. “Just because he’s not following the rigid life you chose for him doesn’t make him a disappointment. Hendery is amazing. He’s incredibly talented and smart, and he doesn’t need you to tell him how to succeed.”

Hendery grabs your hand tightly. “Stop.”

You look at him, at the downtrodden look on his face. He jerks his head. You close your mouth, but you have so much more you want to say. Hendery is a fantastic person. His father is an asshole. You want to say as much, but you know that it’s not what Hendery wants or needs right now. 

“I’m sorry, Father.” Hendery ducks his head lower in apology. “I allowed myself to get distracted. I’ll come by this office this afternoon.”

His father nods and then turns and leaves the room. The door of the suite slams shut behind him, and as soon as it does, Hendery slumps back into the pillows. 

“Hendery....”

He shakes his head and closes his eyes. “Don’t.” 

You wish you could leave it. Hendery clearly doesn’t want to talk about what just happened. But you do. 

“Why do you let him walk all over you like that? If you don’t want to follow him in the business then don’t.” You crinkle the bedsheets up between your fingers. “Follow music. Or something else you’re passionate about. Don’t make yourself miserable to make your father or anyone else happy.”

Hendery groans and rolls away, rising out of bed so he can pace. You watch him like this, admiring his body in the clear light streaming through the windows. He rakes his fingers through his hair. “You don’t understand what it’s like. The business is my future. It always has been, and my father makes sure that it always will be.”

You frown and scoot to the edge of the bed to be closer to him. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he says as he comes to stand still in front of you, and continues, “that my father has always been the one controlling my life. He chose my friends. He chose my schooling and my teachers. He chose my first girlfriend. It was up to him to approve of anyone that I tried a relationship with, and it was my father who ruined the first real relationship I had, the only time I’ve ever fallen in love.”

You wait, knowing he’ll elaborate if he wants to.

Hendery continues without you having to prompt him for more. “The autumn I turned eighteen, I fell in love with a girl a year older than me. Father had called her in to tutor me in economics, but I was already kinda, I guess, what everyone calls me. A playboy, fuckboy, manwhore. All of the above.” He pushes his fingers nervously through his hair again, squinting as he stares past you out the window into the bright sunlight. “Anyway, I managed to seduce her, so lessons were less likely to be about economics and much more about anatomy. But then it turned slowly from sex and pretending that we were learning economics, to me actually taking her out on dates, and I fell in love with her and she, like you, tried to convince me that I didn’t need my father or the business. She didn’t know about my music, but she tried showing me different career paths. And then one day while she was meant to be tutoring me, Father walked in and found us together and a little bit more digging revealed what she’d been telling me, trying to convince me to do. And then she broke up with me, which was devastating in itself, but then Father told me that he’d paid her to leave me. Just one check from him was enough to eliminate everything between us. And then, to top it all off, a few weeks later she was back, actually tutoring me, and then she became my latest, newest model of a stepmother. She lived it up rich for a few months until Father grew tired of her.”

“I still don’t understand why that means that you have to do something that you’re so dispassionate about?” You ask. 

Hendery sinks down to his knees, and you watch as he lays his head on your lap. “Because. He’ll find a way to ruin anything good I try to make for myself outside of what he wants.” He takes your hand and brings it to the back of his head, so you begin stroking his hair. “It hasn’t really mattered in a long time. Not since her. He didn’t care if I was fucking around, if I was jetting off to parties on the other side of the world as long as he knows there are other wealthy people there to make connections with. He doesn’t care as long as whatever I do will profit him in the end. And it didn't matter because up until a few weeks ago, I didn’t have anything for him to ruin because there was nothing I loved enough for it to matter. But then I met you.”

You pause, your fingers going still in his hair, your breath catching in your throat. 

Hendery, the once cold and indifferent playboy you’d let fuck you in the bathroom for a fun night, now tilts his head in your lap and looks up at you so softly, his gaze tender and warm on your face. 

“I love you,” Hendery tells you in a voice so quiet and small that it could almost get lost in this room. “Please don’t leave me.”

You can’t help the noise you make. One of alarm and sadness and reassurance and love and need. You curl your fingers against whatever part of Hendery you can touch, and you pull him up. He climbs back into the bed, over you, covering your body with his, and then his mouth is smooth and sweet on yours. 

“I love you,” you tell him too, feeling the truth of it swelling, burning and beating in your chest. 

And Hendery repeats, “Don’t leave me.”

You know there’s such a depth behind those words. Now, it’s more than just a lonely boy who doesn’t want to sleep alone. More than a lonely boy who sees someone who finally listens and sees him too for who he really is beneath his facade. Now, you hear the plea of a broken-hearted boy who has had the love bought and sold from right between his fingertips. 

You hold his face in your hands. “Never,” you promise, and seal it with a kiss.

Hendery’s money is the last thing on your mind. You don’t care one bit for it. You like going on cheap dates with him to the movies on a Tuesday afternoon when it’s cheapest, even if the movies showing are only the bad ones. You amuse yourself by taking him with you on public transportation, both of you leaning together and making up stories about the other passengers; some of them are so funny that you both burst into laughter, drawing odd looks from everyone around you. You enjoy lazing about in the garden of his home, sunbathing beside the pond, or sitting beside the pool while you write your latest entertainment story, Hendery swimming laps and singing up at the sky, his voice echoing off the side of the hostage and the trees and hedges on the property. 

His father doesn’t like you, and all three of you know that. 

He doesn’t hide it. 

When you sneak down from Hendery’s bedroom at midnight to steal a snack from the refrigerator, and his father is just concluding a video call, and you bump into him as he comes out of his office, he just scowls at you. When you and Hendery are sitting at the pool with Kun and Xuxi and Dejun, laughing and filming Hendery for a music video for the song he and Kun have put together (with a little vocal assist from Dejun), his father nearly explodes. And while you and the other three boys flee back to the safety of the music room, you can hear Hendery’s father shouting about how music isn’t a viable career choice, that it’s useless. 

Hours later, Hendery fucks you until you’re both numb from the intensity of multiple orgasms, and he wraps himself so tightly around you, that you’re not sure the knots of his fingers with yours will ever untangle. 

And finally, after months, when Kun and Hendery have compiled a few songs, Kun wants to release the music as an EP. 

Naturally, you encourage him to go for it. 

And word of it gets back to his father. 

Hendery’s just left your apartment one morning, the taste of him still lingering on your tongue, and you’ve just sat down to work on your latest story—an exclusive interview you’d snagged with the lead actors of an upcoming film that was slated to be a big hit at international film festivals. There’s a knock on your door, and at the same time as you hear it, you spot Hendery’s wallet left behind in the mess on your coffee table. 

You grab it up and spring toward the door. 

But when you open the door, it’s not Hendery standing on the other side. 

“Mr. Huang?” You stare in confusion at Hendery’s father, looking so out-of-place on your doorstep. “Can I help you?”

“May I come in?” He asks, but he’s already stepping inside. 

He enters your apartment and looks around with such a judgmental eye that you almost just walk out your door to avoid whatever harsh words are surely about to come out of his mouth. But you stick firmly to your spot, letting the door swing shut as you stare at him. 

He turns to face you after he’s had his fill of your apartment. “Mr. Y/L/N, I don’t know what your parents taught you about respecting them, but I have always demanded absolute respect from my son. Guanheng has always been a distracted boy, easily caught up in things, finding himself miles away from where he needs to be. But he’s always respected me and the wishes I have for his path in life. I have done my best to keep him on the straight and narrow, but clearly, there are times when he doesn’t heed my guidance.” He looks pointedly at you. “Right now, he is straying from the path, and it’s my duty to make sure he returns and won’t stray again. You understand?”

Yes, you understand what he’s saying. But no, you don’t agree with it. 

“Mr. Y/L/N, it has come to my attention that you have been encouraging my son to pursue music, which is a fickle industry and not worthy of his time. It’s simply not a good path for him. That friend of his, Mr. Qian, his father has ties in the industry that gave him a great leg up when he began. Mr. Qian has a talented ear, and he lives up to the standards that his father set for him. But those same standards fall far below what I expect of Guanheng, you understand? Guanheng already has his path laid out before him, nice and safe and smooth from his birth until his death. Following me into the business means he’ll never have to worry about a thing.”

On some level you know that, but does a safe, boring life have to take precedence over an uncertain, yet passionate life? 

Hendery’s father looks you straight in the eye and says, “This dangerous path you’re leading him on is unacceptable. I am willing to give you ten million dollars if you will drop this subject and leave my son alone. Ten million, all yours, to just stay out of my son’s life and stop ruining it.”

You can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of you. “Are you kidding? You think I am the one ruining his life by encouraging him, showing him positivity and love, showing an interest in the things that he enjoys, rather than just squashing them out of him until his life is flat and dull and lonely? Sir, I mean no disrespect when I say this, but you are the one ruining his life.” You take a step back, open the door of your apartment, and gesture out of it. “I love your son. Completely. No amount of money or bribery you can offer will convince me to break his heart. Please leave.”

You don’t wait to watch him go. You walk away from the door and back over to where you left your phone. You immediately pick it up and call Hendery. You tell him about what just happened, not to start any shit between him and his father, but just because you feel that being open and honest about what just happened is crucial. You want him to know that you will never leave him, that you don’t want to leave him.

The warmth of summer is finally sticking, penetrating even the house, and you and Hendery hang outside, floating on your backs in the pool or seeking the coolest patch of shade in the garden. 

He’s stretched out on his back in a shady patch of grass as you look down into the koi fish pond nearby. You hear a splash and when you look over you see a little frog. He squirms when you pick him up, but then he sits in your palm, a soft damp little body, quivering in your palm. You walk towards Hendery to show him, but as soon as you call his name and are within a few feet of him, Hendery swears and scrambles away. 

“What are you doing with that? Oh my god! Put it back!” He runs as far away as he can while he can still see you to make sure that you walk back to the pond and leave the frog there. 

“I’m sorry!” You laugh. “I didn’t know you were scared of frogs.” You wipe your hands off on your shorts and settle down in the shade, beckoning him over to join you. He comes over cautiously, as if he thinks you’re going to pull another frog out of nowhere. “Hendery, I’m sorry.”

He makes a face at you and finally does come closer, sitting with his legs folded in front of him, and you take that opportunity to lay your head in his lap. 

“What else are you afraid of?” You ask. “Or is it just frogs?”

“Toads, too. And heights. Sometimes the dark, but only really pitch black dark, like in a cave or somewhere with zero light penetration.” He shivers. “And you know, also, being lonely. Losing you.”

You make a face up at him. “Cheesy.” You grab his hand, holding it over your heart. “But same. I’m scared of losing you. I’m scared of the dark, needles, and this one ridiculous scary story a friend told me when I was a kid.” You shudder just remembering the story, unable to even bring yourself to put it to words. “But we’ve got each other, right? I’ll keep you safe from frogs, and you can keep me safe from needles. But we’ll both have to do something about the dark.”

You’re still laying like that in the grass when afternoon begins to sink towards evening, the sun turning the sky amber, the grass striped emerald and navy. The first early stars begin to peek through. 

And that’s when Hendery’s father strolls out into the garden. He’s on his phone, so he doesn’t seem to notice either of you at first, but Hendery stiffens. 

“Have you spoken to him yet?” You ask. Hendery was so angry that day when you called to tell him about the bribe his father had offered you to leave him. You were so sure that a nasty argument was going to ensue, but Hendery hadn’t said anything to you about it yet.

“No, I’ve been too angry.” Hendery’s fingers clench, flexing against your chest. “And he’s been away. Plus I’m a little bit scared.”

You lay your hand reassuringly over his. “Don’t be afraid. You can’t let him control your life.”

Hendery nods, and you watch his face as a look of pure determination and strong will takes over. He taps your shoulder, and you sit up so he’s free to get to his feet. 

You watch Hendery strut across the garden and come up to his father who is still on the phone. You hear him say, “Father.” The older man holds up a finger, not even sparing Hendery a glance. Hendery looks back at you, then takes a deep breath, steeling himself, and he faces his father again. “Father, I’m marrying Y/N and we’re moving to America.”

Both are outright lies, but they send a thrill through you all the same. You imagine marrying Hendery in a small, formal ceremony. Owning a home together, moving somewhere new together, or just traveling the world together and experiencing all the great places there are to see.

The fantasy fades as you realize that his words caught his father’s attention too. 

“I’ll call you back,” he says into his phone, and then all of his attention is on his son. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

You watch as Hendery tenses his shoulders, clenches his fists tightly at his sides, and tells his father, “I’m marrying him because I love him, and I’m never going to be alone again because of something you’ve done.” 

His father looks from Hendery to you, and then back at Hendery. “Do you think you’re really going to be happy like that? Married to a mediocre reporter? And what if I cut you off?”

“I’d rather be poor and happy than always second-guessing the motives of people who get close to me.” Hendery spits back. “At least I know he won’t betray me for money, not ten million dollars, not a billion, not for all the stars in the sky. I just want to be happy, Father. He supports me, from the day we met, he’s supported me in pursuing music. I love making music. Kun and I have been working together to produce some stuff, and I want to release it. If it flops, then it flops, and I’ll just continue making music for me and anyone who wants it. If it’s successful, then that’s even better. But I just want to try to be happy, and you’ve made it clear time and again that that is not something you want for me.”

You can hear cars passing by on the road outside the property. Birds singing in the trees. But in the air between father and son, it is entirely silent for a few long seconds. 

It feels like a private moment, something that you shouldn’t really be seeing even though for the past few months, it’s felt like everything has been building toward this moment. You want to look away, yet even when you do turn to look down at your hands, you can still hear them. 

You hear Hendery’s father clear his throat and say a quiet, “Well.” Then it’s silent for another little while before he gathers together the words to say. “I do want you to be happy, Guanheng. I want you to be secure and happy, and that is always why I’ve pushed you toward this future I had planned. A nice stable future where you would never have to worry about anything, where you can be happy. Music is a hobby, not a job. And you fall in love with people who try to tell you that it’s a viable life choice, but it’s not, Guanheng. I’m just trying to protect you. Is following my footsteps into the business such an appalling thing? So horrible to you, so unsettling and disheartening, that you would leave me and disown me as your father?”

It sounds a bit like a guilt trip, in your opinion, but you keep your eyes on your hands, your mouth closed. 

“You’re an adult, and maybe it’s time I let you make your own decisions, your own mistakes to learn from.” He clears his throat again. “I do want you to be happy. Maybe I don’t show it in the proper ways, but I mean it.”

You lift your head then, just checking on them. And as you look, you catch his father’s eye. 

He’s still looking at you as he says, “Release your music, Guanheng. Marry your boyfriend. But I don’t want you to give up on the company. If music falls through, you’re taking a job in the company, and that’s the last I’ll hear of it. Be happy, but be secure in your future too.”

Hendery relaxes. Those tense knots in his body all loosen at once. “Thank you.”

And then you watch as his father claps a hand down on Hendery’s shoulder, then draws him in for a hug. 

“Your mother always loved music too.” The words are spoken quietly, intended only for Hendery, but the garden is so silent you can’t help but overhear. “I guess you got that from her.” 

He pulls out of the hug abruptly and walks back inside, leaving Hendery frozen in his spot. You push up to your feet and go to join him, wrapping your arms around him. 

“He never talks about my mother.” Hendery tells you. “And he said yes? Are we sure that’s my father?” 

You smile and kiss his cheek. “Are you happy?”

“Beyond. I should call Kun, tell him to go ahead.” He reaches for his phone, and as he scrolls through it for Kun’s contact, he looks up to meet your eyes. “And I wasn’t lying, you know. I do believe I want to marry you.”

“I want that too.” 

And after Hendery calls Kun, after they celebrate and excitedly talk over the phone for like an hour and a half while the nighttime settles around you. After it all, it’s just you and Hendery, stretched out together in the now mild summer night, looking up at the stars. 

“Remember that first night?” Hendery asks you. “Do you remember the stories I told you?” 

You look up at the constellations visible overhead, all those tiny stars millions of lightyears away, the patterns that they make from your viewpoint down here. “I remember. I remember the look on your face as you told the stories to me, the way that you looked up at the stars, like all you wanted was to be part of something great like them.”

“Yeah?”

You nod. “Yeah. You were just telling me how lonely you were, and you looked at the stars like you were jealous that they were never lonely, that they’re a part of a constellation, of a story.” You roll up onto your elbows so you can look down at Hendery. “You know, you’ve never really been alone? I’ve watched you, Hendery, the way that you are with your friends. The seven of you make a constellation of your own, and they’re all drawn into the gravity of you. Just like me. Caught in your orbit.” 

“Are you saying I’m a star?” Hendery laughs. Then he teases, “You gonna make a wish on me?”

Leaning down to kiss him, you stop just a breath away from his lips. “Oh, Hendery, I’ve already made countless wishes on you, and I’m pretty sure they’re all coming true.”

And when Hendery lifts his head from the grass so his lips meet yours, that kiss feels like a new wish, burning bright in the sky.

a/n: okay this took me a little longer than it was meant to. I originally started out making this a drabble in response to this message: Aksdhgfdj Hendery the “rich playboy who would definitely treat you right for a few nights” I would like to say I’m here for IT! which was in response to what I said about how Hendery looked during this periscope he did with Xiaojun, like black on black is truly a god-tier look for Hendery (this is only made truer after I saw him during the Wayv Beyond Live concert like oh my god I was dying of thirst)

Anyway, as usual, thank you if you read all this mess. I’m pretty sure there are a few spots that are a little messy, but if you read it all, I still really really appreciate it 💗 comments and reblogs are always greatly appreciated thank you!! 💗💗💗

[cordonian-literature]

Forever Mine

chapter one

❦ summary — The time for Princess Riley to step into her role as queen fast approaches and finding the future king is Cordonia’s top priority. Commander Liam is aware of that, and has plans to make sure the princess ends up with someone suitable.

➺ a/n: most of this story will be told in third person POV, unless stated otherwise

❦ chapter warnings: mild language 

➺ catch up here! 

❦ word count: (+/-) 1750

*all characters belong to Pixelberry, except those unique to my story*

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Hidden in the midst of lively chatter and music, Leo watches as different members of the nobility enter the ballroom. It wasn’t difficult to see who was who under all the masks, and Leo notices many of Riley’s suitors. 

Leo turns his head slightly when Maxwell Beaumont and another childhood friend of Riley’s, Hana Lee, are announced by the herald. Lady Hana hadn’t visited Cordonia in ages. Riley would be glad to see her. 

Leo remembers that Maxwell’s father had been close friends with Constantine before Riley's mother’s death. Maxwell was probably a favorable choice for Riley in the king’s eyes. More than that, Leo trusted Maxwell, remembering when the boy had confessed to having a crush on the princess when they were still children. Leo wonders if those feelings had gone away or resurfaced. 

There was also Ezekiel Theron. Even though he was the son of a diplomat, Leo had rarely seen Ezekiel at political summits and had never heard of his involvement or concern for any issue. Maybe Leo was looking too much into it. If Ezekiel didn’t particularly care for being king, then all the better: Riley would be allowed to rule by her own accord without a power-hungry man breathing down her neck.  

A familiar scent wafts past Leo; he recognizes it as Madeleine’s perfume. She has her arm linked with a distant cousin, Michael. Leo doesn’t know much about him, and he suspects that was purposeful. Madeleine has chosen someone whose image she can mold herself. 

Leo’s shoulders relax once he sees Rashad entering the ballroom. A gentleman well versed in politics, but a businessman as well. If he had the chance to become king, would he abandon his business to rule by Riley’s side? Leo thinks it's unlikely. 

But Leo’s shoulders tense up again when Neville is announced. There was nothing wrong with him that Leo could physically point out, but the way Neville looked at women made Leo uncomfortable; Madeleine had once pointed it out to him early in their engagement.

Moving away from his spot, Leo makes his way through the crowd, looking for a silent way to enter the ballroom. 

Behind him, people’s conversations quiet into whispers once Prince Alexander of Hidar is announced. Leo doesn’t think Constantine would go through with using Riley’s hand in marriage as a peace treaty. But Hidar and Cordonia are dangerously close to war. Leo wonders if Liam would support the option if it were the best for the country. 

Are those all of the suitors? Did I miss anyone? Leo wonders. Some of the Great Houses had not sponsored any young men for the season. The less men the better, Leo thinks to himself. Only six men he has to keep an eye on. 

He enters the ballroom, the shine of jewels and glass and smiles consuming him. Leo lets out a gentle sigh, revealed no one noticed him, then promptly runs into Drake who is visibly shocked at the sight of Leo. 

After an awkward laugh, Drake gives him a pat on the back as a greeting.

“She’s about to be introduced to the suitors,” Drake tells him. Both men look towards the front of the ballroom, where the men vying for Riley’s hand have lined up. 

Constantine sits on his throne with Commander Liam to his left and Riley next to Liam. The princess’ and Commander’s heads are tilted in each other’s direction. The man whispers into Riley’s ear, making her blush and giggle. 

Drake frowns at the sight. Sure, Liam had given Drake every reason to trust him, but that trust would disappear whenever Riley came into the picture; the man was too frank with her. 

Leo admits to himself that Riley being so close to the Commander didn’t seem very proper, but they were close friends and Leo trusted his sister to know her limits. 

From their spot on the sidelines, Drake and Leo watch as Riley fully turns to face Liam. The princess stands on her toes, her elaborate gown shifting with every movement, and whispers something into the Commander’s ear. Leo notices a new piece of jewelry hanging from her neck; it shines like the crystals in the chandeliers. Liam’s hand goes to her hip as he tilts his head down. Once she leans back, they make eye contact and gently giggle. 

“Is she serious? Does her father not see her acting like that?” comes a comment from a small group of nobles to Drake’s left. 

“Maybe they should keep their distance,” Drake comments under his breath. “If you forget that they’re close friends, you could think—”

“There’s no reason to speculate,” Leo interrupts him forcefully. “Look, Connie’s part of the conversation, too.” 

They watch as Constantine shares a laugh with the Commander and the princess. 

Once he stops laughing, Constantine waves his finger, and Liam kneels down to hear something the King says. When he stands up again, the friendly expression is gone and the Commander’s face yields no emotion. 

Once the suitors start greeting the King and Riley, Drake and Leo watch Liam intently, neither of them completely comfortable with how close he seemed with Riley. 

The Commander maintains a stoic expression as the suitors kiss Riley’s hand and give short introductions: Michael is the most charming, Liam admits to himself, Maxwell seems the friendliest, with Ezekiel the most nervous. Rashad was the embodiment of the perfect gentleman, and from the corner of his eye Liam sees Riley blush at the compliment the man hands her. Prince Alexander and Neville seem the most arrogant, but Liam is willing to let them change his mind. 

Once they all walk away, music fills the room. Riley turns to look at Liam, but Neville is in front of her again, asking for a dance. As they walk away, Riley gives Liam a playful frown. He gives her a small smile, and watches as Neville leads her to the middle of the dance floor. 

Liam stares at Neville intently, his gaze darkening once he notices that the man’s hands were a bit too low on Riley’s torso, that Neville had glanced towards her chest one time too many, and that he’s standing too close to her. 

“Hey, man,” Leo’s voice makes Liam’s attention falter. He has to pry his eyes off of Riley and Neville.

“Your Highness,” Liam greets, bowing his head respectfully. 

“Didn’t I tell you to stop with that?” Leo pulls Liam into a quick embrace, giving him a brotherly pat on the back. Once they part, Leo asks, “What were you and Connie talking about?” 

With a sigh, Liam tells him. “He’s declaring war against Monterisso tomorrow morning.”

Leo raises his eyebrows. “Nothing on Hidar?” 

“It wouldn’t be very practical to be hostile with them while their prince is sleeping under our roof.” 

A rough chuckle escapes Leo. “Guess that means more paperwork for you.” 

Liam scoffs, having now fully turned back to face Riley and her dance partner. “Nothing too difficult,” the Commander comments. “I’ll maybe miss a few events here and there, nothing more.” 

Leo follows Liam’s gaze back to Riley. He wanted to ask the Commander about the princess, slightly itching to know Liam’s reason for being so close to Riley. But before Leo can form a sentence, Liam speaks up, still staring at Riley. 

“Will you remain in Cordonia for the season?” 

A waiter passes by them and Leo grabs a glass of champagne. Liam refuses the offered glass, putting up a hand when the waiter stops in front of him. 

After a few sips, Leo musters an answer. “I’ll probably stay for the whole thing. I actually was planning on being far away when the season started, but figured that being here to support Riley couldn’t hurt.”

Liam gives a low laugh. “I’m sure she’ll be thankful for it. She hasn’t been doing too well these past few days.” 

“Anything serious?” 

“No, I’m assuming it’s just anxiety.” Liam remembers the anxiety that he had during his first military ball. That had been long before he met his darling. “I hope I’m enough of a shoulder for her to cry on. I’d hate for her to be alone when she feels like this.” 

Leo feels the grip on his heart loosen; clearly there was nothing between Liam and Riley. The Commander was just concerned for his friend, and Riley had taken the only outlet she had been presented with.

The rest of the evening passes by in a tense blur. Liam, Leo, and Drake discuss each of the suitors and their behaviors with Riley, and when Duchess Olivia finally arrives, she gave her opinions about each of the men as well. Prince Alexander had approached Liam and Leo separately, and both men found the prince to be as arrogant as they had assumed. 

Leo and Drake were also visibly more at ease around Liam compared to how they had been in the beginning of the evening. It was clear that Liam was just being a good friend, and by the way he spoke about Riley, Leo and Drake were convinced that the Commander’s affections were anything but romantic.

And plus, the declaration of war would keep Liam cooped up in his office and away from Riley. Leo tells himself that there’s nothing to worry about.

The Commander, on the other hand, had taken note of the odd questions Leo and Drake asked. As he retired for the evening and walked back to his office, Liam reminds himself that there will be a time when he can present his love for his darling for the entire world to see, but that will have to wait. He had to be more careful around Leo and Drake. Or maybe Leo and Drake should be more careful around him.

When Liam reaches his office, the room in a dark hue, he grabs the new pile of papers and smacks them down on his desk. Through the window, he can see drunk party-goers singing into the night with wild abandon. After turning on a light and taking a seat, the Commander glances over at the sealed pink box on the corner off his desk, filled with the letters he had written to Riley but never dared send. One day, he told himself, he’d be able to recite each letter’s contents to her.

He pries his thoughts away from her and focuses on trying to finish some of his paperwork. Otherwise he won’t be able to attend the Derby tomorrow.

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

please let me know if you would like to be added or removed from the tags :)

tags: @twinkleallnight @gkittylove99 @sweatyrysconnoisseur @kingliam2019​ @marshmallowsaremyfavorite @queenrileyrose​ @royalromancer @princess-geek @mom2000aggie 

[waitimcomingtoo]

To the Bone

TRIGGER WARNING/DISCLAIMER: negative body image. Reader does NOT have an eating disorder but do not read if you’re easily triggered by things of that nature. I’ll have a fluffy story out soon for those who can’t read this one. And remember, you are beautiful exactly as you are. Love you!

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Masterlist

With you being a singer and an actress, you rarely got to see your movie star boyfriend for more than a few weeks at a time. When Tom was off shooting for Cherry, you got a call asking you to model for Saint Laurent. You’d been selected to be an égérie, or muse for the highly esteemed fashion brand. You smiled to yourself as you remembered the times you’d flip through your mothers fashion magazines as a child, always talking a special interest in the glamorous handbags and shoes you saw in the Saint Laurent magazines. To be on the cover of their magazine, decked in their masterpieces inspired by yourself, was a dream come true. You twisted around your room, feeling that familiar childlike wonder seeping in. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the full length mirror you and Tom had in your bedroom and stopped. You took a step closer and gazed at your reflection, placing delicate fingertips on the cool glass of the mirror. Another familiar feeling sunk in.

The feeling of not being good enough. 

Saint Laurent was a huge brand. Millions of people would be looking at you on the cover. The thought of all those people and all the opinions they harbored made you feel uneasy. Would they like what they saw? Were you pretty enough to be a cover girl?

You traced your fingertips over your reflection until they landed on your tummy. You moved your hand from the mirror to your tummy and kept it there, turning to the side to get a better look.

“I could stand to be a little thinner.” You nodded your head and continued to stare at your body. You decided losing a little weight for the cover would be a good for everyone.

Tom was going to be away for three weeks, and your cover was a week after he returned. You found a diet online that claimed models followed and printed it out. You stuck it to your fridge and started following it that night.

The first week, you cut your meals down in size and cut out snacks completely.

The second week, you skipped meals here and there and told yourself you didn’t need them. You didn’t need the fatigue and constant hunger you felt either, but you told yourself it was worth it every time you stood up and felt dizzy.

The third week, what you did allow yourself to eat was rabbit food. Berries for breakfast, no lunch, salad for dinner. Your appearance had changed a little more than you expected, so you covered yourself in baggy clothes to hide the transformation. As you were examining your body in the mirror again, you heard the front door unlock.

“Tommy!” You ran to him from the bedroom and threw your arms around his neck. Tom embraced you immediately, and you felt his body tense up. His hands found your waist and slowly moved up to your ribs as your heart pounded in your chest.

“Woah.” He pulled away quickly and looked you up and down with a concerned look on his face.

“What’s wrong?” You kept your voice steady. He noticed. Of course he noticed.

“I don’t know, you tell me.” Tom looked up at you with accusation in his eyes.

“What do you mean, baby?” You played it off.

“Have you been eating?” Tom asked firmly, hands still on your waist.

“I…yeah.” You stuttered at his blunt question.

“How much?” He questioned. “And what?”

“What’s with all the questions? What are you, my doctor?” You laughed nervously and tried to leave his embrace but he wouldn’t let you.

“No, I’m your incredibly concerned boyfriend.” Tom said, reminding you it wasn’t time to joke.

“There’s nothing to be concerned about. You should be excited, actually. Saint Laurent has made me their muse. They designed a collection inspired by me and want me to model it on their cover. Isn’t that amazing?” You said proudly and Toms eyes softened. He swallowed thickly and looked you in the eyes with an emotion you’d never seen from him before.

“Is that why you did this?” He asked in a whisper.

“Did what?” You asked, still dodging his accusation.

“Whatever crazy diet you put yourself on.” He said finally.

“I’m not on any diet.” You said defensively. “I just lost a little weight.”

“Love, I have hugged you a million times; held you, cuddled you, woken up and fallen asleep with your body next to mine. What I just had in my arms, what I felt when I hugged you, that wasn’t you.” Tom shook his head sadly. “That’s not the body I hold in my sleep or the one I come home to at night. You’re skin and bones, darling. I don’t even recognize you. What happened?”

“Nothing.” You smiled, trying to appease him, but Toms face remained stoic.

“Take off your jumper. It’s huge on you, anyway.” Tom commanded.

“What? No, I’m cold.” You lied. It was the middle of summer and you had on sweatpants and an oversized sweater on.

“It’s boiling in here.” Tom pointed out. “Take it off.”

“Tom, no.” You said sternly.

“Why not? Because you don’t want me to see what I already know? You think baggy clothes and denial won’t make me see what you’ve done to yourself?” Tom shouted, eyes softened when he saw your face fall.

“Princess.” Tom said softly and tilted your chin for you to look at him. His gentleness almost brought you to tears. “I can’t say I understand why you’d do this, or why anyone would, but I can say I know how you feel. I’ve had issues with my body too. I never knew how insecure a person could feel until I went to the gym with the Avengers cast. I mean, have you seen Chris Hemsworth without his shirt on?” Tom asked and a small laugh escaped your lips. “There, now I got my pretty girl laughing again. What’s it gonna take to get you eating again? We can start small but I’m not sleeping until I see you put something substantial in your body. I need to know you’re going to be okay the next time I leave, or I’m never leaving again.”

“Then how are you gonna do your job?” You asked.

“Loving you is my job. That’s more important than any part in any movie.” Tom assured you.

“I just wanted to look good for the cover.” You admitted weakly. “I just wanted to be beautiful.”

“You were already beautiful, and you would be at any size. Numbers on a scale and the size of your waist do not equate to beauty.” Tom said assertively. “Come with me.” He took your hand and brought you to the bedroom, taking his place in front of the full length mirror. He stood behind you and pressed himself into your back.

“Tom, I’ve looked at myself in this mirror enough in the past few weeks. I don’t need to again.” You told him.

“But you’ve only seen yourself from your point of view. I want to show you what I see.” Tom told you as he moved your hair to the side to place a kiss on your neck.

“The first thing I noticed about you was your hair. You had it loose and it framed your face like the work of art that you are. I thought it was beautiful but it was covering your face and I wanted to see that to.” Tom recalled the day you’d met. “I pretended to cough so you’d look at me, and you did. That’s when I saw your eyes for the first time. Our eyes met and I got this funny feeling in my tummy like when you come home after a long time and your dog greets you at the door. That’s how you make me feel, like coming home.”

“I only looked at you because I hate the sound of coughing.” You laughed and Tom laughed too.

“But you still looked at me. And then you smiled. I forgot how to breath for like three days after that.” Tom laughed in your ear. “I nearly fell over from how weak my knees felt. Your smile could make the coldest, most evil old man bite his tongue. And when I heard your laugh, God I wanted to marry you right there. And I could’ve. And I just might.” Tom kissed your cheek this time and wrapped his arms around your waist. “Then there’s this body. This body that keeps me warm, the body that’s gonna carry my kids one day.” Tom put his hands on your tummy and looked at you in the reflection of the mirror. “I’ve loved every inch of you since the day we met. My eyes never have and never will see something more beautiful than you. I know I can tell you everyday that you’re gorgeous and take my breath away, but I also know that if you don’t think the same then my words mean nothing.”

“It’s hard to love myself sometimes when theres so many people watching me.” You whispered. Tom turned your around in his arms so you were facing him.

“I know, love. But I’m here to make it a little less hard.” Tom assured you. “I’m gonna make you a deal; I’m gonna make your favorite dinner and you’re gonna eat it.”

“I think I can manage, as long as we eat in the candlelight.” You smiled.

“You got it.” Tom kissed your forehead. “And I want you to sign my magazine once it comes out. I gotta have the autograph of the prettiest girl in the world.”

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