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theartfuldodger26 · 10 months ago

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Voldemort meets a Boggart - Part 1

"Well, that won't do," said Bellatrix to herself and shut the door behind her, unceremoniously.

She passed through the small room that had furniture covered in cloth and moved on to the next room, by opening a side door.

Bellatrix had spent the better part of the day looking for a room to turn into a love nest for the Dark Lord and herself. Not that sex wasn't amazing anywhere, as log as it was with her master. Or that he didn't do his best work in the library, surrounded by his beloved books. But they needed a place more discreet than the library and less gross than the master bedroom, which happened to have been her sister's marital bed until the Dark Lord had moved in.

Bellatrix had considered the dungeons - perfect atmosphere for their sexual entcounters - yet it was a little dank for her lungs and it might actually come in handy for prisoners of certain value. So now she was perusing the upper floors of the mansion in search of a cosy corner.

From previous visits to her sister's home, Bella rememebred that there was, somewhere, a room with sky blue walls and frescos depicting images of a Roman feast - orgy would be a better word, considering everyone was naked- but she had not found it yet. Perhaps it was behind this door -

Harry Potter was standing in the middle of room, his wand raised. And there, by his feet, lay the Dark Lord.

His feet were bare, covered in blood, and his face had a frozen expression of pain. He was clearly dead.

Bellatrix felt as though the air had been drained from her lungs; her stomach was in free fall and her limbs felt paralyzed.

The Dark Lord. Dead. And Harry Potter, his snotty, teenaged killer.

No, it couldn't be.

With hot tears running down her face, Bellatrix sprinted towards them.

"Avada Kedavra! Avada Kedavra!" she screamed, her wand tip pointed squarely at Potter's forehead.

There were multiple flashes of green light and a massive Crack! But instead of Potter dropping dead, his smirk grew wider.

"He's dead!" he announced. "He's dead, I'm alive and now you'll never see him again! Never!"

"NO!"

Unable to control the trembling, Bella fell to her knees and wrapped her arms around her master's lifeless body. He was already as rigid and cold as ice, as white as death.

"You'll never see him again!" repeated the malicious voice. "You'll never hear his voice again!"

"No, no, no, no!" she howled, her throat making noises she'd never known possible. And she desolved into sobs.

"He'll never tell you you look beautiful. He'll never tell you you did well! He'll never make love to you again!"

"No- wait, what?" Bellatrix muttered between sobs. "What did you just say?"

"He'll never make love to you again, never! You'll have to spend the rest of your life with your husband!" said the boy dramatically.

As the realisation hit her, grief left her as suddenly as it had come, and a maniacal laugh of joy left her lips. Bella let go of the Dark Lord's robes and got to her feet. She felt as light as a feather, as happy as can be.

"You're a filthy-minded little Boggart, aren't you?" she laughed, and padded her face down with her handkerchief.

Trying not to look at the mockery of a Dark Lord that was sprawled down on the floor, Bellatrix inhaled and exhaled slowly in order to calm her breathing and clear her mind from the shock.

As she was standing there, before the leering Potter, who, like a broken record, was repeating his last words over and over again, she was finally able to take in the room. It had naked men and women painted on the walls, eating grapes and having sex. And there, closer to the opposite door, stood a man.

"My Lord?"

Just like his fake, dead doppeganger, Lord Voldemort was paler than chalk, and was wearing an expression of pain, one Bellatrix had never seen painted on her master's face before. So much so, that it took her a second to accept that he was the real Dark Lord and not the other way round. She had never seen him like this. His vertical slits of pupils were full-blown circles of dread and his hand was covering his mouth, which had certainly fallen agape. Even his posture was different. Bella often teased him that he stood up straight, as though he'd swallowed a broomstick, but now he was cowering in the shadows.

Was it the Boggart that had brought him into this state? But why would her Boggart scare him so much? Unless... Unless what she had first seen was not her Boggart, but his...

Before her mind could fully comprehend what this meant, the Dark Lord hissed: "Get rid of it!"

With a firm step, Bella walked between the Dark Lord and his own corpse, so that he couldn't see it, and said, very clearly: "Riddikulus!"

There was another crack and both Harry Potter and Voldemort's corpse disappeared in a puff of smoke.

Bellatrix turned on her heel to see Voldemort taking a deep breath and, out of respect for his privacy, turned around again, allowing him to rearrange his features into their usual, composed mask.

It was very awkward, staring at her boots, which were standing at the very spot Boggart-Harry Potter had just been standing, but it was nothing compared to when she realised the Dark Lord was shaking. Yes, he was shaking, she could see him with the corner of her eyes. He had managed to gain his full height and his expressionless face, but his body was still beyond his control, trembling like a schoolboy's.

"My Lord," she whispered, tenderly, before the little voice insider her head could stop her (a phenomenon that happened often).

"I'm all right," Voldemort managed, his voice with only a hint of his usual curtness.

"I know."

"We don't have to talk about it."

"No, we most certainly will not be talking about it."

There was another long pause and then Voldemort spoke again: "You can turn around now."

Bellatrix did, and found her Dark Lord staring back at her. It was a relief to see his feline pupils digging into her eyes as they always did, trying to read her expression. Was she mocking him? Was she going to keep her word and not mention it ever again? Did she... pity him? Had he falled in her eyes?

Bellatrix wanted to yell he hadn't, that she understood, but Voldemort changed the subject.

"How did you find me?" he demanded.

Find him? How long had he been stuck here then, living and reliving his murder at the hands of that half-blooded brat? Minutes? Hours?

"Find you, my Lord?" she asked, keeping her gaze low. "I was only looking for - "

The little voice inside her head won and she realised it wouldn't exactly fit the mood to say she had been looking for a sex pad.

"I was only looking around," she said. "I haven't been at Malfoy Manor in a while and you know how easily I get lost. So I'm walking around, having a look at the frescoes while I'm at it."

Her hands opened wide, embracing the copulating images on the walls.

That's not much better now, is it? hissed the little voice in her head. Voldemort seemed to be thinking the same, because he cocked a hairless eyebrow.

"I see," he said. "Then I apologise for interrupting your naughty sightseeing."

"My Lord, you don't have to apologise for anything," Bellatrix whispered. "It's only natural-"

"What's only natural?" he snapped, suddenly very annoyed. "What's only natural about fearing a boy who hasn't even finished his magical education? A boy whose only talent is pure, unadulterated luck?!"

"I'm not going to mention the Prophecy, because, as I have said at other times, not all prophecies come true. However, I do remember than one night you said you were popping out for a stroll at the Potters' and not coming. And, as you can see, it scared the daylights out of me. I don't know how it felt, but you nearly died that night. You spent 14 years in a damned forest without a body, and you survived to tell the tale."

Bellatrix paused for a moment, and put her hand on his shoulder. He allowed it.

"You did something incredible," she whispered. "You were killed but did not die. No one has ever done this before. And if that means that a stupid Boggart can jack off to it for ten seconds, whatever, no one cares. To me, it's a miracle you're here, right now, with me."

And she kissed him, deeply. And he returned the kiss.

"I'm not the only miracle around, my dear," he whispered back. "I now have proof you are the only person in the world who genuinely cares about me."

#bellamort #bellatrix lestrange #tom riddle #voldemort #lord voldemort #harry potter #writing #mini fic #harry potter fanfiction #bellamort fanfiction

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fics-not-tragedies · 2 months ago

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Bad Habits: Chapter Five

prologue - one - two - three - four - five - six - seven - eight - nine - ten - eleven - twelve - thirteen - fourteen - fiveteen - …

Yes, it's gonna be a wild ride, but y'all gona enjoy every minute of it, I promise! 😋 New parts coming Saturdays and Wednesdays.

Words: 1678; Warnings: lots of Italian pet names, some gun violence this time, mentions of blood, swearing; Summary: You're getting afraid that the people who are after Santino are now after you too;

Readers tag list:

@marytvirgin; @penwieldingdreamer

Chapter 5: “The First Wound”

As the adrenaline coursing through your veins began to ebb, the world around you seemed to sharpen and blur all at once. Santino's grip on your waist was firm as he guided you through the chaos of the club, his guards flanking you with weapons drawn and eyes scanning for further threats. Your thoughts raced, replaying the scene that had just unfolded—the gunshots, the panic, the way Santino had moved with such confidence and precision.

But then a strange warmth bloomed at your collarbone, just below your neck. At first, you thought it was the aftermath of the adrenaline, the heat of fear and exertion. But as you moved, a sharp sting radiated outward, and your breath hitched.

“Santino,” you said, your voice faltering. He turned his head slightly, his sharp gaze snapping to yours, but he didn’t slow.

“We need to keep moving,” he said firmly, his focus split between you and the guards scanning the path ahead.

“No,” you said, more urgently now. Your hand moved to your collarbone, the dampness there startling you. When you pulled your fingers back, they were smeared with crimson. Your stomach dropped.

“Santino,” you said again, your voice trembling as you stopped in your tracks. “I’ve been shot.”

The words felt surreal as they left your lips. For a moment, everything around you seemed to pause—the noise of the fleeing crowd, the distant wail of approaching sirens, even Santino himself. His eyes locked onto the blood on your hand, his expression darkening instantly.

“Cazzo,” he swore under his breath, his free hand reaching up to gently but quickly pull your dress strap aside to examine the wound. A dark stain was spreading across the fabric, and though the bullet hadn’t pierced deeply, the sight of the blood made your knees weak.

“You’re bleeding, bella,” he said, his voice tight but controlled. “It’s not deep, but we need to stop it now.”

Before you could argue, he was already moving. His hand pressed firmly against the wound, eliciting a sharp gasp from you. “I know,” he murmured, his tone softer now, though his eyes were blazing with anger—anger at whoever had done this. “I know it hurts. Just stay with me, bella.”

One of the guards approached, pulling a clean handkerchief from his pocket. Santino took it without a word, folding it and pressing it firmly against your collarbone to stem the bleeding. His jaw was set, his movements efficient but careful, as though afraid of causing you more pain.

“We need to get her out of here now,” he snapped at his guards. “Clear a path to the car.”

“Santino,” you started, your voice unsteady. “I’ll be fine. It’s just—”

“No,” he interrupted, his tone brooking no argument. His eyes met yours, and you saw something raw there, something that made your heart twist despite the circumstances. “You are not fine, bella. And you will not downplay this.”

The guards nodded, moving ahead to clear the way as Santino wrapped an arm securely around your waist again. His other hand kept pressure on the wound, his touch steady but urgent. You felt a pang of vulnerability—here you were, bleeding, reliant on a man you barely knew but who seemed to command the world around him with ease.

As the cool night air hit your skin, the pounding in your head grew louder. The car was waiting at the curb, sleek and black, its doors already open. Santino helped you inside with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with the chaos of the club. He slid in beside you, his guards taking their places up front.

“Drive,” Santino ordered, his voice cold, his attention entirely on you. He pulled a small first aid kit from a compartment under the seat, his hands moving deftly to clean and bandage the wound. You winced as the antiseptic stung, but his touch was careful, almost soothing.

“You’re going to be okay,” he said, his voice softer now, though the tension in his jaw remained. His gaze flicked to yours, and for a moment, his usual mask of confidence cracked, revealing something far more human. “I won’t let anything happen to you, bella.”

The car sped through the streets, the low hum of the engine blending with the muffled sounds of the city outside. You sat rigid in the plush leather seat, Santino’s steady hands still applying pressure to your wound. Despite his reassurances, the weight of what had just happened bore down on you like a tidal wave.

You had been shot. The reality of it settled in slowly, your mind grappling with the fact that the blood soaking into your dress wasn’t someone else’s—it was yours.

Santino’s eyes flicked to you every few seconds, his expression unreadable, but his touch remained steady. He hadn’t said much since the car pulled away, his focus divided between tending to you and barking low orders to the driver and guards.

But then, a sharp crack shattered the tense silence inside the vehicle. The sound was unmistakable—a gunshot.

Before you could react, the car lurched slightly as if it had hit something. The windows, tinted and reinforced, showed no sign of damage, but you could see Santino’s guards tense in the front seats. The driver swerved sharply, sending your body leaning into Santino’s side.

“Get down!” he barked, his voice like a whip. His hand shot out, pressing you low against the seat as his other hand retrieved a sleek handgun from beneath his jacket.

“What—what’s happening?” you stammered, your heart hammering in your chest.

“They’re still coming,” one of the guards said from the passenger seat, his voice clipped. “Tailing us from the club. Three cars, possibly more.”

The driver cursed under his breath, yanking the wheel hard to the right. The tires screeched against the asphalt, the sudden turn throwing you against the door. Through the haze of fear, you could hear the faint ping of bullets ricocheting off the car’s bulletproof exterior.

“It’s okay,” Santino said, his voice calm but laced with steel. He positioned himself between you and the window, shielding you with his body. “They can’t touch us in here, bella.”

Another crack rang out, followed by a thud against the rear of the car. The guards in the front seats exchanged quick, terse words. You couldn’t follow what they were saying, your mind too preoccupied with the chaos outside. The car jerked again as the driver maneuvered sharply, trying to lose the attackers.

“Santino—” you started, your voice shaky.

“Look at me,” he said, his tone firm but steady. His hand found yours, gripping it tightly. “They won’t get to you, bella. Understand? Not while I’m here.”

The intensity in his eyes struck you, and for a moment, it was enough to ground you. But the chaos outside refused to let up. The attackers seemed relentless, their bullets striking the car with increasing frequency.

The car sped through the city streets, the tires screeching as it tore through narrow alleys and sharp corners. Santino’s presence was a steady force beside you, his body tense as he remained low, his gun now held firmly in his hand. The sound of gunfire outside only grew louder, a constant barrage of sharp cracks that reverberated through the vehicle. You could feel the intensity in the air, the tension thick enough to choke.

Santino’s grip tightened on your hand, pulling you closer to him, as if his very body could shield you from the chaos outside. His sharp gaze flicked toward the rear view mirror, where the headlights of the cars chasing you glowed like vengeful eyes, relentless and unforgiving.

The guards in the front seats were tense, their voices sharp as they relayed information. “We’re losing them, but they’re still coming fast,” one of them said, a trace of frustration in his voice.

“Can you get us to the underpass?” Santino demanded, his tone clipped, eyes never leaving the rearview mirror.

“Taking the next exit,” the driver responded. He yanked the wheel sharply, sending the car barreling toward a sharp turn, the tires squealing in protest as they fought for traction on the slick pavement.

But the attackers were still on their tail, gaining ground. You could hear the whizzing of bullets as they pierced the air, the sharp metallic ping as they bounced off the bulletproof windows. Each shot was a reminder of how close they were—how easily the situation could turn.

“Stay down!” Santino barked, pushing you lower into the seat, his body covering yours like a shield. He raised his gun, his eyes narrowing, scanning the road ahead and the rearview mirror. He was a man who didn’t flinch, not even under fire.

The car shook again, this time harder, as a bullet hit the rear window. The shattering glass was absorbed by the bulletproof tint, but the loud crack sent a rush of adrenaline through your veins. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, the blood still pooling at your collarbone, mixing with the rush of fear.

Santino didn’t flinch. He remained calm, his focus unwavering. “We need to lose them now,” he muttered under his breath, his hand tightening on the gun. Without a moment’s hesitation, he fired a warning shot out the window. The loud bang echoed in your ears, but it did little to slow the pursuit.

The car jerked again as another bullet struck the side panel, denting the metal with a sickening thud. You gasped, clutching Santino’s arm as your pulse quickened, the world outside becoming more and more chaotic. The relentless pursuit seemed like it would never end.

“We’re almost there,” the driver called out, his voice strained, though it was hard to tell if he was trying to reassure you or himself. “One more turn, and we’ll be in the underpass.”

The road was dark, the only light was the headlights from the attackers’ cars. Santino’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror again, then back to you. His jaw was clenched, his body still a barricade between you and the chaos outside.

#bad habits #santino d’antonio fanfiction #santino d’antonio fanfic #santino d’antonio fic #santino d’antonio imagine #santino d’antonio series #santino d’antonio chaptered fic #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #imagine #series #chaptered fic #santino d’antonio x reader #santino d’antonio/reader #santino x reader #santino/reader #rs:chaptered fic

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pentopaper23 · 1 year ago

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The Boy With The Quick Hands- Chapter Two: The boy with the top hat

The library was the one place that Belle felt she could be herself and she would spend whole day within its walls. For a girl of 12 she knew she was rather odd and different from her peers. Where other girls spoke about flowers and their doll, she was more interested in sneaking into the University and listening to the Doctors give their lectures and hiding away in the back of the library pouring over medical texts.

She would set herself up in the back of the stacks and pulled out book after book on medical sciences and human anatomy. She could read Latin and Greek, and she took meticulous notes on each subject and followed them up with accurate copies of the diagrams that related to each chapter.

It was on such day that she found herself staring at a book that she swore had moved, her pencil tapping on the table as her eyes locked on the book in question. She was just about to go back to her writing when the noticed a scuffed boot sticking out from behind the shelf. Smiling to herself she went back to her books, giving the person a chance to come out. Belle glanced up again and saw that the boot hasn’t moved, and the person was still standing there.

“Do come out please. You are distracting me,” She finally said slamming down her pencil. At her words a young boy came out from behind the shelf. He was wearing a raggy top hat that was fraying at the rim, a coat that had seen better days and was slightly too small for him, his shirt and vest also showed signs of being either mended time and time again or they were not his. One of his boots had a hole in the toe and the other was missing half the laces and was tied shut with what looked like ribbon. He was dirty, his face looked as if it had never been washed and the hair that stuck out from under his hat was a mess and looked unwashed.

“How do you do?” She asks. The boy didn’t answer, he was still looking around the room as if someone was going to jump out and yell at him for being here. So, he snuck in then Belle thought to herself, but why? He surly cant be here to read or study. She sighed again, now more annoyed than she was before.

“Do you have a name?” she askes getting up from the desk to stand in front of the dirty boy. When he again didn’t answer Belle held out her hand, “I’m Isabelle”.

The boy looked at her hand as if it was about to bite him but shook it anyway.

“Dodger” he replied stiffly.

“What kind of name is Dodger?” laughed Belle.

“It’s Jack actually Miss.” He said dropping her hand and taking a step back.

“Well then it’s Lady actually” Belle says also taking a step back.

“Wot?” Jack says, his East End accent shining through.

“I’m Lady Isabelle Fox. But you can call me Belle if it pleases you” Belle felt herself smiling at the odd boy and felt a flutter in her stomach when he smiled back.

“What are you doing here” Belle said walking around he desks to take her seat again.

“I was coming to find you and return this. I stole from you as you walked inside”.

Jack places the handkerchief on the table. “I knew I hadn’t lost it!” Bella said reaching for it, her fingers running over the stitching of her name, “My sister did this.” she said fondly and then looked at him in intrigue, “So you are a pickpocket!”

“I am THE pickpocket of the East End.” Jack cockily said back taking off his hat. Belle squinted her eyes at his hair but didn’t say anything.

They were silent for a moment and then Belle motioned for Jack to take a seat and he did.

This continued for weeks, they would sit in silence as Belle took notes and Jack flicked through the books taking in the pictures. Belle has noticed that he wasn’t reading the words of the books he chose and wondering if he truly couldn’t read or if he was just bad at it.

“I could teach you if you like,” she said one day as they sat at their normal desk tucked away in the back of the library. Her with her medical books open and him with plant book that more pictures than words. It had taken her a few weeks to noticed that what he was doing. He always picked books with picture or diagrams, and he always nodded along with her when she pointed out something fascinating in one of her medical textbooks, but she had never seen him read the words.

“Hmmm,” Jack said not looking up from his book. “I said I could teach you to read” Belle repeated. Jack’s fingers stilled on the page; he had been tracing the lines of words trying to sound them out in his head but was failing. The letters all mixed together, and his eyes began to swim with the effort of trying to follow along. Jack would like to be able to read and Fagin had never shown any interest in teaching him. He always envied the man he saw in the streets reading the papers and wondered what world events he was missing out on and the woman he saw sitting in cafés laughing over books being past between then.

When he didn’t answer Belle shifted in her chair thinking that she may have upset or embarrassed him, but she smiled when he nodded shyly and closed his book. “Okay!” Belle said excitedly and raced off towards the children’s section to collect some easier titles. When she came back Jack had moved to sit next to her chair and was waiting patiently. “I think this one would be good start with,” She said placing ‘Robert Southey’s The Story of the Three Bears’ in front of him. Jack picked up the book and opened it to the first page, it had big bold lettering and short sentences clearly aimed at children in their early schooling years. He recognized a few of the words and mentally stumbled over the others.

“Why don’t I read it to you first and then we can start your lessons next week,” Belle offered kindly, and Jack handed it too her so she could start.

#fanfiction #pentopaper23 #fanfic #fan fiction #ao3 fanfic #dodgerfox #jack x belle #jack dawkins #lady belle fox #the artful dodger #the artful dodger fanfiction #the artful dodger fanfic #artful dodger #artful dodger fanfiction #dodgerfox fanfiction #dodgerfox fanfic #belle fox #belle x jack #cross posted on ao3

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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 1 month ago

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Amor Fati: Remodelling (Epilogue)

Paul and Maelyn have been trying to keep their relationship under wraps, but it all comes out. Caveat: Neither is their imprint. How long can smooth sailing go on?

Paul Lahote x Black!Fem!OC.

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“I hope you like the color pink.”

Paul can’t say he’s given much thought to the color. But now that he’s watching Maelyn twirl in the mirror, in the soft baby pink color, he thinks he might actually love the color. He’d bathe in it if asked. Hell, he’d switch over his entire wardrobe, work clothes included if it means he can watch her in the color for just a few seconds longer.

Maelyn’s graduation is in three weeks and then just after that in August is the wedding for Sam and Emily--a lengthy hiatus on the planning until it was clear whether or not Paul and Maelyn would rekindle their relationship or not. Not something Paul knew was purposefully happening, as when he asked Sam said that they were just waiting for the right time, to make sure all those from the Bella drama fully settled. And it sounded reasonable at the time. Yet, Emily couldn’t bear to keep the secret any longer and confessed to Paul around Christmas that the wait was very much intentional, but not because of vampires.

“I love the color pink,” Paul returns, watching Maelyn turn around again in the dress. They both agreed that she’d get one dress--for both graduation and the wedding and he’d make sure that his suit matched for the wedding and then he’d at least have one coordinating item for her pictures at graduation too. Which is an easy task. He could get a pink handkerchief at any bridal shop though the graduation task would be trickier. The hard part is to make sure that Paul doesn't follow her back behind the curtain and drop to his knees to prove just how much he loves the color pink. “I really love the color pink.”

His ascent back up to Maelyn’s face is slow, taking the curve of her ass, the lace detailing that lays just above the slit over her right thigh, the fabric in the left side of the dress is longer than right just a little, but it gives Maelyn legs for day--which she already has--and Paul’s not going to complain in the slightest.

“We’re buying that. Even if you don’t wear it but once. We’re getting that. Today, right now,” Paul states.

Maelyn raises her brow. “You haven’t even looked at my tits yet. How do you know if it’s a real winner?”

He snorts, but can’t help but drop his gaze to her chest. The straps are thin--good for the Texas heat, and workable for the Washington weather too. August will be warm, but the rain might be slightly less predictable than usual. In front, there’s a small keyhole, just enough space for Paul to see through it, but not enough to make out exact details of her sternum. The fabric brings her boobs together, creates plenty of volume at the top of the flesh and he groans, already feeling the crotch of his pants tightening.

“It’s a winner, baby. It’s a fucking winner.” Paul covers eyes with one and shoos her back into the dressing room. “Change now before I lose every ounce of what little self control I have left.”

Maelyn bursts of laughter is sharp and loud, but it’s followed up by the slide of the curtain over the rod. It’s only been a year--and not even a full year at that. But Paul’s rounding up because he wants every second with her that he can get. But the past seven months are a whirlwind--he’d heard most of the stories--from Aaron, which upon hearing Paul immediately took several laps around his apartment complex, trying to convince himself not to find where the guy had landed and to crack his skull open on the asphalt, all the way to her ventures to lesbian bars, even catching more information on how Leah and Brenda met that Leah hadn’t supplied when she returned back to Washington-- and he’d watched Maelyn chase relentlessly after her goals, working to help pay for her bills, catching up on a few requirement changes that came right as she switched into the Biomedical engineering program all just so she could graduate on time with the hopes of starting as a quality engineering after visiting a job fair and having a nice chat with one of the supervisors of the medical company. The summer before Paul’s arrival as Maelyn tells it was rocky, but in the end, worth it.

But seeing her be able to finish school, watching her realize that she can have exactly what she wanted, is the kind of thing Paul knows he wants to stick around for. And if it means watching her try on dresses that show off her body as tastefully as that one does, then by all means Paul would do that too. Though the passing time does mean returning home. Sam had only reached out once about Paul’s father--an update seemingly proved Sam right rather than wrong. News that Paul in return asked he only got if it was either dire--death--or good--sober. That kind of news had yet to come. But it seemed like it was all shaping up to be just what Paul predicted.

The caress to his jaw is soft--a touch he knows is Maelyn. Beyond the smell, he notices her presence more now than he’s ever had before. Not like seeking warmth, and definitely not like the feeling of being watched, but the awareness that he’s not alone. He doesn’t have to be alone anymore. He keeps his eyes closed, taking in the ghost of Maelyn’s exhale. Her lips are soft against his forehead. “Where’d you go just now? Hmm?”

“No where I can’t come back to you from,” Paul answers, his blink slow to reveal her face. He knows that look, the quiet assessment of her gaze.

“Worried about going back?”

“A little,” Paul answers because he can’t lie to Maelyn. He could. But he’d choose not to.

“I get that. But I’ll be there with you. Won’t have to go alone.”

Even Maelyn says it, offering Paul a kind and very much needed lifeline, he sees the worry pulling at her eyes. “The rez can’t hurt you. Neither can Bella, or Edward, or whatever other bullshit they get into. I won’t let it hurt you, baby.” Because Paul can’t promise to not let Maelyn hurt herself, but he can for damn sure keep her sane, help her keep that promise to her father.

“Thanks.” Her smile is small in return, but she presses in closer, lips sealing his in a kiss so soft that Paul’s got to tell himself that it did actually happen.

Because it’s always happening--them together, always happening, a new kind of love blossoming. When he cheers at the graduation, standing in the crowd as the lonesome figure for Maelyn, his clap louder than everyone else, it’s happening then too. It’s happening on the flight back to Washington, their fingers interlaced together. It’s happening when she gets his tie right, laughing when he fake chokes as the feeling. It’s happening as they watch, from the crowd, as Sam and Emily commit to each other, a picture of sappy happiness with tears and smiles all meant to convey the same thing: relief and elation, commitment and readiness. It’s happening when Paul holds Maelyn a little closer after he picks up on Maelyn’s tense body at the sight of Rachel and her fiancé, Luca, approaching at the wedding reception.

“These are some of my friends I was telling you about,” Rachel starts after introducing Luca, “Paul and Maelyn.”

“Nice to meet you,” Paul offers first, taking his hand in a swift shake.

Fiancé is just enough to start to thaw Maelyn and after an exchange of handshakes, Rachel and Luca carry on, to congratulate Sam and Emily. And just as quick as the tug pulls in Paul, it releases when Paul presses a kiss to Maelyn’s cheek. Because cosmos be damned. Fate be damned. “Told you you’d survive,” he whispers against her ear. “Don’t have anywhere else I want to be.”

“You did,” Maelyn agrees. She squeezes at their interlaced fingers before shifting, slotting herself against his chest. Paul hums into the hug, tracing every so gently at the lines in her exposed back at the top of the dress. He peeled her out of it once--the night after her graduation-- and he’s looking forward to taking it off again. But the thoughts are easily shattered when Maelyn speaks again against his ear, “Now it’s your turn to survive next.”

It’s all instinctual--when Paul pulls away from her embrace, he starts to question what she means. But her eyes aren’t on him, so Paul turns. And there--his father stands on the outskirts of the reception. The suit’s not been pressed, but it assembled correctly and still holds his father’s frame too big. He gives a small wave and Paul can tell his father is not sober in the way he’d hoped. But he certainly looks better.

“If you don’t want to, I’ll talk to him,” Maelyn offers, her hands wrapped around Paul’s.

“If I need you, I’ll call,” Paul answers and then starts towards his dad. Paul’s not alone, which is great news in and of itself, but he wants to do this himself, with the ever watchful eye of Maelyn behind him, ready to interject, ready to help Paul, simply because she loves him, when asked. And at times, even when not.

Definitely not sober, Paul deduces, catching the smell wafting off him. But not as drunk as before. He looks like he’s finally eating again maybe.

“You look good,” his father offers now that the distance is closed.

Paul wishes he could say the same. “You look better.”

“I’m trying. Heard your back with Maelyn too.”

He nods. Because Paul hasn’t called, hasn’t written. Not because he hates his father. Not because he wants nothing to do with him. But because Paul was sure none of that would save his dad. But he might’ve been wrong about that. Maybe it could. “I am.”

“And the electrician stuff--you almost done with that?” The question falls with a small hiccup, a slight sway.

There is still a long way to go, Paul knows, for his father. But baby steps are still steps. So he steadies his father, hiding the attempt as if straightening out the collar on his father’s shirt. But Paul hears the click--the approach is steady in her heels towards them. “Another year and I’ll finish the apprenticeship,” Paul answers, wiping the rather invisible crumbs off the lapels of the suit jacket.

“Good, good.”

Maelyn’s touch melts his spine. She eases over her palm over his lower back and Paul realizes just how rigidly he’d been standing. He eases away, back into her waiting hold. His shoulders lower and Paul hopes grace works miracles. “Take care of yourself, Dad. Okay?”

“I will. I’m trying.”

Paul can’t ask for perfection. Can’t expect his father to make a total recovery without the effort, without a few hiccups. “Trying is better than not.”

#paul lahote #paul lahote x black oc #paul lahote fanfic #paul lahote fic #paul lahote series #h writes #paul lahote imagine #twilight #the twilight saga

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wiinestories · 4 months ago

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Angelo's expression remained inscrutable as Eden's words tumbled out, defiant and raw, a mix of courage and desperation. His hand lingered at her chin for a moment longer before he released it, the faintest curl of his lips betraying his amusement at her boldness. He folded the handkerchief neatly and slipped it back into his pocket, his movements deliberate, calculated, as if to remind her he had all the time in the world—and all the control. "Mia piccola guerriera," [My little warrior] he murmured, his voice low and smooth, the Italian lilting through the tense air, words filled with his own sense of humour. "You speak of monsters as though you’ve met one, yet here you stand, challenging me with words like a child daring the dark to come closer." He took a single step forward, his towering frame casting a long shadow over her as she leaned against the wall. "Do you think that makes you brave?" His voice dipped, soft but razor-sharp. "Or just foolish?"

His dark eyes bore into her, taking in every detail—the defiance in her green gaze, the tremor she was trying so hard to suppress, the way she clung to her pride even as her body betrayed her unsteadiness. Angelo didn’t miss a thing, and for a moment, his expression softened. It was almost imperceptible, a flicker of something human beneath the cold exterior, but it was gone as quickly as it came.

"You think you know me, bella, because of what you’ve heard. The things people whisper about me to make themselves feel better about their small, fragile lives. But you don’t know me." He crouched slightly, enough to level his gaze with hers, his tone dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. "If I were the monster you think I am, you’d already be hanging at my gate, wouldn’t you?" The faint smirk returned, this time with a glint of something darker in his eyes, a warning or perhaps a challenge of his own. He straightened, his presence towering and unrelenting. “And yet here you are, alive. Speaking. Testing me.” He took another step closer, his voice dropping to a near-whisper, forcing her to focus on him entirely. "You say South Side doesn’t deserve my cruelty. Perhaps you’re right. But tell me, Eden O’Connor, what makes you so deserving of my mercy?"

He let the question hang in the air for a beat, letting her chew on it. Then he took a measured step back, giving her space but keeping his eyes locked on hers, unyielding. "You’re not wrong about one thing," he admitted, his voice softening just enough to make her question his intent. "Your brother would never stop coming for you. But maybe that’s not my problem. Maybe it’s yours." He gestured briefly to one of his men. "Bring her some water and let her rest. If she collapses, she’s no good to anyone."

At first he perplexed her, this gentle tapping with a handkerchief to get some of the streamed blood from her face. A sweet face at that, see a lot of people had hardened and toughened up, others had become sullen and withdrawn, sickly looking but Eden just looked soft. She looked like a nurtured and gentle soul. All she could gather was that those men shouldn't have hit her, it was an unnecessary cruelty and one he seemingly wasn't going to share. Though she wasn't too confident on that, she was still weighing him up, green hues studying his every movement.

"If you hurt me.." she started in a low tone, one that didn't suit her voice. She didn't sound intimidating despite the fact she tried to add as much bite as she could. "..my Brother will never stop coming at you." It's something she knew without doubt, eventually Ben would find her and he wouldn't rest until she was back at South Side with him. They were a team and they always had been. "If you kill me to spite him, you'd only damn yourself to a worse fate." she didn't blink, didn't break her gaze from his. Defiant? Well he was right about that, because even with his fingers holding her chin firmly, she didn't shy away. If anything she briefly considered arching her head down to bite at his hand.

"Tell them to go retrieve my knife, unbind my hands, then lets see who's the one making bold statements." since the outbreak she had learned the hard way that it paid to be defensive.. that being bolder than brass and braver than she had ever thought possible was far better than showing weakness to people that'd take advantage of any shred of weakness. Eden knew better than to reveal the true nature of her soul so freely now, but for a few moments earlier.. she'd been the woman that wore her heart on her sleeve, all to protect a scared little girl. She hadn't needed a worldwide outbreak to remember how that felt.

"Go on, unbind me and find out how foolish." it was a dare, baiting him, testing how far she'd be able to push. There was a thought lingering in her mind, that it'd felt odd.. to have another human touch her, someone she didn't know, even if it was just his fingers gripping her chin it'd been someone new and that was such an odd feeling now. You didn't go around letting anyone touch you, just one wrong move from a walker and you were dead. Given that Ben was always around, nobody dare touch her anyway.

"That's great but I don't want your company. I've heard all about you, the things you do... and you think I'm giong to sit around and be willing company?" Eden scoffed, pushing herself up to her feet. It wasn't majestic but she got herself up. The problem was that she'd taken a nasty blow to the head and was clearly wobbly, half the time she spoke she'd been wincing. She was far too proud to say it, to let it show more, especially since she kind of felt like she had something to prove to this man. In the back of her mind there was a smaller voice, one that expressed that she didn't want to wound up killed, that she didn't want to become one of them... she didn't want Ben to see her as some gnawing, flesh devouring monster, dead eyed and gone but very much there. A monster that'd wear her face. "People say that you're a monster." she waited a beat, moving just a few feet purely so she could lean her body against the wall, prop against a solid surface. She was at the same time, staying as far away from those two idiot henchmen that'd hurt her in the first place, as possible.

"So if you really are a monster, you may as well just kill me and leave South Side as it is. The people there do not deserve your cruelty so if that's what it has to be, my death or you ruining their attempt at settling in this new world, I'd prefer you just hang me up at the gate or whatever it is you do to the people you're making an example of." No, no she wouldn't. People might say he's a monster, she thought... but he'd make me into one. Nothing would hurt her Brother more than that.

#elpida #m: angelo #re: angelo and eden #ehehehehehe

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satan-was-a-writer · 3 years ago

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Bella,Casandra, and Daniela comforting crying reader?

The Dimitrescu Sisters Comforting a Crying Reader

CW: Crying, Scared Bela, Soft Cassandra, Cuddly Daniela

Bela Dimitrescu

When she finds you crying she is in genuine fear.

She doesn't know why you're crying and it...scares her

Though she is scared for dear life, she comforts you the best way she can...

Getting a book

And reading to you

Making you tea

Until you feel like telling her what's the matter.

As you sit against the bed in the chambers you share with Bela, your quiet cries fill the room. She enters in a joyous flurry of flies until she notices you sobbing. When she first appears, she has a soft expression on her face and asks you what happened. You shake your head no, indicating that you do not wish to discuss it. She nods before exiting the room once more. She returns with tea and your favourite book. She sits next you on the floor and pulls you in close. She reads you Magnus Flyte's "City of Dark Magic." You're feeling better by the conclusion of Chapter 5 and tell her what occurred.

Cassandra Dimitrescu

When Cass finds you crying she's fresh off the hunt

It was one of the best hunts of the season and when she arrives to the room you share she bounds in with a bright smile

At first, she doesn't notice your crying

It isn't until you sniffle that she looks at you with wide golden eyes

She stands there frozen before deciding to sit with you on the floor

She sits silently for a moment while you sob before suddenly taking you to her chest.

Your gentle sobs fill the room as you sit against the bed in the quarters you share with Cassandra. Cassandra bursts through the door, her face beaming with delight. Her chin was drenched with blood. She locks the door behind her and walks to the vanity, which she rarely uses, to retrieve a handkerchief. While discussing the hunt, she wipes her face. When she gets silent, she hears you sob and hastily turns around. "What are you-" She becomes still. She pauses for a bit before settling in alongside you. She brings her knees up to her chest and places her chin on top of them. She thinks, processes, and then moves swiftly. She cradles you in her arms and holds you close. She says the sweetest things she can manage as you start sobbing harder.

Daniela Dimitrescu

When Daniela finds you, she just came back from tending to her roses

She brought you one when coming back and almost dropped it when she saw you crying

She darts forward and cuddles you to death

She loves on you and comforts you

When you tell her what happens...she starts to tear up too

She's empath, she felt that in her soul

As you sit against the bed in the quarters you share with Daniela, your quiet sobbing fill the room. "A rose for the most incredible person in the world-" She fumbles with the rose she nearly dropped before placing it on the vanity and approaching you. She's engulfing you in her arms. She holds you firmly. You tell her everything at that point. She strokes your hair and pulls you in closer. She lets you cry as much as you like. She kisses your hair and brushes your tears away. Reassuring you that everything is okay. You're feeling much better now. She then asks if she may repeat her entire entrance, claiming she wants to see your smile when you see the rose. She only wants to see you ecstatic.

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svucarisiaddict · 3 years ago

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Hi! I love the autumn series! I was wondering if you could write about Sonny and the readers wedding Or when she finally said yes?

//golly I have had this in my WIP's for sooo long!//

“Oh, darling. You look beautiful. And that dress is going to knock Sonny’s socks off,” Sonny’s Mom gushed when she entered the small room of the church. The dress you picked was a champagne color A-line satin and lace gown with small buttons up the back, cap sleeves, and a sweetheart neckline. Your veil was a simple fingertip length that you made yourself.

“Thank you,” you replied, kissing her cheek. “Speaking of socks, how's Sonny?” you asked. The last you talked to Sonny this morning over the phone he was frazzled because he couldn’t find his socks.

She chuckled softly. “He found the socks. He’s nervous but fine.”

“Good,” you breathed out a sigh of relief. “Did Teresa get Autumn ready?”

She nodded. “Yes and she’s just as beautiful as her Momma. She’s bringing her in just a few minutes. I wanted a couple of minutes with you.”

“Oh. Okay,” you replied furrowing your brow.

“I have passed down a family heirloom to each of my daughters on their wedding day ” She reached into her handbag pulling out a velvet case that showed signs of age. “My mom wore this on her wedding day.”

“Oh my goodness. It’s gorgeous,” you said when she opened the box revealing a vintage hair comb. It was silver with pearls and diamonds. Tears pricked your eyes.

“Here. Let me help you attach your veil,” she offered her voice thick with unshed tears. Sonny’s mom stood behind you and slid the comb in your hair with the fingertip length veil attached. “Perfect.”

Seconds later Bella opened the door. “It’s time,” she announced with a smile.

Your small wedding party consisting of Amanda as maid of honor and Autumn as the flower girl, of course, made their way to the altar. As you didn’t have any family to escort you down the aisle you had no choice but to walk by yourself. Part of you was sad not having a father to “give you away” or a mother to share all the wedding planning. But you would never be alone again. You had a family.

You took a deep breath as the music swelled and you started down the flower petal-covered aisle.

Fin, Sonny’s best man, nudged him with his elbow.

Sonny’s mouth dropped open when he saw you. Sonny was smiling so wide you thought his face would split. Sonny had tears brimming his eyes when you reached him. “Wow,” he whispered.

He took your hands in his after you passed your bouquet to Liv. Sonny chose a gray tuxedo paired with a navy waistcoat and dark red tie. He looked amazing. His suit guy hit it out of the park.

“Wow to you too,” you replied back.

Sonny kissed the back of your hand and the two of you turned to the priest. As he talked about love, devotion, and overcoming adversity your mind wandered to all you and Sonny had experienced together. Falling in love so quickly, a surprise pregnancy, Sonny delivering Autumn, being blackmailed by your mother, breaking up, and finally getting back together.

It had been a hard road at times but you knew it made your relationship stronger. When the priest finished you and Sonny turned to one another.

Tears still glistened in Sonny’s eyes. He cleared his throat as he started his vows. “Today is a day that I thought would never come…

Sonny wrote his own vows. When he was done there wasn't a dry eye in the church, including yours. Sonny pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. He dapped your eyes and cheeks, drying your tears.

Taking a steadying breath you started saying your vows to Sonny. When you both decided to write your own vows the words you wanted to say to him spilled onto the page.

It was all you could do not to cry when you were reciting your vows. You had to pause several times to regain your composure. Although at this rate you’d have to touch up your makeup before pictures.

You took a deep breath to finish the last lines of your vows. “I know that we will find strength in one another and that we will continue to grow side by side. I believe in the truth of what we are. And I will love you always. With every beat of my heart.”

“We will now exchange rings,” the priest announced.

Amanda passed Sonny’s ring to you. “I give this ring as a sign of my love and devotion,” you said as you slipped the thick, platinum band on Sonny’s left ring finger.

Sonny turned to Fin for your wedding band. “I give this ring as a sign of my love and devotion,” he recited. He slipped your matching band onto your left ring finger.

“With the power vested in me by God and the State of New York, I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride,” he finished with a smile.

Sonny broke into a large smile along with yours. He pulled you flush to him and pressed his lips to yours. The kiss was soft and sweet at first but deepened quickly. It took the priest clearing his throat to end the kiss.

Sonny took your hand leading you up the aisle and out of the church. You and Sonny took advantage of the few short moments you would have together until later that night. “We did it,” Sonny said softly. His hand cupped your cheek. “There was a time I didn’t think…” He took a deep breath then squeezed your hands.

“Yeah, I know,” you whispered. “We may have taken the long way here but we made it.” You stretched up to give your husband a kiss.

After lots of pictures, you and Sonny finally made it to the banquet hall. It was filled with family and friends and some people you didn’t know. The reception was a blur of food, dancing, talking, and cake cutting. In lieu of presents, you and Sonny asked guests to donate to the clinic you helped get started several years prior.

The favorite part of the night had to be when Sonny danced with Autumn.

“Oh, isn’t that just the sweetest thing you have ever seen?” Ma Carisi sniffled.

“It really is,” you agreed.

Gina, Theresa, Liv, and Amanda were all dabbing at their eyes as they watched Sonny and Autumn together.

When you finally got a chance to sit down you took it all in. Sonny was dancing with Gina. Amanda was chatting with Fin, Mike, and Mike’s wife while Jesse, Autumn, and Mike’s daughter, Cora sat at the table playing with their baby dolls. Noah and Mike's son Issac were chasing one another around the room. Liv and Tucker were cozy at their table.

Sonny’s Mom and Dad were having a conversation with Nick. Watching everyone made you tear up.

Sonny draped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close to him, and kissed the crown of your head. “You okay?”

Sighing, you nodded. “Yeah. Just seeing everyone here it- I didn’t grow up with a family and now I have all this,” you answered, gesturing to your family and friends. “Thank you for giving me that.”

“You’ll never be alone again, doll,” Sonny reassured you.

The party was still going on when you began saying your goodbyes. Autumn had fallen asleep in Gina’s arms. You kissed her cheek. You knew you’d see her and the rest of the family in the morning for breakfast before you flew out and people traveled back home.

“You ready for the honeymoon?” you asked Sonny as he slid into the rented vintage Bentley. The chauffeur pulled away from the reception hall headed to your motel for the night.

“I’ve been looking forward to it since you said yes,” he replied with a grin. “I have some ideas.”

“Hmmm… what do you have up your sleeve, Mr. Carisi?”

Sonny nuzzled your neck. “Oh, you’ll just have to be patient, Mrs. Carisi,” he whispered into your ear. “Good things come to those who wait.”

And he was right. In more ways than one.

#sonny carisi x reader #sonny carisi #autumn series #law and order: svu #law and order svu #wedding

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raibebe · 5 years ago

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Puppy love

Genre: Fluff Words: 2k Prompt: Dog Dad Xiaojun Warnings: You might get diabetes or severe second hand embarrassment...

A/N: Something self-indulgent again who would have expected that from me?? Basically Xiaojun is Bella’s favorite Dad and they have been way too cute in the WayV lives we’ve been getting. This is kind of a little present for @burtonized who always encourages me and tells me my writing doesn’t suck. This isn’t much but I hope you like it.

“Pepper! Pepper come here!” You called out to your puppy. Well he wasn’t really a puppy anymore. The Labrador-mix had grown up quite a bit since you first got him about half a year ago but to you he would always stay the little puppy that used to be afraid of squeaky toys. But right now he was growing up the be a dog with a lot of pent up energy which was why you had decided to take him to a nearby dog park for the first time a couple of weeks ago and it had been the best decision you had ever made. Pepper could not only let out all his energy that had pent up during the week but you also hoped that he could make some friends. So far he seemed to play with a bunch of different dogs but he was still a little intimidated by the bigger dogs and the smaller ones couldn’t really keep up with him and his long legs. But today he was zooming around all over the place and you had lost track of where he had went, his chocolate brown fur nowhere to be seen.

You quickly grabbed your bag and Pepper’s leash to go and search for your little boy. What if he had gotten into any trouble with some of the bigger dogs? Or ha picked a fight with some of the feisty Schnauzers? “Pepper!” You called out his name again as you walked around the perimeter when you heard a familiar bark and you little ball of sunshine came running for you, almost tackling you to the ground when you kneeled down to embrace him. “There you are my little boy. Where have you been?” You laughed, trying to get his face angled away from you. As much as he liked to give you kisses, you didn’t know where he had his face today. “Yes I missed you too, baby.” You giggled when you finally managed to detangle yourself from the hyper dog to stand back up again. “You wanna go home?” You asked him but instead of coming back to you, the Labrador-mix ran back over to the edge of the park where a bunch of big trees were providing shade from the afternoon sun. Sighing you followed your dog to see what he was up to. What you didn’t expect was for him to be playing with what seemed to be a beagle that was just a little smaller than he was, energetically jumping around before running over to you, bringing his new friend with you to show them off. “Well hello there pretty,” you smiled, carefully extending your hand so the other dog could smell it first before you petted their head. “Is this your new friend, Pepper?” You asked your dog who was bumping your other arm with his snout, also demanding cuddles now. “Let me see your tag, baby,” you cooed at the little beagle. In pretty cursive lettering it said ‘Bella’ on the tag of her pink collar. “What a pretty name for a pretty girl,” you cooed at her, scratching the fur beneath her chin which she seemed to like.

“Bella!” A deep voice called over, making you turn your head to who you assumed to be Bella’s owner. You didn’t know what kind of person you had expected it to be but it wasn’t this. The man didn’t look like he was not from this world. You wouldn’t be surprised if you found a sculpture that had his exact face. His cheekbones seemed to be carved by the most talented sculptor there had ever been, his lips must have been drawn by the most delicate hands and his eyes had to be made from fallen stars. He was absolutely gorgeous. His face was framed by silver strands that fell a little into his eyes, hiding a pair of strong eyebrows. With how stunned you were by the handsome stranger, you forgot that Pepper was still very much hyper and eager to play, so the dog easily tackled you and attacked your face with wet kisses. “Oh god, Pepper, get off,” you laughed, rolling away from the sloppy display of affection. “Bad puppy,” you grinned, ruffling the fur on your dog’s head.

“So Pepper is your dog?” The deep voice of the stranger asked. He had also kneeled down and was currently petting Bella who had rolled onto her back, asking for belly rubs. “Yes, I’ve lost him for a second there. He has gotten so fast when he has the zoomies. I was worried he had picked a fight again.” “Oh no, he was making friends with Bella. She is a little shy when it comes to other dogs but he approached her very calmly,” he smiled. “Calm? That must have been another dog,” you laughed, tilting your head out of reach for Pepper to kiss. “He is really cute,” the stranger said, “They played together really nicely.” “That’s great. He hasn’t really made any other friends here and we’ve been coming here quite often,” you smiled, getting up to pat the dirt off your clothes. “I am Dejun,” the stranger introduced himself, holding out a hand for you to shake. Smiling, you introduced yourself as well, quickly shaking his outstretched hand. “I’ve never met anyone with that name,” you blurted out when the silence began to stretch between you two and you immediately just wanted to slap yourself for such a statement. “Oh, yeah. I’m originally from China,” Dejun explained, running a hand through his fluffy looking hair. You briefly wondered how fluffy it really was when it was bleached to such a light color. “I’m sorry if that made you uncomfortable,” you quickly apologized. “Oh no, it’s fine. I get that a lot,” he assured you. “So what brought you here?” You asked to fill the silence between you while your dogs were playing between both of your legs. “I’m here on an exchange program for university,” he explained, “You want to go sit down and let them play for a bit?” Looking at your dogs playing, you couldn’t help but smile at the two puppies. “Sure, I have some time left,” you answered, picking up your bag and following the Chinese man to where he had his own bag on a bench. But it wasn’t a normal bag, it was a guitar case.

“You’re playing the guitar?” “Yeah,” Dejun replied, flushing slightly when he picked up the instrument, sending some pages of notes flying that he quickly grabbed. “I was just practicing and debating if I should rearrange some parts of the song.” “So you’re studying something music related?” “Yeah, I’m mostly focused on singing though.” “Are you comfortable with singing a little for me?” You shyly asked. “Sure, I can show you what I’ve been working on but it’s a Chinese song.” “That’s fine, I probably can’t tell you much about the quality of the song though. I’m not really artistic,” you smiled. “It’s fine. I don’t know too many people here yet outside of my program. Even less people who would volunteer to listen to my singing,” he replied, carefully plucking the strings of his guitar. “I’m sure your singing is great.”

“You haven’t even heard me yet,” Dejun mumbled, his face turning red. He quickly cleared his throat and strummed his guitar a couple of times before he gently started to hum a melody. Shortly after he took another deep breath and played his first cords before he began to sing. You were immediately captivated by the smoothness of his voice and even though you couldn’t understand a single word he was singing, you could feel the emotion and desperation dripping from his lips. Every other sound despite the softness of Dejun’s voice and the clear sounds of his guitar seemed to become quiet around you. You couldn’t hear any of the dogs barking or cars honking in the distance. The world seemed to have shrunken down to the little bench the both of you sat on. When Dejun sang the last note and looked up at you again, you couldn’t stop the tear that escaped your eyes. His eyes grew twice the size when he saw the little drop roll down your cheek before you could quickly wipe it. “I’m sorry, that was just so beautiful,” you choked out, rubbing your eyes. “Thank you,” Dejun whispered with a small voice, fiddling with his fingers before putting down his guitar and pulling out a packet of handkerchiefs that you accepted gratefully, pulling one out to dab your eyes dry. “I have never had someone cry because of my singing,” he mumbled, not really meeting your eyes. “It was just so emotional,” you choked out.

“Look at the dogs,” Dejun suddenly whispered, pointing to the ground. There, right between yours and Dejun’s feet, your two dogs laid, all curled up against each other, looking up at the two of you with their big dark eyes. “Oh god,” you choked out. There was no way you could hold back your tears anymore. “I’m sorry,” you sobbed, hiding your face behind your hands. Dejun was clearly overwhelmed with your reaction, helplessly looking down at the dogs where Pepper had gotten up to rub his face against your leg, quickly followed by Bella who sat down at your feet as well. “Do you... Do you want a hug or something?” He slowly asked, awkwardly shuffling in his seat. “I don’t want to make you feel even more uncomfortable than I already am.” “It’s fine,” he assured you, scooting a little closer and opening his arms, “I was the one who caused it after all.” “Really?” After he nodded, you closed the distance between your bodies, gently wrapping your arms around his waist when he circled his arms around you, somewhat awkwardly patting your back.

“This is so awkward,” you laughed when you managed to stop sobbing, hiding your face in his surprisingly strong chest with how lean he had looked. “Yeah,” Dejun laughed with you, making your head shake on his chest. “I’m so sorry,” you chuckled before you detangled yourself from him and wiped your eyes from happy tears this time. “You still look really pretty,” he blurted out, seemingly shocked at the words that had just left his mouth, his face turning bright red. “Thank you,” you stuttered, blood creeping to your face as well. “Wow,” Dejun cleared his voice awkwardly and picked up Bella who had been pawing at his legs, hiding his face in her fur. “Can I... Can I invite you for lunch or something to make up for crying into your shirt?” You stuttered, not daring to look at Dejun and instead petting Pepper who had been pawing at your legs to be picked up ever since he had picked up Bella. But sadly Pepper was getting too big to be picked up by you anymore but he hadn’t caught onto that yet. “You don’t have to, it’s fine,” Dejun politely declined, still hiding behind his dog that he was now holding like a baby, cradling her in his arms. You just barely held in the urge to coo at the pair, Bella really seemed to love him. “But I want to,” you said, “We could bring our dogs, they seemed to enjoy playing with each other.” “I... I guess that would be nice,” he stuttered. “You don’t have to.” “I would... I would like to get to know you better,” Dejun admitted, his face still tinted red, “And it’s good for the puppies as well I guess.” “Then it’s settled,” you beamed, petting an excited Bella when she jumped from his arms before she chased after Pepper who had gone running again. “Are you going to sing more while they’re playing?” You asked, motioning to his guitar. “Only if you promise to not cry again,” Dejun chuckled, picking up his instrument again.

#xiaojun #wayv #xiao dejun #kafenetwork #xiaojun fluff #xiaojun imagines #xiaojun scenarios #wayv imagines #wayv scenarios #wayv fluff

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since0202 · 4 years ago

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Chapter 17: Vote

When Edward pulled up to their large secluded home, Grace had to catch her breath. The staggering estate was predominantly made up of windows and the curve of the architecture mirrored the bow and sway of the blossoming trees. When they climbed the wide, wood steps to the massive front door, Bella, hand in hand with Edward, turned to give Grace a worrying look.

“Just….try to keep an open mind,” Bella said mysteriously. Grace stopped mid step and raised her eyebrows.

“Okaaaay,” she said slowly. Edward gave a short laugh and pulled Bella further into him as they walked through the slowly opening door. Grace looked behind her into the woods for a brief moment before crossing the threshold of the Cullen house, trying her best to suppress a cold shiver winding through her and circling in her belly.

Grace followed Edward and Bella up a flight of stairs to a landing leading to a wide open living room space. The darkened windows faced out toward the forest and Grace could just barely make out the shifting shadows of the branches in the trees. The entire Cullen family was there, standing statuesque around different areas of the living room. When they entered, their eyes all shifted over to them.

After a brief, settling silence, she heard Carlisle gently ask: “And who’s this?” Before Grace had a chance to speak up, Edward said just as calmly back:

“This is Grace Alo, Bella’s cousin.” No other explanation necessary apparently. “Grace, this is my father, Carlisle.”

“Yes, Bella’s mentioned him. Nice to meet you, Dr. Cullen.” Grace responded more relaxedly than she thought she was capable of at this moment surrounded by 7 “friendly” vampires.

“Carlisle is fine.” He nodded and gave her a warm smile. How could vampires smile warmly, she wondered.

“Right. Carlisle then.”

“This is my wife Esme” he circled an arm around her shoulder and the small but welcoming woman gave her a smile as well, mirroring Carlisle’s warmth. “And I think you know my other children, Alice and Jasper, and that’s Rosalie and Emmett.”

“Hi.” Grace gave a small wave and looked to each other, silently measuring them up. She was toast if they wanted a snack.

“Edward has informed us that Victoria has been in the area, causing some trouble for you and your friends. We’re very sorry for that. We hope no one has been hurt.” Carlisle said sincerely.

Friends. Grace looked to Bella and wondered how much the Cullens knew and how much they thought she knew about them.

“We’ve kept her at bay.” Grace said simply. Bound with the knowledge that she was not supposed to say anything about the pack, she wasn’t sure how much was too much.

“Well, we’re happy to take it from here and not put any of you in further danger.” Carlisle nodded. Grace watched him carefully and was somewhat shocked by his overwhelming kindness and decency for those he had never met. She automatically took a step forward in her sudden comfort and then stopped, taking care to step back and relaying a quiet “thank you.”

“How many of your kind are there?” Rosalie suddenly asked, sharp and strong.

“Excuse me?” Grace said back, feeling a protective surge move through her.

“Rosalie, that’s not important.” Carlisle placated. “And what’s more, we should respect Grace’s privacy and the treaty.” Carlisle nodded toward her. Rosalie’s unwavering gaze stayed on Grace. She gave it back, stone faced and sure. She was immovable.

“We don’t exactly get along with their kind. It’s a matter of safety...for my family,” Rosalie said. Before Carlisle could step in again, Grace shot back.

“There’s enough of us,” Grace said solidly, crossing her arms, “To take down a threat.” Rosalie let a small, intimidating smile creep over her lips.

“Fair.” She said.

“Grace isn’t a werewolf.” Bella said. “She’s the Spirit Bird.”

BELLA! Grace internally screamed. Outwardly she gave a little squeak and clapped her mouth shut with an audible clack.

“What?” Bella said, looking at Grace surprised. “Oh. Sorry.” she said, suddenly realizing her mistake and wincing. Grace let out a wide exhale and placed her hands on her hips.

“Well, at least Sam won’t kill me.” Grace muttered. “He’ll kill you instead.” Grace laughed pointing toward Bella. Edward unconsciously flinched and tightened his hold on Bella. “Just kidding.” Grace said when she noticed his rigid stance.

“Anyway, that’s not why I’m here.” Bella turned back to the family and looked at each of their faces. “You all know what I want.” She turned to look at Grace knowingly. “But I think it’s only fair that since I want to be one of you, and that I’m asking to join your family, that we vote.”

Grace felt white hot piercing through her. She was frozen in place, but inside her head she was screaming. If Edward could glean a feeling from this, she was sure he’d understand her tight body language. She wanted to be one of them?! Her stomach turned at the thought of Bella becoming a vampire, but when she looked at the eyes around the room, their golden hued colored with worry, chagrin, and some with complete disdain, she knew it wasn’t as easy as a simple ‘yes.’

“So?” Bella looked to Alice first.

“Of course, I already consider you my sister.” Alice hugged her and Bella stumbled a little bit when she was pulled into the tight hug. Grace, still frozen to the spot tried to unflex her fingers.

Jasper nodded and then gave a short, pained, “Yes.”

Emmett was next a broad smile pulled across his face in unrelenting joy: “Hell yes!” he picked Bella up and spun her around. “It would be nice not hearing Edward’s whining all the time.” Bella laughed and Edward groaned.

“Rosalie?” Bella offered. Grace carefully watched the beautiful blonde vampire shift from one foot to the other smoothly.

“I want to apologize to both of you. For my actions. I was hasty and it almost cost my brother his life. Thank you for saving him,” she said with a look on her face that showed she was almost surprised herself. “But I vote no. This isn’t a life I would have chosen for myself. And in good conscious, I can’t wish it upon you.” Rosalie folded her hands in front of her and looked down.

Bella gave a short nod, quickly moving to Esme. “Yes, of course. You’re already our family.”

When her gaze rested on Carlisle, he stared at Edward intently, trying to communicate with him.

“Why are you doing this to me?” Edward lamented.

“You’ve chosen not to live without her. And will not lose my son.” Carlisle looked back to Bella and said “Yes.” softly.

“Edward?” Bella looked up at him.

“You know my answer,” Edward said, somewhat annoyed but his arm still wrapped around Bella’s waist protectively.

“We need it on record,” Bella jabbed.

“No.” Edward said softly gazing down at her and bringing a hand to caress her face. She stared up at him for a moment longer and then pulled away slightly to turn and face Grace. Grace was still glued to the same spot stretching her fingers out, her face set in a hard line.

“Grace?” Bella prompted.

“Who me?” Grace choked out.

“Yes.”

“Why do you want my vote?” Grace was genuinely surprised, aghast even that Bella even considered her opinion on this obviously outlandish vote. Bella waited patiently. Grace let out an exasperated huff of air and shook her head, “Bella, I love you, so so much. But this….I know you think this will make you happy. But Bella...this will start a war. One I will have to fight and I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to lose anyone,” she looked around the room. She didn’t know then, but when she said ‘anyone’ she meant everyone standing in that room as well.

Bella sucked in a worried breath and fiddled with her fingertips. “I understand-”

“Do you?” Grace interjected, finally taking the steps forward to stand in front of Bella and clasp her hands over hers. “The treaty...the treaty states that if a Cullen bites a human, then the deal is off.”

“We’ll leave.” Bella whispered. “I know we’ll have to leave.”

“Bella. They’ll follow you. And I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop them.” Grace watched her face closely. “Just think about it. Think about….Jake.” she choked out. “This will kill him.” Tears sprang to her eyes now.

“Grace,” Bella pulled Grace into a hug and kept her there, whispering in her ear, “I promise I won’t do anything to put you or Jake or the pack in danger. I promise.” She pulled back and looked at her face. “We’ll figure it out. Together.” Grace knew that there was no way to win tonight. So instead, she nodded, let the tears drop from her face onto the cleanly polished mahogany floors and sucked in a deep breath.

Carlisle was next to her in an instant with a handkerchief, that Grace gladly accepted and wiped her eyes with. She chuckled out a loose thank you and Carlisle kindly nodded.

“I should get you two back home. It’s late.” Edward said. He looked at Grace appreciatively glad to have someone on his side in this fight for Bella’s life.

But Grace wasn’t so sure he had the same goal. If this affected no one else, Grace would have supported it because she recognized that Bella was happiest with Edward. And to stay with him this way, she had to change. It made sense, even if Grace thought it should be a last resort. But in the back of her mind, she knew what it was like to want to be with someone that you couldn’t in the way you were now.

Tucked in the safety of Edward’s backseat, Grace let her head lean against the cool window. Just as she was drifting off, she heard Edward gently say, “Grace.”

She sat up and looked around her quickly. Edward was staring straight ahead out the windshield. Bella had fallen asleep. Grace squinted out the windshield and saw just inside the tree line six pairs of glowing eyes. She sucked in a sharp breath and looked to Edward.

“They don’t look happy.” Grace said sarcastically.

“Hate to be a Spirit Bird right about now,” Edward said quietly.

“Or a vampire,” Grace retorted. Edward chuckled. “Okay, I’ll get out first and you get Bella upstairs.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Edward said, his eyes still glued to the forest.

Grace got out of the backseat easily, her nervous energy shaking any tiredness from her body. She strode across her lawn toward the forest and then stopped just past the walkway. She kept her hands at her side in case she felt like she needed to block them. Edward was quick and quiet and in the house by the time Grace came to a stop.

The crescendo of angry voices laced with hurt, betrayal, curiosity, and more prominently, anger, were loud and clear. But something in her held her in place and she conveyed as best she could without speaking that everything was going to be alright. To which a low howl accompanied by a bevvy of growls rang out. The flood of emotion coming from the pack was so strong that she had a hard time hearing any full sentences. They all overlapped each other in outrage. And then, she heard one clear voice ring out like a shot.

Is she alright? It was Jake’s voice. It was firm but void of any desperate anger like the others. He was upset but remained more level headed in his tone to make sure his message got across.

“Yes.” Grace said quietly out into the trees to him. Then suddenly, the voices stopped like someone at given a silent command. Grace could hear the relief of silence and crickets, and animals creaking around in the forest. She was grateful for it and nodded once toward the trees, conveying an unspoken decision to the pack and moved swiftly into the house.

------

“Well, you’re both grounded,” Charlie had his hands on hips, donned in his chief getup, and was standing in front of Grace and Bella as they sat on the couch.

“Wait! Why am I grounded?” Grace said.

“Yeah, that doesn’t seem fair dad, she tried to stop me,” Bella defended her and Grace nodded enthusiastically.

“Because not 12 hours after Bella got home, you snuck her out to see Edward in the middle of the night.” Charlie stated matter of factly, pleased as punch with his findings.

“Wha-” Grace said.

“Sam called.”

“Aaaah, what a little-” Grace started.

“I’d save it. He was only looking out. Soooo,” Charlie pointed to Grace first, “Two weeks, school only, trips to the rez accompanied only by Jacob or….what’s his name?”

“Paul.” Grace said dejectedly crossing her arms.

“Yes and 7 p.m. curfew. And you,” he pointed to Bella who looked at him expectantly, unafraid. “Grounded for the rest of your life. That means no seeing Edward, no phone, nothing.” Bella nodded biting her lip.

“Saw that coming,” she replied. “But dad I’m 18 so-”

“Well as long as you live in my house, you’re grounded.” Charlie said.

“Then I’m moving out.” Bella said back.

“Okay woah,” Grace halted the conversation. “Bells, you’re not moving out. We’ve got 2 more months of school and you know that’s not the way you want to leave,” Grace gave her a knowing stare.

“Fine, but I still get to see Edward.” Bella crossed her arms looking up at Charlie. He considered this for a moment.

“5 p.m. curfew, no school nights. You can go to the reservation whenever you’d like to hang out with Jacob. If you head anywhere else, I’ll know.” Charlie conceded. Bella looked at Grace who rolled her eyes and mouthed ‘Sam.’

“Grace gets a 7.p.m curfew, why can’t I have that?” Bella challenged. Charlie started to get red in the face.

“5.p.m when your with him. 7p .m. when you’re with Grace or Jake. That’s it, Bella.” to this Charlie turned and started walking toward the door. “Now get to school. You’re going to be late.” When he swung open the front door, Edward was climbing the steps. “Oh jeez!” he let out, annoyed.

“Chief Swan,” Edward said, giving him a gentle smile.

“Get out of here, they’re both grounded.”

“Dad, the truck is at school, we don’t have a ride.” Bella said as she passed him and beelined it for his car. Grace hiked her backpack on her shoulder and moved past him too. Charlie dragged a hand over his face and threw his hands up.

“Fine,” and walked off toward his police cruiser.

In the car, Grace opened her phone and scrolled aimlessly through the onslaught of text messages in her phone that had been building up since late last night. She only looked for one name though. He hadn’t been one of the many frantic text messages last night though. Still, for comfort, she looked at the last message he had sent her, trying to channel his warm, soothing voice in her head.

I’m so sorry, Grace.

Let me know when you want to talk.

#twilight fanfiction #twilightfanfic #twilightfanfiction #Bella Swan #edward cullen #jacob black #jacobblackxoc #the cullens #the pack #new moon #chapter 17 #a monster lives here #paul lahote

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heauxplesslydevoted · 5 years ago

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Chess Not Checkers

Summary: King Liam and Queen Kendall finally have a meeting with Bradshaw and Isabella to discuss the betrothal treaty.

A/N: The final part of this Fracture trilogy, and probably my favorite one to write. Who knows what the writers have planned for Auvernal’s hostile takeover of Cordonia, but I’m not letting that shit fly not another damn second. As always, thanks for reading and enjoy!

Catch Up Here

Tags: @senseofduties @lapisreviewsstuff @akacalliope @badchoicesposts @drakewalker04 @canknot @sirbeepsalot @hopefulmoonobject @texaskitten30 @eadanga @the-unconquered-queen @flyawayboo @aestheticartwriting @ao719 @zaffrenotes @kingliam2019 @aworldoffandoms

~v~

“Do not wear a blue tie!” Liam hears his wife yell from their walk-in closet.

Liam drops the tie in his hand and steps away from it, suddenly suspicious. “Why not? Is something wrong with them?

Moments pass and Kendall walks back into their bedroom, slipping on a pair of heels. “Nothing is wrong with your ties. But the color blue brings out your eyes, and we aren’t going for a warm and friendly aura. Wear red. You’ll look bold and commanding.”

Today is the day for their meeting with Bradshaw and Isabella. For the past week, he, Kendall and their group of close friends have been talking and going over plans to get Eleanor out of her betrothal to Bradshaw and Isabella’s son. While Olivia wanted to ambush them and have them killed as soon as they stepped foot in Cordonia, Kendall wanted to be as quick and civil as possible. While she isn’t above starting an international war, she doesn’t want that to be her first option.

Liam decided to step back on this and let Kendall take the lead when it came to dealing with Auvernal. He’s willing to intervene if the need arose, but for now, he is perfectly content with just silently supporting his queen. She has a solid plan of attack, and he’s excited to see everything play out.

“Red it is.”

Kendall finishes putting on her lipstick and drops the tube onto her nightstand, as Liam puts on a deep red tie. He slips on his jacket to complete the look, checking the pockets a few times, and the couple walks out of their private quarters, headed to Liam’s study, a guard a few steps behind, watching from a safe distance. Kendall demanded that they get better security, so they are currently in the process of testing out a few ex-military men and women.

Bastien greets them at the door to the study with a quick bow. “Your Majesties.”

“Hello Bastien. I take it our guests have settled in?” Liam asks.

“Yes, they’ve been in here for about 10 minutes.”

“And they haven’t caused any trouble right?”

Bastien shrugs. “They’re about as well behaved as we can expect them to be. No red flags, sir.”

“Very well.” Liam squeezes his wife’s hand, and she squeezes back. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

Bastien steps aside and lets them in. Bradshaw and Isabella are there, Isabella checking her nails, a bored expression on her face, Bradshaw standing at the bar cart, sipping on a glass of scotch. Liam bites down on his tongue in order to prevent himself from berating Bradshaw and calling him a tacky piece of shit for taking it upon himself to get a drink.

Kendall squeezes his hand once more before dropping it. “Bradshaw, Isabella! How was your flight here?”

“Nice. Thanks for sending your jet to get us.”

“No problem.”

“I will say your security detail is extremely...thorough,” Bradshaw continues. “They took all of my wife’s jewelry, all of our electronics. I couldn’t even keep my lucky handkerchief.”

“It’s a new security protocol,” Liam says. “This palace has been through...trying times recently, so we decided to take the necessary precautions. Surely you two understand.”

“Of course!” Isabella says brightly, trying to keep things as light as possible. She looks Kendall up and down, silently appraising the new mother. Kendall looks good, with her dewy skin, long brown hair drawn into a low ponytail and simple black dress. “Kendall, you look amazing! I could barely get out of bed for the first month after having my twins and I looked like a whale, but you’re glowing.”

“Thank you, Queen Isabella.”

“Yeah, you’d think after such a...traumatic birthing experience, you’d be lying low,” Bradshaw adds. “You must be made of steel.”

If the mention of her labor brought up any sort of emotion, Kendall refuses to show it. Liam studies her, and she remains absolutely calm, as if she didn’t hear Bradshaw at all.

“I’m from New York,” Kendall says with a shrug. “We’re tough people. Resilient.”

“I can see.”

“Why don’t we all have a seat?” Liam suggests. “There’s a lot that we have to talk about.”

“First and foremost, congrats on the little bundle of joy!” Isabella says excitedly. “Boy or girl?”

“Girl,” Liam confirms. “Named Eleanor after my late mother.” Isabella coos.

“A little princess! A future queen.” Bradshaw nods approvingly. “Congratulations.”

“Where is the princess?” Isabella asks. “We’d love to officially meet her.”

“She’s with her grandmother right now,” Kendall says. “And she’s only two weeks old, so she’s not accepting visitors at the moment.”

Isabella falters a bit but she quickly recovers. Kendall can tell she wasn’t expecting that as a response. “Very well. I guess we’ll have to meet her at another time.”

“When the rest of the world meets her at her anointing ceremony,” Kendall says, her tone short. “And not a moment sooner.”

“Now, now, Queen Kendall, simmer down,” Bradshaw starts. “You’re mighty tense for someone who’s practically family at this point.”

Kendall reels back, mostly in shock that Bradshaw had the audacity to get so familiar with her. Who the fuck does he think he is?

“The condescending orders may work for you and your marriage, King Bradshaw, but please never again make the foolish mistake of telling my wife what to do, especially in our home,” Liam warns, his jaw getting tense. “And thank you for bringing up this marriage alliance, because it’s the perfect segue.”

“When should we make the announcement?” Isabella asks. “I was thinking we could host a small gathering first, just so the kids get acquainted with each other first. I’m sure Isaac and Lyra will absolutely adore Eleanor.”

“That won’t be happening,” Kendall says with a shake of her head. “But speaking of Isaac and Lyra, I found out some wonderful information not too long ago.” Kendall sits back in her seat, beaming. “You two are married in name only.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me loud and clear, and it’s a pretty straightforward concept to grasp. Bradshaw needed a wife, Isabella was a gold digger and just cunning enough to get what she wanted. Match made in Hell if you ask me. You guys both have people on the side, and you live separate lives.”

Bradshaw is visibly flustered, but after a few tense seconds, he chuckles. “With all due respect, our marriage is none of your concern. And that had nothing to do with our children.”

“Oh, but it is and it does,” Kendall says. “Bradshaw, you don’t appreciate the art of storytelling. I’m building to my point. You guys are married on paper only. Which is fine, live how you want to live. But on my maternity leave, I’ve been doing a lot of reading. And I’ve been particularly fond of Auvernese history and inheritance laws.”

“What about it?”

“Six hundred years ago, your ancestor, King Marshall, married a woman named Catherine. He was still the Crown Prince at the time, they were young and in love. Sounds simple enough, but Catherine had been previously married, and that marriage produced a son, Harold. This was quite a scandal, for multiple reasons. But Marshall and Catherine wanted to be married. Marshall’s parents were against it, no way the heir could marry a divorcee, with a child. But Marshall persisted. After a long standoff, the then king Erik relented, but on one condition. He put it in writing that under no circumstances could a non-blood relative receive land or titles through royalty, and heirs were only legitimate if they were conceived within the marriage. The monarchy was to flow solely through the bloodline, come Hell or high water. Marshall accepted, and the amendment was added to your country’s Constitution, a document that can only be added to, never taken away from. It’s a harsh, strict law, and many people have fought it, but your country’s Supreme Court has never overturned it, nor has the European Court of Human Rights. Anyway, Marshall married Catherine, and they lived happily ever after, having 3 children of their own.”

“Now that I’m done with my history lesson, I’m sure you’re wondering what my point is,” Kendall continues. Her eyes flicker over to Isabella, who’s glaring daggers at her. “You want to tell him, or should I?”

Bradshaw looks between the two women, “Tell me what?”

“That your treaty mandates that the Crown Prince or Princess of Cordonia, child to King Liam and Queen Kendall, is to marry Prince Isaac, or Princess Lyra of Aurvernal, child of King Bradshaw and Queen Isabella, thereby uniting the two countries. Those are the exact words, your words. But Bradshaw, the problem with that is, you don’t have any children.”

“Excuse me?”

“Bradshaw, don’t listen to a word this woman says,” Isabella orders.

Kendall rolls her eyes at the demand. “Bella over here, was very reckless and wasn’t cautious of her ovulation cycle or taking precautions, because she didn’t get pregnant with your children. The twins belong to someone else. I did a little digging, and voila!” Kendall moves her arms dramatically, the boisterous New Yorker coming out. “I found the truth.”

The silence in the office is so thick, it threatens to stifle everyone.

“I don’t believe you,” Bradshaw says.

“I don’t care. Notice how your wife hasn’t jumped in to defend herself or deny my allegations.”

Bradshaw turns to Isabella, his glare so cold, it could’ve frozen her on the spot. “She’s lying, right?” She doesn’t say anything in response and he bangs his fist on the table in front of him, making her jump. “RIGHT?!”

“Bradshaw, I’m sorry. They’re still yours in–”

“I don’t want to hear another word from you!” It’s one thing to cheat. Bradshaw doesn’t care about that. But his wife’s recklessness could crumble the monarchy.

“She could’ve gotten away with it, because those children are a spitting image of their mother, it’s almost scary. No one would bat an eyelash or ask questions.” Kendall thinks back to the spy mission Olivia completed last week, a trip to the hospital the twins were born at. This information came about after she knocked out a few guards and scoured the family’s medical records records. “But it’s simple biology. A woman with type A blood, and a man with type AB blood cannot produce two children with type O. Now, as for the true, biological father, that is something I don’t know, but Isabella is currently sleeping with her personal bodyguard so it may be him.”

Liam waits on bated breath as he watches the exchange. Bradshaw’s face is beet red, and Liam is on guard, defensive just in case the other king decides to do something stupid.

“So you see, Eleanor isn’t going to be marrying your son, ever. Or your daughter.”

Bradshaw dismisses Kendall’s words with a hand wave. He’s not letting go so easily. “I signed their birth certificate, I am their father. Your husband signed a treaty, whether you like it or not. And the fact that you just admitted to breaking countless laws with your little espionage scheme is grounds enough to get you into a lot of trouble.”

“Prove it,” Kendall challenges. “Prove that I had someone access those records, and that I’ve been collecting intel. I’m already done so you didn’t catch me red handed, and there’s no proof of my admission. The two of you were thoroughly searched and stripped of any cell phones, recorders, and cameras. Our guards have 24/7 security footage in this office, so on the off chance you were able to get in here with any of the aforementioned items, you would’ve been caught planting them before this meeting began. And besides, you push this issue any further, I will demand a paternity test on the world stage, and then all eyes will be on us. You’d rather die than publicly admit your wife cheated on you and someone else fathered those children.”

“I’ll have children with Bradshaw, easily,” Isabella says quickly. “Problem solved.”

Kendall grimaces sarcastically. “You specifically named Isaac and Lyra in the treaty. Had you not done that, your plan could’ve worked. Nice try though, and kudos for the quick thinking.”

Bradshaw glares at Kendall and then stands. Clenching his fist, he tries to breathe, to calm down. “You insolent, little girl. You think because you’ve read a few history books that you’re so smart and you can play politics? You think you can blackmail or extort me?” He scoffs before turning to Liam. “I know she gets your dick wet every once in a while, but you’re letting your commoner wife dictate you and shape international diplomacy?”

Liam’s nostrils flare but before he can reach across the table to attack Bradshaw, Kendall’s places a comforting hand on his shoulder, signaling for him to remain seated. There’s no need for violence when they clearly have the upper hand.

“I don’t think I’m smart. My bachelors degree from Brown in Policy Analysis and my Master’s from Columbia speak volumes all by themselves. There’s no need for vulgarity and petty insults because you aren’t intelligent or mature enough to comport yourself professionally.”

“I figured you wouldn’t back down after the whole paternity fiasco, and that’s fine.” Kendall shrugs with nonchalance. “We can involve the United Nations and the International Law Commission, and have them review that treaty if that’s what you want. But when I get in front of an audience and turn on the waterworks, crying about how my unborn daughter and I nearly died in the middle of a hostage situation, and instead of helping though you had the means to do so, you strong-armed my husband into signing a sham treaty, I don’t think that’ll go over too well for you.”

“It’s politics,” Bradshaw snarls. “You got bested.”

“No, it was a shitty coercion attempt. And a direct violation of Article 51 of the Vienna Convention Treaty, something your ancestors signed.”

“You don’t want to go down this road with me, with Auvernal,” Bradshaw continues, his eyes getting black as coal. “We want to be adults about this alliance, but please don’t force my hand. We can either be a powerful ally or a dangerous enemy.”

“You’ve been not-so-subtly hinting at war or a hostile occupation of Cordonia for over a year, and we’re not afraid of it. Like I’ve told my husband, I am not afraid of war. In this case, I’d welcome it gladly..”

“Ooh, such big fighting words.”

“Bradshaw, stop it!” Isabella hisses. He was always one for threats and brute force, when it wasn’t necessary.

“Shut up, you traitorous whore.” Bradshaw keeps his eyes on Kendall. He raises an eyebrow in challenge. “Well, the choice is yours. Excuse me, the choice belongs to the monarch. I keep forgetting who is who, considering your husband lets you wear the pants in this relationship.”

Liam sighs. Bradshaw wants to get a rise out of him for some reason, and it’s almost amusing.

He gets out of his seat and starts walking around the office. His movements are poised and he glides across the room, until he’s standing where Bradshaw is. “Unlike you, Bradshaw, I actually respect my wife. She’s strong and intelligent, and she has my full support in whatever we do. Your attempts to belittle her for being my queen consort are weak and baseless. And because she doesn’t want me to react, I won’t.”

“Of course not.” Bradshaw smirks. “Oh, King Liam the Gentle Hearted. You’ve always been the weakling, the coward. Too afraid to actually do something, opting to always play it safe. Tell me, how’s that working out for you? For your people? All the bombings and assassination attempts? How’d that work out for your precious daddy, Constan–”

Bradshaw can’t finish the question because in a flash, Liam pulls a dagger out of his suit pocket and trains it at Bradshaw’s throat, the tip of the blade just barely touching his Adam’s apple.

“Ohmygod!” The words fly out of Isabella’s mouth so fast, she stumbles over them. Liam motions for her to stay calm and seated.

“What was that?” Liam asks. “Please continue to speak on my late father, I dare you. Go on, I want to hear what you were about to say about him.” Bradshaw stays silent, his eyes trained on the dagger. “Eyes on me, Bradshaw.” Liam hits Bradshaw under the chin, forcing the other man to look him in the eye.

“I am so sick and tired of people mistaking my kindness for weakness. I try to be a good leader. Thoughtful and compassionate. I just don’t want my people to fear me, to cower in my presence. It’s so easy to rule like you do, through fear and intimidation. That’s the true cowardice. And yes, I am a kind man, but don’t ever in your poor excuse for a life attempt to write me off as weak or cowardice. The Queen was correct, you do not scare us in the slightest. You’re nothing more than a little man with a Napoleon complex and a need to overcompensate for your own shortcomings, with a wife who honestly couldn't care less if you live or die. Your country is broke and falling apart at the seams because all of your resources go to an oversized military and flashy attractions, so you bulldoze your way into other territories to offset the damage, but hear me well when I say Cordonia will not be one of them.”

Kendall’s breath hitches in her throat at the unexpected action. Liam pulling a dagger - no doubt a gift from Olivia - on Bradshaw wasn’t part of their plan. But she wants to see where this goes, what his next move is. She’s known Liam to get upset before, but this is something new, this tense, tight-lidded rage. Where Bradshaw is one to puff out his chest, yell, and make threats in order to cause confusion and chaos, Liam moves like a ninja, swift, direct, and lethal.

“You want a war? We can go, in an instant. This country may be small and peaceful, but we descend from strong leaders and brave warriors. And be advised, that I’ve been through a lot this past year, and I have a lot of rage inside of me. Keep poking the bear, Bradshaw, and I will not stop until I personally kill you with my bare hands. I will not rest until I witness the life leave your eyes, and your country is nothing more than ashes and rubble. Just say the word, and it’ll be a done deal.”

“Don’t forget, darling,” Kendall stands to join her husband, but she keeps a watchful eye on Isabella. But the woman is practically frozen in fear, not an imminent threat in the slightest, “that if we go to war, it won’t be just Cordonia and Auvernal. It’ll be Auvernal and the small countries that they’ve seized against Cordonia and her allies. Greece, Italy, Spain, the United Kingdom, Australia, and my home country, the United States.”

“Oh right! Silly me, how could I forget? Thanks for the reminder, my love. So Bradshaw, Isabella, how about we forget the whole alliance and treaty fiasco, right here, right now. Or we can go to war.” Liam shrugs and presses the blade deeper, still careful not to break the skin. “Or how about I end this right now, slit your throat, and let you die a slow death, bleeding from your jugular and choking on your own blood. I don’t want to do that, because it’ll stain my very expensive floors, but I will. The choice is yours.”

“We withdraw!” Isabella exclaims, finally standing. “We’ll forget the whole thing, we’ll call it all off! Just put the weapon down, please!”

“Isabella, didn’t I tell you to be quiet?”

Liam tsks. “Listen to your wife, Bradshaw.”

“Bradshaw, are you truly prepared to die here?” Isabella asks. “Is all of this worth it? Put your foolish pride aside for once in your damn life! It’s over.”

Bradshaw looks Liam in the eye, knowing that the other king isn’t bluffing. Slowly, he raises his hands in the air. “We concede.”

“Good. That wasn’t so hard was it?” Liam lowers his dagger and Bradshaw releases a sigh of relief. “But just one more thing.”

“What?”

Liam extends his arm, the dagger slashing out and quickly plunging into Bradshaw’s side. Shouting in pain, Bradshaw falls to his knees. “I may not kill you for your disrespect towards my wife, holding her life over my head, and threatening war against me, but I can’t let you leave unscathed. But fear not, it’s a minor wound and I didn’t hit any arteries, because unlike you, I’m a skilled fighter and I know what I’m doing.”

Isabella jumps out of her seat, and rushes to Bradshaw's side, pressing into the wound to stop the bleeding.

Kendall takes in the scene. She didn’t feel an ounce of sympathy for the pathetic man-child writhing in pain on the floor, or his wife for that matter. Had Liam killed him where he stood, she probably would have have batted a mascara-covered eyelash. “Bastien!”

At the urgent calling of his name, the King’s guard enters the office. His eyes immediately fall onto Liam and Kendall, before taking in Bradshaw and Isabella. “Is everything alright in here, Your Majesties?”

“Excellent!” Kendall exclaims. “We’re actually done here, so if you could see to it that Bradshaw gets that nasty wound patched up and send the happy couple on their way, that’d be great.”

Bastien nods. “Of course.”

“Thank you. Bradshaw, Isabella, it was a pleasure having this meeting with you, and our attorneys will be in contact soon.” Kendall reaches for Liam’s hand. “Ready to go?”

“Ready.”

~v~

Liam’s feet dig into the soft carpeted floor of his bedroom as he walks into the en-suite. His eyes immediately land on his wife, who’s in their marble tub, covered in bubbles, sipping out of a bottle of Dom Perignon.

“Slow down, Speed Racer,” he teases.

“Eleanor doesn’t need to get fed for a few more hours, and I think I deserve this champagne.”

“I couldn’t agree more. I just don’t want you to get a headache.”

“I’ll drink a few glasses of water before I go to sleep.” Kendall holds the bottle out to Liam, offering him some, but he declines. So she just sits it on the floor. “Is Nori asleep?”

“She is. I swear, she’s the most alert and stubborn newborn on earth. She did not go down easily.”

“You’re already being bested by our daughter?”

“I know you two have been conspiring against me while she was still in the womb.” Liam smiles softly. “But I am still the champion, she eventually settled.”

“Good.”

“Enjoying your bath?”

“Yes. Can I sleep in here tonight?”

Liam chuckles. “Your skin will get incredibly dry and wrinkly.”

“I’m sure that’s nothing a few spa treatments and some heavy duty shea butter can’t fix.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Exhausted,” Kendall answers with a dramatic sigh. The day was long and she’s been running on pure adrenaline, it’s easy to forget she did push out a human just two short weeks ago, under very extreme circumstances. “And sore. I never want to wear heels again.”

Liam crouches down, getting on his knees at the edge of the tub. Reaching in he grabs one of Kendall��s feet and pulls it out of the water. Carefully he presses his thumb into the arch.

“Mhmm. I always forget that you moonlight as a masseuse.”

“Only for you.”

“It better be,” Kendall shoots back with a smirk.

“After the day we’ve had, I say you’ve more than earned a foot massage.”

“Ugh.” Kendall slips further into the tub before resurfacing. “I cannot stand those smug, overbearing assholes. Thank God we’re done with them.”

“Do you really think we’ve seen the last of them?”

“You probably pissed Bradshaw off when you stabbed him,” Kendall says pointedly, the mischievous look on her face betraying the seriousness in her tone. “But I do. They’re underhanded and sneaky, the threat of us exposing them publicly and involving superpower countries is enough to stave them off. But like we both said, war is on the table if push comes to shove.”

“Can I just say that you were absolutely amazing today.” Liam can’t get rid of the goofy grin on his face if he tries. He’s in awe of his wife, of her wit and strength.

Liam switches feet and she sighs in content. “Yes, please sing my praises.”

“I cannot believe how courageous you were, how absolutely brilliant. I’ve never seen anyone able to stand up to Bradshaw the way you did.”

“The same could be said for you. You were ready to kill him then and there. By the way, I was not anticipating that at all, but you had them scared shitless.

“The only reason I was able to do that is because I knew I had you in my corner the entire time.”

“I’ll always be in your corner, Liam.”

“I know, and I need to trust that. But all praise aside, I should have never put you in this position to begin with you. You should be spending this time relaxing and being with our baby, not getting involved in dirty politics.”

“Stop it!” Kendall wrangles her foot out of Liam’s grasps, and hits him in the chest with it. Liam looks down at the sudsy print on his chest incredulously.

“Did you really just hit me with your foot?”

“Yes!” He’s going down that slippery slope of insecurity and self loathing. “I’m the Queen, I know my job will never be done. This past week has been stressful, yes, but it has not taken away from my maternity leave or my time with Eleanor. I can multitask, you know.”

“I know, I just wish you didn’t have to be burdened with the weight of the crown at a time like this.”

“Stop apologizing,” Kendall orders. “I’ve forgiven you and it’s all in the past now. I don’t want to hear another word about it.”

The corner of Liam’s mouth quirks up, a hint of a smirk on his face. He loves his wife’s commanding side. He leans over the tub so he’s hovering above her. “As you command, my queen.”

“The Queen also commands a kiss.”

“That can be arranged.” Liam surges forward, one hand reaching out to cup his wife’s cheek, the other getting tangled in her now damp hair and captures her lips in a kiss.

Kendall hums in satisfaction and sits up to deepen the kiss. Water sloshes out the side of the tub, soaking Liam’s pajama bottoms, but neither of them care. Her hands travel to his back, pulling him closer.

Too soon for either of their liking, Liam breaks the kiss with a groan. “4 more weeks. That is a depressingly long time from now.”

“Do you have the willpower?”

“I don’t know, but let’s not test it and disobey doctor’s orders.” Liam kisses the tip of her nose. “As soon as you’re cleared, I’m taking you to Valtoria, and we’re going to spend a few days in the small cottage you had built on the property. And I’m not letting you come up for air.”

A chill runs down the length of her spine. “Mhmm, don’t threaten me with a good time, Rys.”

“Oh, it’s not a threat, it’s a promise.” Liam reaches back into the tub and pulls the drain. He grabs a large towel and unfolds it. “Now come on, let’s get you to bed.”

Liam helps his wife out of the tub and drapes the towel across her shoulders. She shivers dramatically, her teeth clicking together for added effect. He knows she’s putting on a show, but he curls her into his side, which is what she wanted.

After changing into the closest pair of pajamas she can find—really just a pair of Liam’s sweats and an old Knicks t-shirt—and peaking into the bassinet at their bedside, Kendall finally collapses onto their bed. Liam joins her, loosely slinging his arm around her midsection. The smell of whatever fruity bubble bath she was just using invades his senses, but he welcomes the scent, his eyes closing instinctively. Kendall smells like home to him.

Kendall turns around in order to look at her husband’s face. For the first time in a long time, he looks peaceful. The outcome of the day instantly took 5 years off of his appearance, and she’s glad. She hates that he carries so much stress with him at all times.

“Hey Liam,” she whispers, poking his arm.

“What is it?” He asks, not even bothering to open his eyes.

“I love you.”

That gets a smile out of him. His grip on her tightens slightly. “I love you more.”

“I love you infinity.”

“I love you infinity plus another infinity, for good measure,” Liam shoots back.

“One of these days, I’m going to win.”

“But not today. Now get some sleep.”

Kendall gets closer to Liam, until she’s practically on top of him. His heartbeat is slow and steady underneath her head, and the rhythmic thump slowly pulls her into unconsciousness.

Today was a victory. Sure the kingdom of Cordonia had other things to face, but Kendall takes comfort in knowing that she’ll face them with Liam, as a team. The two of them together are unstoppable.

Today was officially the start of their happily ever after.

#playchoices #choices: stories you play #the royal heir #the royal romance #king liam #king liam x mc

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plasticdean · 5 years ago

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stone cold - chapter 2

murky waters

mob!dean-charles chapman au warnings: language, smoking, blood, gun violence, death, violence word count: 1.6k series masterlist

I never really understood why my mother wanted to get out of Long Island so badly but as I grew up and started understanding the world and people through my own eyes, I started to fucking hate it here too.

Although my family is loaded, I never really fit in with your stereotypical Long Island guys. If you weren’t a white guy that wears those tacky plaid shirts with the ugly khaki shorts and boat shoes, being just a blunt racist, and a proud bootlicker well then, you were an outsider.

“I’m so fucking glad you never tried dressing like that,” My father sneered as he stared at all the douchebags we walked by in the parking lot of the docks.

“I would’ve beat the shit out of myself if I even thought of wanting to," I replied.

__________________

The meeting my dad and grandpa are dragging me to is happening on some big ass yacht. I had my suspicions that this wasn’t some business meeting because my father liked to do those meetings where you just know bad shit is gonna happen and someone isn’t gonna come back in the middle of the ocean so no one could hear anything and it��s a more convenient place to drop a body off if you needed to.

Come to think of it, maybe my mother is here. I know, that’s a fucked up thought to have but i, have fucked up thoughts so it’s fine.

My thoughts were cut off by a booming voice, “Ah! The Stone men! So good to see you guys again!” I looked up to see an older man who was about the same size as my grandpa on the upper deck of the big, sparkling white yacht with his hands out.

“Come on up here!” He said with a gesture.

I followed my Dad and Grandpa onto the deck and up the stairs, gripping the railing as the yacht began to move away from the dock towards the open ocean.

“Donny, this is my son Dean. He just took over the business yesterday,” My dad said as he put his hand on my shoulder.

“Nice to meet you, son, I guess I’ll be dealing with you from now on,” He said with a chuckle as he shook my hand. I looked at my dad and saw his demeanor slightly change.

Yep, I wasn’t gonna be doing any business with him. Poor fucker.

My grandpa was leaning against the railing, watching the waves hit the side of the yacht while smoking a cigar. I decided to go to the other side of the deck just in case I had the sudden urge to just push him off the side. That wouldn’t be very professional and also just wouldn’t satisfy me enough.

"Leo, I have to thank you for inviting me onto your yacht, she's a beauty," Donny said.

His yacht? Since when the fuck did my dad have a yacht?

I pulled a cigarette out and lit it up, listening to my father and Donny’s conversation. My father was using his low and condescending tone, his arm over Donny’s shoulder as they were at the front of the deck, looking out at the water ahead of them.

I puffed out a cloud of smoke as my father called me over, I sighed and put my cigarette out in the ashtray that was next to me.

“Yeah?” I asked as I walked over, seeing Donny sweating buckets and his knees looking like they’re about to buckle.

“Shoot this motherfucker right in the fucking head,” My father sneered.

“Please, please sir. I promise you it wasn’t me that took money from you. I swear to fucking god whoever told you it was me probably did it!” Donny said as he begged for his life.

My dad grabbed him by the throat and squeezed, “I think you’re a fucking rat. A dirty and lying FUCKING rat and you should know, I don’t fucking like lying rats.”

Well, that’s a bit fucking hypocritical.

“Come on Dean, shoot him in the fucking head!” My father demanded.

I pulled my gun out from my holster and pointed it at the back of his head, ready to pull the trigger until my grandpa stopped us.

“Turn him around, make him face Dean,” My grandpa instructed my father while still leaning on the railing, watching what was unfolding right in front of him.

My dad turned him around so Donny’s eyes that were full of tears and fear looked right into mine. He silently started to plead with me while I watched the sweat pouring from his hairline down to his neck.

I took a deep breath and stared right back into his eyes. He was like this because of me. I had the power to take his life.

I could hear my grandpa sigh and mumble “jesus fucking christ” under his breath. I turned my head to slightly look at him as he watched me with a doubtful and annoyed expression on his face.

I matched his expression as I pulled the trigger, the man falling right in front of me. I looked at my father who had a bit of blood on his face then looked down at the body in front of me, blood oozing out of the hole right in the back of his head.

I felt the same feeling I did when I first witnessed my father kill someone but times ten.

My dad smacked my back, “I fucking knew you had it in ya, son.” He wiped off the blood that was on his cheek with a handkerchief and looked down at the body in front of me.

I clenched my jaw and looked at my father, my Glock feeling hot in my hand.

My dad gave me the same smug look he did last night when I was ready to beat the shit out of him but, I didn't have shaking fists this time, I have a gun.

“You can’t hesitate when you do business like this,” my father said lowly.

I tilted my head and nodded and looked down at the dead man’s head and pointed my gun at it again, pulling the trigger.

“Is that better?” I sarcastically say.

BANG

“What about that, Dad?”

BANG

“Do you think he fucking understands now?” I yell.

At that moment I felt nothing. After every squeeze of the trigger, I felt nothing.

“THAT’S FUCKING ENOUGH,” My grandpa shouted as he quickly walked over to us, grabbing the gun from my grip.

I looked down at my shoes to see them covered them in the blood that was pooling out of the new bullet holes I made.

“Fuck, FUCK!” I yell out as I see the docks slowly coming into view in the distance.

I hurried up and took my shoes off and threw them off the yacht into the ocean and watched them sink.

__________________

As I leaned up against railing looking into the water, my head suddenly smacked against the railing and my throat was pressed up against the bar, slightly cutting off my airway.

“If you ever pull a fucking stunt like that I will take you out to the middle of the fucking ocean and throw your stupid ass off and make you die out there,” My father hissed as he held my head against the railing.

I tried getting out of his grip as I struggled to breathe.

He let go of me and I dropped, gasping for air. I stared up at the sky, panting, as I could feel the boat docking.

My father looked down at me, “You better get the fuck up and off the boat before YOUR men come on and clean this up.” He stepped over me and walked down the stairs.

I quickly got up and adjusted my shirt as my grandpa gave me a look before shaking his head, “fucking prick,” he mumbled as he followed my dad.

I watched them walk off the boat and onto the dock, talking to three other men who I presumed was the “clean-up crew”.

__________________

I lit up a cigarette and slowly walked downstairs and off the boat. Instead of joining the group, I walked towards the end of the dock, watching the sunset. I let out a puff of smoke and replayed the events that happened just barely 20 minutes ago.

“Fuck,” I mumbled under my breath, taking a long inhale of my cigarette as I thought about the feeling pulling the trigger the first time, watching the life leave his eyes. It was fucking exhilarating.

I finished my cigarette and threw it in the water and rubbed at my head as it began throbbing. I turned to go walk to the car that was waiting for us but stopped dead in my tracks as I caught writing on the side of the yacht.

La Bella Claire.

All I could feel was a coldness, like all the blood in my veins turned to ice. Did I just do that shit on a boat named after my mother? Was this her boat?? Did that sick fuck name it that on purpose??

I stood frozen in my place but turned my head to look at my dad who was waiting for me at the other end of the dock near the parking lot. He stared at me with almost a satisfied look on his face, “Come on, Dean,” he called out as he got into the backseat of the car.

I slowly turned my head away from the boat and began walking in the direction of the car. I looked back and caught the men cleaning up the upper deck and noticed that there was no one else around the docks or even in the parking lot.

I got in the passenger seat and lit up another cigarette as the began moving, the sight of the yacht slowly disappearing from the side-view mirror.

I took a big inhale and blew the smoke out of the window with a shaky sigh.

What the fuck just happened?

__________________

read chapter 3

#dean charles chapman #dean charles chapman imagine #dean charles chapman fanfiction #dean charles chapman au #mob!dean #dean-charles chapman #fanfiction

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hazel2468 · 5 years ago

Text

Light Like Water from the Sky

Alright, here goes. Chapter 1 of my JJBA fanfic. Post Part 5, Everyone Lives AU because I need some happy endings, damnit. Poly Bruabba and OC, Ruby.

No current CW, brief mentions of parent death and illness. Future CW for violence, blood, not SFW things.

Hope y’all enjoy! I’ll probably post on AO3 when I have more of it done.

LIGHT LIKE WATER FROM THE SKY

Chapter One (I Hear You’re Asking All Around…)

The sun beat down on the cobblestone street, sending up waves of heat and casting short shadows across Ruby’s face as she passed beneath the awnings of fruit stalls and coffee shops. The feeling of Napoli beneath her feet was comforting- after so long away, she had truly missed the winding roads, the closely-packed buildings. Moving had meant that exploring her favorite old haunts had taken a backseat, but she made note of each of them as she passed.

Her paper shopping bag crinkled as she shifted it against her hip, pausing in front of the bakery. A young man was loading fresh loaves into the window display, and he smiled at her, waving. Ruby realized with a jolt that it was Donte, the baker’s son. It had been years; he had transformed from a scraggly kid with too-long legs and perpetually tangled hair into someone more befitting of his height. She grinned at him before moving on, suddenly feeling old. She supposed part of her expected everything to be exactly as she left it. But life went on without her, it seemed.

“Ruby? Ruby, dear!”

The creaking voice brought her to a standstill outside of a crowded restaurant. On a day like today, all sunshine and blue sky, most of the patrons were seated outside, and a table of three older women were all beckoning to her. She obliged, backing up until she was looking into the wrinkled face of Signora Rossi. Ruby had grown up in the house next to her.

“It’s so good to see you, dear!” Signora Rossi said, reaching out and taking Ruby’s free hand. “I thought you were in Spain.”

“Poland, signora.” Ruby said, finding Rossi’s smile contagious. “I was with my mother’s family.” Signora Rossi’s face fell, and the other two women- Signora Bianchi and Signora Amato, both of whom had a penchant for knitting and gossip, exchanged glances.

“We heard about your mother, Ruby dear.” Signora Bianchi said. “We’re all so sorry.”

“Thank you.” Ruby gave Signora Rossi’s hand a light squeeze. Signora Bianchi began to sniffle and Signora Amato passed her a hanky. “It’s alright. She was ill for a long time.”

“You know, if there’s anything you need at all, you or your father, you can count on us.” Signora Rossi said. “A home cooked meal, company, anything.” Warmth blossomed in Ruby’s chest as she looked down at the woman who had been like a grandmother to her when she was a child. Why had she stayed away from Napoli for so long?

“Grazie, signora.” She said quietly. “I’ll be sure to pass the message on to Papa when I see him later.” Signora Amato smiled at her, leaning over to place a gentle hand on her arm.

“And do take care of yourself, dear. It’s never good to be alone after a passing.” Amato gave Signora Bianchi’s hand a little admonishing pat. Ruby remembered when her husband had died, and the joint effort of Signora Amato and half the neighborhood to get her back on track. “Spend some time with your friends- I’m sure they would all be happy to see you again.”

“I’ll do that. I will.” Ruby said.

“Oh yes! I remember those little hooligans you used to run around with.” Signora Rossi said, lapsing into nostalgia. “You always caused so much trouble. What about Bella?”

“I think Isabella is in college, signora.” Ruby said. “Last I heard, she’s studying medicine.”

“Oh, how wonderful!” Signora Bianchi said. “She’ll be fantastic- she was always quick, that girl.”

“Well, what about Signore Bucciarati?” Signora Rossi piped up. “You two were close before you left, weren’t you?”

“He’s still here?” Ruby wasn’t exactly surprised, but she hadn’t seen head nor tail of Bruno in the week she had been back. Signora Amato chuckled.

“Oh yes. Signore Bucciarati takes good care of us here.” She said.

“Gone and made a bit of a name for himself, I hear.” Signore Bianchi chirped, wiping delicately at her nose with her handkerchief before dropping her voice to a whisper. “Still running around with those boys from Passione. Word is, there was a big fuss recently.”

“Was there?” She had never been one for involvement in Passione’s activities, and Bruno had insisted she stay away from it all, but Ruby was more than familiar with the organization. “What happened?”

“Oh, we’re not too sure. But the area’s really cleaned up since then. Perhaps you should talk to Signore Bucciarati about it. I’m sure he’d be delighted to see you again.” Signora Rossi gave her hand another squeeze. “He’s always around. I’m sure you’ll run into him before long.”

“I’ll keep my eyes open. So long as his fashion sense hasn’t changed, I’m sure he’ll be easy enough to spot.” Ruby quipped, and all three ladies broke into laughter. “Thank you, really. I’ll give Papa your regards.” They all bid her hurried goodbyes, and she continued up the street, balancing her bag on her side as she dug her phone out from her pocket.

She should get in touch with Bruno. Even in Poland, she had missed him, but they had only spoken a couple of times before her mother passed away and she, admittedly, dropped off the map. Something that she regretted. Pausing at the corner, she scrolled through her contacts, hesitating for only a second before selecting his name and holding the phone to her ear.

She was met with a loud beeping, and an electronic voice telling her that ‘the number you are trying to reach is no longer in service’. Ruby sighed- so much for things being easy.

There was no time to worry about it now. She had dinner to make, and she wanted to try and get her shelves up tonight. The little apartment she was renting had been unused for years and, though her father had tried his best to get it ready on short notice, it was still a bit of a mess. The new floors helped brighten it up, but that didn’t change the fact that she still didn’t have a proper bed. Distracted by her groceries and thoughts of tiles for the kitchen, she almost didn’t notice the tall man dressed in black who had been tailing her for the last block and a half.

Almost.

Speeding up, Ruby ducked into the next alley she saw- thankfully one she was familiar with, and hurried along between the buildings. She would wind up on a narrower side-street, but that was the best place for losing unwanted company, in her experience. If she even was being followed. Old habits die hard, and it’s possible she was being paranoid.

But no, the man was definitely following her, and keeping pace. She rummaged in her purse for a makeup compact, flicking it open and using it to get a look at whoever was pursuing her. He was unnecessarily tall, with long silver hair and a black shirt so low cut she could see the top of his stomach. There was no way she was going back home now- the last thing she needed was some Marilyn Manson-looking jackass knowing where she lived. What did he want? Pickpockets came in all shapes and sizes, including hers, but pickpockets usually didn’t try to stand out as much as this man did.

Cursing, Ruby swung out onto the side street, nearly bumping into a few passers by as she turned hard into the next alley she saw. If he managed to keep up, there were plenty of nooks and niches for her to hide in, but her heart sank when she saw the way back to the main street blocked by a massive dumpster.

“Shit.” She hissed, dropping her bag to the ground and pressing herself against the brick wall. She tightened the strap of her purse- having that flopping around in a fight would be a liability, and pulled her knife from her pocket. Looks like things hadn’t changed quite that much. The streets of Napoli were still crawling with trouble. It was hard to discern anything with the sound of everyone else passing by, but a dark figured crested the edge of the wall she was leaning against and Ruby instantly turned her weapon in that direction.

“What the-!” she missed, and the silver-haired man jerked back. He was blocking her exit from the alley, and Ruby snarled, brandishing her knife.

“Why the fuck are you following me?” she demanded. “I haven’t got any money, and I promise you I am the last person you want to fuck with today. So spit it out.”

He was glaring at her like he wanted nothing more than to knock the knife from her hand, but he just stood there, watching her. Ruby had to tilt her head back to look into his face, but she held his gaze, pouring as much venom into her expression as she could.

“What do you want with Bucciarati?” he demanded, in gravelly voice that set Ruby on edge. “Who were you trying to call?”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your damn business.” She snapped back, He advanced on her, but despite her heart leaping up into her throat she stood her ground.

“It’s my damn business when someone I don’t know is poking around looking for my capo.” He growled. Ruby blinked. He worked for Bruno? It certainly explained how he was dressed, but more importantly-

“Bruno’s a capo? Shit. He is doing well for himself.” She mused. Her captor scowled, clearly not pleased that she wasn’t spilling the beans for him.

“I asked you a fucking question.” The man snapped, taking another step forward. This was too close for Ruby’s liking, and she swiped at him. He caught her wrist in one of his large hands, and her instincts kicked in. Stepping towards him, she twisted, tossing the blade deftly from one hand to the other as she stepped around him. He stiffened, now finding himself with his back to her.

“I didn’t know I needed permission from some goth stronzo to get in touch with an old friend.” Ruby hissed. Her groceries were still on the ground, but she would leave them if it meant getting out of this scrape in one piece. It wouldn’t be the first time.

Something knocked the knife from her hand. One moment she was holding it, the next it was clattering to the ground a few feet away, a cool breeze brushing over her cheek despite it being a still day. With a startled yelp and an oath she ducked away as he turned, his brow knit.

“I’m feeling nice today, so here’s a piece of advice.” He said, glancing from her to his left and then back again. “Keep your nose out of places you aren’t wanted. This isn’t something you should be involved with.”

That stung, just a little, but Ruby responded by backing up towards her knife. “And how the fuck do you know where I’m wanted? I don’t even know who the hell you are.” He just glowered at her, before turning on his heel and walking out of the alley.

The smart thing to do would be to heed his warning- Ruby knew that. The smart thing to do would be to take her things, wait until she was sure he was gone, and then go home. Hope that she runs into Bruno another day, in a simpler, smarter, less risky way.

But she didn’t feel like being smart. She felt pissed off, like she had just been accosted in an alley by some random vampire-wannabe who gave her a hard time about wanting to get in touch with her friend.

She felt like she wanted to find Bruno, right now, just to spite this asshole.

And so she returned her knife to her pocket, picked up her groceries, and followed him.

#my writing #fanfiction #jjba #jjba part 5 #jjba golden wind #poly bruabba #tw for mentions of illness and death #tw mentions of parent death #alright #here it is #hope y'all enjoy #i do NOT have a posting schedule and I can't maintain one #if y'all want more I have more already #working on chapter 3 now

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salexanderbriggs · 5 years ago

Text

Frances Street Wives

York, 27th July 1900

Turning on the cold tap, Isabella held a glass under the running water, the tap emitting a high-pitched screech as she twisted it closed again. Taking a sip, she swilled it around her mouth and spat into the sink, moments earlier having suddenly felt the need to be sick.

“Mama, what’s wrong?” Said the little girl who had appeared at the kitchen door, having heard her mother’s retching.

“I’m fine, Ethel, go join your sister outside,” said her mother with a false tone of positivity, hardly opening her mouth in case the sickness wasn’t over.

“Okay, Mama,” the young girl said carefree and skipped to the back door to find Hilda, playing in the backyard.

Isabella breathed deeply and picking up the tea towel she had dropped in the hurry to the sink, wiped away the beads of sweat that had formed on her forehead. The noise of her daughter’s laughter drifting through the open window as she readjusted her tied up, thick brown hair. Then, with a lurch in her stomach, she instinctively bent double and grasped the waistband of her skirt, readjusting it to give herself some relief.

She had had terrible morning sickness with all five of her pregnancies, and already at the age of twenty-eight had developed such acute mother’s instinct, that she knew a new child had begun to grow inside. Many women may rejoice at having such confidence, but though she loved her daughters unconditionally, pregnancy had always been a burden for Isabella. Her marriage to Walter, though happy, had taken place during her fourth month of carrying Florence. She was fertile, just like her mother before her. The prospect of a sixth pregnancy and another mouth to feed was ridden with anxiety for her already struggling young family, for it had only been the same amount of time since they had lost not their first but second child.

The Dearlove family May 1904 in the garden of their second home in Dale Street, York. Pictured here from left to right; Ethel, Isabella holding Violet, Florence (behind), Ivy (front), Walter Snr, Hilda. There would still be two more children to come.

She slumped down into a wooden chair at the kitchen table and glanced at the wall clock, two hours until Walt would be home. She took another sip of water. The worst of it was over and she gently stroked her stomach, sitting back and closing her water-filled eyes.

Jennie had been born premature. That had been her most difficult birth and the thoughts of the pain made her grimace. When she had first held her new baby, she had known even then that the tiny girl was fighting to live. It took just four days for the fight to become too brutal, and her daughter was gone.

It had been seven years ago that after just seven months of her birth, Elsie May had died. Isabella and Walter, though married and already with their first daughter Florence, had not even been able to afford to live together, and Isabella had still been needed to help care for her younger siblings, only three years separating her first child with her youngest sister, the newlyweds had remained living with their respective parents.

The christening photograph of Elsie May Dearlove, 1893. This was to be the first and only photograph and clearly treasured by my family to still be in such a wonderful state.

Living conditions had worsened when Elsie had been born with epilepsy. Isabella vividly remembered, with regret, the cold February evening that her baby had started shaking and seeing the whites of her eyes as they had rolled back in her delicate head. The eighteen-year-old had screamed for her mother’s help, but Elsie had already taken her last breath by the time her stiff matriarchal grandmother had made it up the stairs. Money had even been so tight that they hadn’t even been able to afford a proper burial for either of her tiny angels and retrieving a handkerchief she allowed herself to cry silently, conscious not to allow her surviving daughters to hear her. Full of sorrow for the daughters she never knew, their own cries of merriment absent from the sounds outside. But she could be comforted to know that hope was blooming inside her. And though she did not know it then, she would later call that hope, Ivy.

But this had been a rare relapse now since moving to Frances Street, upon the news of becoming pregnant with Hilda. Frances Street had been the welcome change she needed, that Walt had needed too. Like all the terraced roads in this area the houses were robustly packed in methodical straight lines, an orderly army of buildings for the ever-growing working class of the city of York.

Isabella knew Frances Street was for her, as she had particularly enjoyed that at night you could hear the River Ouse gushing onwards to the North Sea, it being merely metres from their front door. That allowed her to have dreams of fresh sea air, lazy tides, and ice cream all a world away from the industrial cacophony that now thrived throughout the city.

To be a woman on Frances Street made her a better mother, and though she did not see it, a stronger woman. As a still recent build, in Frances Street, Isabella had found herself amongst friends, as all the homes were filled with young families all starting out on the journey of parenthood. Husbands worked, wives stayed home, and families were expected to be big. Having helped raise five siblings and given birth twice already, with a third on the way she was somewhat of an authority on childbirth and cared for those struggling mothers around her. When Isabella and Walter had returned home without their precious Jennie, the Frances Street wives had already assembled and kept the Dearlove family eating for a month. It was Hettie from number forty-one who had cared for her daughters when she couldn’t, Sarah from seventy three who dried her tears over a cup of tea and Jane from forty-four who sat by her bedside during the days when she couldn’t bring herself to leave it, and sang Celtic lullabies to ease her mind.

Like most other Frances Street wives, Isabella’s husband worked for the North East Railway, while the other Frances Street husbands were military. She had met the bold young Scottish wife, Annie, of next door within thirty seconds of arriving to their new home. With a loud blustery welcome, Annie had quickly turned to her own daughter and yelled.

‘Well, Hell mend ya Brenda Steventon, what’ya done now, yer black as the Earl of Hell’s waistcoat. Git inside and clean yer sen up!’ And instantly a bond was made.

Often Annie would tell Isabella of the lush green highlands of her native Scotland. But the stories Isabella craved to hear most were from Annie’s lodger Jane. Jane was not a Yorkshire native either, hailing instead from Cork in Ireland. Isabella listened intently to these stories, for her great grandfather had been Irish and she had longed to visit it’s wild countryside and Jane would fill out those dreams with landscapes of the Giant’s Causeway, fiddle music of folk songs and fantastical visions of leprechauns, banshees and fairies.

And on this day, as Isabella composed herself, she thought she had heard a legendary banshee wail from the yard next door. It had taken her a moment to realise that the wail had been her name.

‘BELLA!’ Came the Irish voiced cry. ‘Hilda, chuckaboo, where’s your Mam?’ Jane called frantically at the playing girls.

‘’Ere Jane, I’m ‘ere,’ she called out, rushing into the yard from the kitchen. ‘Whatever’s got you worked up?’

‘Rosa! It’s wee Rosa, I don’t know, quick Bella you have to come!’ She screeched loud enough for the street to have heard. Her dark panic-stricken eyes quivering, her already alabaster skin almost now transparent in fear.

‘I’m comin’,’ Isabella said without hesitation and rushed back through the house.

‘Ma? is Mrs. Bynoe alright?’ Florence asked from the foot of the stairs as her mother burst into the hall.

‘Something about little Rosa. Florrie, get your sisters in from outside and upstairs and come back and wait here, I might need you.’

‘Yes Ma,’ and Florence scuttled to fetch in her sisters.

The knocker clattered from the force of Isabella coming through the front door and she didn’t stop to close it. Turning immediately left and without looking stormed into the house next door. Before she had made it passed the threshold though, she collided with another of the Frances Street wives leaving.

‘Hettie! I’m sorry!’ said Isabella taken aback.

‘Oh Bella,’ sobbed Hettie ‘I ... I had no idea... Inside... Bella it’s... Poor Rosa...’

‘Hettie, get with it, what’s happened?’

‘Outside, and let me close the door,’ Hettie said, trying to calm herself. ‘Annie says Dr. Flood came last night and said it’s Scarlet Fever, but that ain’t no fever I’ve ever seen. Whole girl’s covered in blisters Bella, and the house. Don’t look like she’s cleaned it in months, can’t find any fresh clothes for the babes. I mean, I know they’ve looked grubby recently, but it’s kids ain’t it, my two attract mud like the pub does our Eddie’s wages. They’re knee deep in muck in there, Bella. Did you know they were struggling this badly?’

‘No, I mean, I know the lad’s service leave had been delayed but that’s all. Where are you going then?’

‘To see if Lottie’s lad is in, I’ll send him to fetch Dr. Flood. Why she didn’t take Rosa to the Fever Hospital last night I’ll never know!’

‘Go, I’ll take over inside,’ said Isabella. And with a nod of agreeance Hettie marched purposefully on.

***While this story is based on real people and true events, character and narrative are purely fictional.***

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