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krirebr · 11 months ago

Text

More Than This 2

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x f!reader, Steve Rogers & f!reader

Word Count: ~6.1k

Summary: Arranged marriages have always been used to solidify business deals among the ultra-wealthy. Your stepfather wants to be in business with Harlan Thrombey, so now it's your turn.

Warnings: Heavy angst, age difference, adult themes, institutional sexism, no noncon but some fear of it, excessive alcohol use, explicit language, the slooowest burn - Warnings will be added as needed for subsequent parts. All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

A/N: Another part already??? This one has just been flowing right out of me. It occurs to me that I should probably explicitly state that this will have a happy ending! Possibly very far in the future, but it will happen!! 😂😭

Huge thanks again to @paperweight91 for reading so much of this and letting me know when I was on the right track.

Visual references for the ring and dress can be found here.

Any comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think will be greatly appreciated. Even if it's just screeching at me. As always, thank you so much for reading! 💜

Despite your best efforts, the next three weeks went by in a blink.

The engagement ring arrived the day after your disastrous dinner with Ransom. It was beautiful—a round diamond with a smaller sapphire on each side, set in swirling filigree. You wondered who picked it. Certainly not Ransom. Probably someone’s assistant. It felt like fire around your finger.

You’d packed up the small apartment you loved so much. Sorting everything into what you would bring and what would be put into storage – the latter category was much bigger. You sat in your living room, surrounded by boxes, and cried, with Steve beside you and Lola nervously shaking in your lap.

Your mother took you to pick your dress. She sat on the plush couch in the appointment-only boutique and sipped champagne while you tried on dress after dress that the attendants brought you. Her favorite was an ivory satin ballgown with off-the-shoulder short sleeves, a bow at the bottom of the back, and a very wide skirt. She cried when you put it on. You told her it was your favorite too, because you just didn’t have it in you to have an opinion.

The Thrombey clan came into town the week before the wedding. Their time was mostly spent in meetings with Joseph and his team. Meeting the new extended family was to be left for the wedding festivities.

You hadn’t heard a word from Ransom. You’d thought of texting him a few times but couldn’t see the point in it. He’d made his feelings on you and your upcoming marriage clear. Any added effort would just be torturing yourself.

Then, suddenly, the rehearsal dinner was passing without incident. It was a catered affair, held at your parents’ house. Despite being one of the two nominal guests of honor, aside from the initial introductions, you were mostly ignored, as business remained the topic at the forefront of everyone’s minds. Ransom was there, of course, seated next to you, even, but he did his best to avoid you. You were torn between intense relief for the moment and absolute terror for what it meant for your future. When you noticed him quietly ducking out, you took the opportunity to leave as well, hoping most people would think you’d absconded together. The thought made you laugh bitterly.

You spent your last night of freedom snuggled up with Lola in Steve’s guest room. You barely slept.

Now, you sat in a plush robe in front of the vanity in the large hotel suite that sat several floors above the event hall you’d be getting married in in just over one hour. Steve sat sentinel in an armchair near you, already in his tux. People had been coming in and out all day – manicurists, aestheticians, makeup artists, hairstylists, your mother until she’d gotten called away for the pictures they didn't need you for. The female members of Ransom’s family too. His aunt, Joni, had only been in briefly, saying that the energy of the room was all wrong and she’d had to leave. Her daughter Meg had sat with you for a while, but she just kept complaining about how awful Ransom was and Steve eventually kicked her out, probably trying to spare you a panic attack. And then there was Ransom’s mother, Linda. She had been in a few times ‘to check on the progress.’ You’d tried very hard not to get stressed out by her, but she was very… severe, and you felt about a foot tall every time she looked at you. And now here she was, again.

“Darling,” she said, and you tried not to balk at the fact that you’d know this woman for less than 24 hours and she was already using endearments, “you’ll be needed for pictures soon and you aren’t dressed yet?”

You gestured to the two people at the rolling clothing rack who were carefully removing your dress from the garment bag. “We’re about to start putting it on. I’ll be ready soon.”

“Fantastic. Maybe it’s time for Steve to go then,” she cut a glance to your stepbrother.

“Not fucking likely,” he muttered. He’d been stuck to you like glue all day.

Linda’s eyebrows crawled up to her hairline. “I just think that some people might find it inappropriate for you to be in here while your sister gets dressed.”

He stood up and took a step toward her. “I’ll turn around,” he growled.

“Steve,” you sighed. “It’s fine. I’ll be fine.” It wasn’t. You wouldn’t be, but none of that could be helped.

He looked at you carefully, his eyes flitting over your face. Finally, he nodded, “OK. I’ll see you out there then.” With a quick, reassuring touch to your arm, he left.

Linda watched him leave and once he was out the door, she turned to you and said, “You and your stepbrother are very close, aren’t you?”

Something about her tone made you incredibly wary. “Yes,” you said cautiously, “he’s my best friend.”

“Isn’t that lovely?” she said with a thin-lipped smile that made it clear she thought anything but.

You noted her reaction as you returned her smile and removed your robe. You let the attendants help you step into the dress where they’d pooled it on the floor. They pulled it up around you and you stood still as they fastened and arranged the dress on you. All under Linda’s watchful eye, her arms crossed over her chest. When it was all done and you’d stepped into your heels, you turned to her so that she could give the approval you could feel she was dying to give.

“Well, aren’t you just a dream,” she said. Just as you were about to thank her, she added, “Although, I suppose it would be hard not to be, with all these people working on you, huh?” Her tone was warm and friendly, but you took it as the cut down you knew she meant it to be.

Still, you smiled. “Well, we should probably get down there, shouldn’t we?”

Everyone oohed and aahed appropriately when you arrived at the courtyard space reserved for photographs. Your mother was crying again. Joseph smiled at you, possibly the warmest smile he’d ever given you, and said “Beautiful,” but it was less like a compliment and more confirmation that everything was the way he needed it to be, like he was commenting on furniture. You smiled anyway and thanked him, then moved where the photographers directed you.

This round of pre-ceremony pictures was reserved for the families. Ransom had already done his and then been dismissed, to ‘preserve the big reveal’ you were told. You’d been asked earlier if you wanted to do first-look photos and declined. That had been interpreted as you wanting to have the big moment when you walked down the aisle to him. Instead, you just knew that he wouldn’t give them the reaction they were looking for. You’d rather spare yourself that embarrassment.

The thing about these arrangements was that while they were all about business and everyone knew it, people still wanted the trappings of romance. The big wedding at a fancy venue, awe on the groom’s face when he saw the bride in her dress for the first time, a joyful reception with speeches about true love. It had made you roll your eyes when you’d gone to friends’ weddings, but now that it was your own, it all made you want to scream.

You posed with Linda and Ransom’s father, Richard, a benign smile on your face. And then it was Harlan’s turn. “You look absolutely lovely,” he said to you, kindly. “You’re going to be so good for my grandson.” You responded with that same placid smile. You wondered if anyone had told Ransom that he was going to be good for you. You doubted it. That part didn’t seem to matter.

Next, it was time for your own family. Your mother and Joseph, together and then separately, and then Steve joined you for the full family. Once that was done, the photographers started to dismiss you, but you stopped them. “I want a few with just me and Steve.”

They looked at you and then Joseph and Linda, “That’s not on the list of required shots.”

“I don’t care,” you said, “I want them.”

“Darling,” Linda started, and you wanted to growl, “I’m not sure there’s time.”

“I don’t care,” you said again, “everyone can wait the five minutes this is going to take. I’m the bride, I doubt they’ll start without me. Isn’t today my day?”

Linda took a step back and nodded to the photographers but you could feel her watching you as Steve stepped up to you. “And people think I’m the troll,” he said, low enough for only you to hear.

You smiled, possibly your first genuine smile all day. “You are the troll,” you said. “I’m the sweet one who does what she’s told without complaint.”

He snorted, “Sure,” and turned his head as the photographers directed.

When it was all done, you took a deep breath and tried to prepare yourself as everyone but you and Steve began to make their way back inside.

“You ready?” he asked, concern all over his face.

You shook your head. “Not even remotely.”

He looked over your shoulder. “I know–” he began but stopped for a moment before he started again. “I know that if she had lived, we never would have met, but I still think, sometimes, about how much my mom would have loved you. Just as much as I do.”

“Steve,” you gasped.

He grabbed both of your hands. “You are the strongest, bravest person I know and you can do this.”

Your eyes welled up as you squeezed his hands, feeling like you’d completely fall apart if you let go. “I don’t know if I can,” you whispered.

“Hey,” he said, oh so gently, “all you have to do right now is get through the ceremony. That’s it. You don’t need to think about what comes after. Focus on what’s directly in front of you. Nothing else. Just walk down the aisle and say I do when it’s your turn. That’s it. You can do that. I know you can do that. I wish you didn’t have to, but you can.”

You took a deep breath. And another. And then you nodded. “I can.”

He smiled, big and genuine and still more than a little sad. He pulled you in for a hug, exceedingly careful to not mess anything up, and said again, “You can. I know you can.”

Someone stepped out of the big French doors leading into the vestibule your party was gathering in and waved frantically at you. Another deep breath. “OK,” you said.

He just nodded and guided you back inside.

Joseph walked you down the aisle. It wasn’t your choice, but this day had always been more about him than it ever was about you, so of course he would be the one to walk you. You would have chosen Steve. But you also would have chosen not to do this at all.

The walk was both agonizingly long and much, much too short. Ransom waited for you at the end of it, dressed in a designer tux and devastatingly handsome. You searched his face for anything, but he remained completely stoic, his eyes hard. You had to look away.

There were so many people gathered to watch your life change forever. As you gazed over the faces of the people seated on your side, you weren’t sure you recognized even half of them. You realized with a jolt that this was the most alone you’d ever felt, in this hall surrounded by hundreds of people, all eyes on you.

So much sooner than you were ready for, you’d arrived at the front, Joseph placing you in front of Ransom and joining your hands together. Ransom’s hands were soft and his grasp wasn’t nearly as harsh as you’d expected. You took a deep breath—every other thought since you’d stepped into the hall was to remind yourself to keep breathing—and met his gaze. It was still hard, but, maybe, maybe there wasn’t hate there.

Maybe you just didn’t know him well enough yet to be able to tell.

The ceremony went quickly. You struggled to focus on the officiant’s words. It was like you were in a sort of fugue state. But you repeated after him when you were supposed to. You said ‘I do’ when you were prompted. You played your part.

Ransom did too. You’d half expected him to just not show up at all, or walk out part-way through, or something but he was under the same familial pressures as you, you reasoned. At the end of the day, you all just did what you were told.

Before you knew it, it was done. There was a ring on your finger and one on his. You barely remembered placing it there. You registered the officiant saying “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride,” and stared at Ransom. You expected him to swoop in and take what was his, but he paused. There was a clear question in his eyes. Shocked, you realized he was asking permission. As subtly as you could, you nodded. He gave a barely perceptible nod back and then he was kissing you. It wasn’t chaste, exactly, but it certainly wasn’t passionate either. Open-mouthed, but no tongue, and done quickly, the faintest taste of whiskey on his lips. Everyone applauded.

The processional music started and you began to move without even realizing it, Ransom right beside you. And in that moment, when you had nothing else to focus on, no other immediate job to do, everything hit you. Holy fuck, you were married. This man beside you was your husband. One of your knees buckled and your steady leg caught the edge of your dress and just as you were sure you were about to go down, someone grabbed your hand and you felt another hand on your opposite hip, holding you up. “Wait to collapse in private, if you can,” Ransom murmured to you, dryly, then basically carried you the rest of the way down the aisle.

You were both ushered into a small sitting room off the main hall for a moment of privacy as your guests were moved into the ballroom where the reception would take place and before you would take pictures with your new husband. Once the two of you were alone, you tried to steady your breathing and shove down the panic clawing its way up your throat. You were married. It had actually happened. It was real. You steadied yourself on the bookshelf beside you and tried to think about what Steve had said. Focus on what was directly in front of you. You’d gotten through the ceremony by doing that, so now it was just pictures and the reception. That was all you had to worry about. You could do that. You could.

“You good?” Ransom’s voice cut through your internal monologue and you turned back around to face him where he was standing on the other side of the small room, pasting that fucking smile on your face.

“Yes, I’m fine. Today is just a lot. But I’m fine. Thank you for helping me, before.”

“Well,” he smirked, “I couldn’t have my new wife embarrass me thirty seconds in, could I?”

Your smile went brittle and a small voice in your head chanted fifty years of this but you tamped it down. Pictures and the reception. Pictures and the reception. That was all you had to get through right now.

There was a light knock and then the door opened. One of the photographers peeked in, a camera in their hand. “Sorry to interrupt,” they said. “Just wanted to get some intimate, candid shots, before we go outside for the formal pictures.” Their eyes moved between you and Ransom and you knew they were measuring the space between you.

You shook your head and tried to keep your tone friendly. “No need, just the formal ones are fine.” You didn’t need any more documentation of this day than was absolutely necessary.

“Oh,” they said, surprised, “well, Mrs. Drysdale wanted–”

“Linda can fuck right off,” Ransom interrupted. “We’ll come outside now.” He shouldered his way past them and out the door. You just smiled and followed him, the photographer chasing after you both.

The pictures went quickly, you both seeming to want them over with as fast as possible. He didn’t say much to you, aside from the occasional exclamation like, “Jesus Christ, is this skirt big enough?” when he tried to move around you or pose behind you. The photographers kept trying to get you to look at each other, but when you did, it clearly didn’t give them the result they wanted, so they moved on quickly.

Afterward, you were escorted into the ballroom, where your entrance was met with applause. Your face was beginning to hurt from all the placid smiling you’d done all day.

You blanched when you realized that you and Ransom were the only ones seated at the head table. You wouldn’t have anyone to talk to.

There was still some time before dinner would be served. You could already see people beginning to make their way toward you to offer their congratulations to fill the time. A server appeared at your table and you asked for a glass of champagne. Ransom requested his usual scotch then added, “There’s an extra hundred in it for you if you make sure I’m never holding an empty glass tonight.”

You could see the disaster waiting to happen, so you tried a quiet “Ransom,” as the server left, not really thinking before you said something.

He let out a hollow chuckle. “If that’s the kind of wife you’re going to be, let me tell you right now, this marriage isn’t going to work. I don’t respond well to nagging.”

You took a breath, “I wasn’t trying to nag,” you said, “I just–”

“Ransom!” a loud voice interrupted you. You looked over to see Ransom’s uncle, Walt, approaching your table. You’d been introduced to him very briefly the night before. “Congratulations on finally growing up and settling down,” he said, once he stood in front of his nephew. You felt Ransom stiffen next to you, but his face just had an obnoxious smirk on it. Walt’s eyes briefly cut to you but then returned to Ransom. “Although, she’s pretty young, isn’t she?”

Ransom rolled his eyes, still smirking. “Well, it’s not like I picked her, is it Walt? You got a problem with it, go tell Mom or Grandad.”

You bit your lip at being spoken about like you weren’t sitting right there. But you knew better than to cause a scene, so you quietly said, “Excuse me,” and left the table. Neither of them seemed to notice, locked in a hostile stare-down.

You’d only made it a few feet when someone you didn’t recognize was pulling you aside to offer their congratulations. You smiled and politely nodded through it and when it was done you were grabbed by someone else and then someone else. You crossed paths with Steve briefly before you were both pulled in other directions. You only got a break when they started serving dinner. You got back to your seat to find Ransom sitting alone, sipping his scotch as full plates of food were placed before you. You didn’t have much of an appetite.

You picked at your food and mostly moved it around the plate, while Ransom ate hungrily beside you. Neither of you said anything. After the second course was served, the speeches started. Joseph mostly spoke about the two families coming together and all the opportunities that represented. You wanted to stage whisper to him that it was customary to at least mention the couple at some point, but then he sprinkled Ransom’s name in. A brief mention of how proud he was to be gaining a son like him. You wanted to laugh. They barely knew each other. As if Joseph cared at all about what kind of man he was giving you to. You were finally mentioned at the very end as he toasted his “beautiful stepdaughter and her new husband. To a long and fruitful marriage!” You wanted to break something.

Harlan, for his part, was much more focused. He, of course, referenced all the new opportunities this would bring, it was why you were all here, after all. But he mostly talked about his grandson, how much he loved him, all the potential Ransom had, and once again, how good you were going to be for him. You wondered if you just started screaming right there, what people would do.

As for Ransom, judging by his body language, he seemed to enjoy both speeches just as much as you had. You wondered if the rest of the guests could feel how miserable you both were and just chose to ignore it. Probably.

When the speeches were done and the tables were cleared, it was time for your first dance. Ransom made it clear by the way he stood up that this was the last thing he wanted to be doing. You tried not to let it bother you, it wasn’t like you were especially excited about this either, and kept your head held high as you came around the table to join him. He took your hand to lead you onto the dance floor and you were once again surprised by the way he held it gently when you’d half-expected him to drag you out there.

You hadn’t chosen whatever song you were about to dance to. You could’ve, probably, but you’d begged off of most of the decision-making for the day, unable to drum up an opinion on any of it. So you had no right to complain as the opening strains of “At Last” filled the ballroom, but you had to stifle an eye-roll anyway. Of course, they went for something that romantic, that cliche. They were all lucky you didn’t burst out laughing.

Ransom pulled you in close with a hand on your lower back, as you put one of yours on his shoulder and he took your other hand in his. It all felt strangely respectful, the way his hand didn’t wander from the small of your back and he held you close but not too close, with plenty of breathing room between you. You weren’t sure how to wrap your head around it, what it all meant.

He was a good dancer, most likely the product of formal dance lessons as a teenager, just like you’d had. It made it easy to keep your polite smile in place as all eyes in the room were on you.

“You’re good at that,” Ransom said.

You shrugged. “A variety of dance classes since I was seven.”

He chuckled. “No, I meant the smiling thing.” When you just looked at him, confused, he continued. “Unless you’re much dumber than I think, you hate this just as much as I do. But look at you, that smile hasn’t dropped all fucking day. You’re having such a nice time, aren’t you? Being the good girl they all expect you to be. Can’t ever let them know you’re upset. Oh no, that just isn’t done.”

You nearly tripped, but you had the good grace to keep going. You kept your face pleasant to everyone watching as you gritted out “And what am I supposed to do instead, huh? Glower and glare because I didn’t get what I wanted? Be an asshole to everyone? And where exactly would that get me? We’re both here, Ransom, stuck in this. At least my way of dealing with it doesn’t make anyone else’s life more difficult.”

He chuckled again. “No one’s but mine,” he said, but instead of just irritation, there was a glimmer in his eye, too, that you couldn’t begin to interpret. It was almost like part of him was having fun.

The song ended, fading into the next, and more couples joined you on the dance floor. Keeping your hand in his, Ransom led you back to the table, depositing you there and grabbing his drink, before disappearing amongst the tables.

Ransom didn’t come back. You'd stayed at the table for a bit, for want of anything else to do. When you got bored of that, you wandered through the crowd, accepting congratulations and trying to find familiar faces. You knew there were a few of your own friends in attendance, but you were afraid to face them, knowing you’d see pity on the faces of the luckily single and recognition on those who were already married. You wouldn’t see much of them anymore anyway, with you leaving for Boston the next day. You couldn’t think about that yet. Focus on what’s in front of you.

You were periodically offered champagne from a passing server and you accepted every time, leading to you now feeling pleasantly floaty. It was a nice break from just how very much you’d been feeling the rest of the day.

You arrived back at your seat, without really intending to, to find Steve waiting for you. He was staring into the corner of the room with a disgruntled expression. “I could fucking kill him,” he mumbled.

You followed his gaze and found Ransom with a group of Harvard-looking bros doing shots by the bar. You shrugged. “He’s getting drunk over there and I’m getting drunk over here,” you said as you downed your champagne and began looking around for a server.

Steve sighed your name. “Come on, let’s sit down.”

He guided you to a chair and then sat down beside you. “Where’d you get off to?” you asked.

Steve rolled his eyes and groaned. “Dad,” was all he said. You nodded. For all that he wasn’t in your situation, as his father’s heir, he had many heavy responsibilities and obligations weighing on him. You were both caged in by this family.

“Does that mean you’re speaking to him again?” you asked, your voice free of judgment.

Even so, he grimaced. “Only when I have to.” He sighed and looked at you. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, Steve,” you said, sincerely.

He shook his head. “It’s not.” He paused, then, “I wish there’d been a way for me to stop this.”

“Steve,” you sighed. It wasn’t worth talking about again.

Over by the bar, Ransom let out a loud, hearty laugh that carried over to where you were sitting. Steve glared. “You don’t deserve this,”

You shrugged. “It’s what I have, I guess.” Then before he could continue the conversation, you added, “Can we please talk about anything else?”

He looked at you carefully and then nodded. “Sure,” he said, the sympathy in his eyes almost too much for you to bear, and then launched into a twenty-minute explanation of the painting he was working on. You didn’t think you’d ever been more grateful for him. And you hadn’t even thought to ask a server for more champagne.

The conversation only ended when your mother appeared in front of you. Steve stood up to greet her, smiling warmly, and then excused himself, squeezing your hand as he went.

“Honey, we’re going to go. I just wanted to make sure I said goodbye to you first.”

You stood up and hugged her. “You’ll be there to send us off tomorrow, right?”

“Oh, honey, no. Joseph had something come up and you know how hard it is for me to get around by myself.”

You felt the bottom drop out of everything. “You’re not going to say goodbye?”

“Of course, I am, darling. That’s what I’m doing right now.”

Suddenly, only focusing on what was directly in front of you was impossible. You were married to a stranger who couldn’t stand you. Tomorrow, you would be leaving everything you knew to go to a new home where you didn’t have anything or anyone. And your mom wouldn’t even be there to say goodbye.

“Steve would come to get you, you know he would,” you tried desperately.

“Honey, no, I can’t,” she said firmly and it took everything in you not to burst into tears. “Now, come on,” she drew you into another hug. “I’m going to miss you so much.”

“Mom,” you whispered, your voice so thick. “I don’t think I can do this.”

“Of course, you can,” she pulled back and looked you in the eye. “I know it seems hard, now, but it’ll be easier than you think to keep him happy.” She gently touched your cheek. “All you have to do is listen, and not argue too much. You’re going to be such a good wife and mother. I just know it.”

She leaned forward to hug you again and you went stiff in her arms. Everything she’d gone through – two marriages that weren’t her choice, a husband that was so cold to her and her daughter, a lonely life. And here she was, offering you up for the same fate. You didn’t know how you were supposed to bear this.

“Have a safe flight,” she whispered in your ear and then she was gone. You didn’t watch her go. You just sank back into your chair, ready for the night to end.

A while later, you heard someone call your name. You turned around to see Richard. “I think it’s time for Ransom to call it a night.” You followed Richard’s gaze to see Ransom slumped over in a chair. You almost asked him why he was telling you. Then you remembered that Ransom was your husband now. Your problem, your responsibility. You nodded to Richard and thanked him, smiling at him, of fucking course.

When you got to Ransom, he looked up at you and laughed. “Well, if it isn’t the wife!” he slurred. “We were just talking about you.” You looked over at the men on either side of him, equally drunk, and tried not to feel too humiliated.

The crowd was thinning, but there were still people around and you could feel their eyes on you, so you did your best to keep your tone and face calm. “Ransom, it’s time to go up to our room.”

One of his companions snickered and you were suddenly struck by what might await you in that room. You’d been so focused on just getting through the next thing that you’d protected yourself from thinking about what he might want, what he might demand, once you were alone. But looking at him now, as he struggled to stand up or get any control over his body at all, you hoped that you might be safe for this night, at least.

Steve appeared at your elbow. “Fucking ridiculous,” he mumbled, low enough that it didn’t seem to be for you. Then louder he asked, “You need help getting him up to the room?”

You turned to him to answer, but then you saw Linda over his shoulder, watching you both carefully. You shook your head. “No, you can’t. I’ll be fine. I’ll–” Ransom took that moment to fall loudly back into his chair. He was way too big for you to handle on your own. You sighed and looked around for anyone who might help. “I’ll get Richard to help me.”

Steve looked at you confused. “I can do it.”

“I know,” you said, “but I just can’t let you. It– The way it would look,” you shook your head again.

You could tell he still didn’t get it, but he let it drop. “Ok. I’ll see you tomorrow. And if you need anything between now and then,” he sent a scathing look to Ransom, “you call me.”

You nodded, knowing you wouldn’t, as he squeezed your wrist and left and you went to track down Richard.

After much struggle, you finally got Ransom into the honeymoon suite, Richard retreating as soon as his son was safely dumped into an armchair next to the bed. And then you were alone with him. You just stared at him for a moment, then asked, “Can you get yourself undressed?”

“ ‘fcourse,” he mumbled, then thrashed around in his tux jacket. You put a hand on his shoulder, trying to still his wild movements, then tugged off the jacket. You carefully began unbuttoning his shirt, trying to touch him no more than absolutely necessary, but he still smirked at you. “That desperate to get me naked?” he asked. You rolled your eyes and tried to keep going, but a hand on your wrist stopped you. “Hey,” he said, very seriously. He tried to lock eyes with you, but his kept drooping, as he continued. “We don’t have to do anything t’night. Not if you don’t want.”

You scoffed. “Yeah?” you asked. “Is that you or your whiskey dick talking?” You regretted it immediately, you were so tired. You waited for the insult to land, to see how he’d react, but he’d stopped paying attention, his head lolling against the back of the chair. You finished with the buttons and kneeled in front of him to take off his shoes. When that was done, you stood back up. “Please tell me you can get your own pants.”

He nodded, shrugging off his unbuttoned shirt, and stood up. He struggled with his belt for a few minutes, but eventually got it off, then pawed at his fly until he was able to undo that as well. As he moved to the bed, his pants slowly slid down his legs. You tried not to look at him, but you couldn’t help yourself. Under any other circumstances, you would find him so beautiful. It wasn’t fair. How dare he look like that and treat you like this. Just another aspect of this whole fucking mess that made you want to cry.

He stumbled to the edge of the bed and then threw himself forward, collapsing onto it face down, lying across it diagonally. Almost immediately, he started snoring. You just stood there a moment, watching him take up the entire bed. Fuck. It was fine. It’s not like you were going to sleep much anyway. You tugged his pants the rest of the way off his legs and threw them onto the pile of the rest of his clothes.

You turned your attention back to yourself and stopped, suddenly gripped by panic. You tried to reach behind yourself and begin unfastening your dress, but the line of delicate hook and eye fastenings was too difficult to get without being able to see them. And you couldn’t reach all of them anyway. Oh god, you were going to be stuck in your dress all night.

There was no one to help you. Ransom was out like a light and would be too drunk and clumsy even if he were conscious. Your mom had gone home. You couldn’t call Steve. He would come help at the drop of a hat, but if anyone saw him coming into your room… No. You were completely alone.

Every feeling you’d tried to push down and ignore this whole awful day came bubbling to the surface. You finally cried, your body wracked with sobs. You couldn’t control it. As you did, you still tried to wrestle with your dress, but your panic and sorrow made getting out of it impossible. So you sank down to the ground and just let the tears come.

When you were finally all cried out, you stood up and moved to the bathroom. You took off your makeup and took down your hair, redoing it in the way you always slept in. You brushed your teeth and finished up with your skincare routine. Then you went back into the bedroom and grabbed a blanket off the bed. You moved into the adjoining living room and sank down onto the couch, arranging your giant dress around you. You turned on the TV and settled on a marathon of some procedural crime show you were pretty sure you’d seen before. You couldn’t decide whether or not you wanted the night to go quickly.

Tag list is open

@stargazingfangirl18 @drabblewithfrannybarnes @thezombieprostitute @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @bval-1 @citronbun @ladyvenera @rebeccapineapple @alexakeyloveloki @dancer3205 @i-can-do-this-all-dayy @thecrandle

#ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x female reader #chris evans fanfiction #fanfic #knives out #steve rogers #steve rogers & reader #captain america #reader insert #arranged marriage au #ce characters #kris wrote something #more than this

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casper-spills · 4 months ago

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| Tarot Cards: Places they represent |

✩░▒▓▆▅▃▂▁𝟑𝟎𝟎 𝐅𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥!▁▂▃▅▆▓▒░✩

Hey guys! Welcome back to another post ♡

We reached 300 followers! And I'm gonna do a special for you guys because I seriously am so grateful for all of your support. My blog has been growing so fast and I literally never expected to be where I am today. Thank you! ♡

This post will be a little different to my usual stuff. I was thinking I might start a series like this where I give some tips on how to read your tarot! I'll also include the sources I use at the end in case you wanted to check those out too.

Anyway, here is a list of places that the cards represent ♡

Sincerely,

Cassy the friendly ghost ♡

✦Masterlist ✦Paid Readings ✦Support me through Kofi

𓆩♡𓆪 𝙎𝙐𝙈𝙈𝙀𝙍 𝘿𝙄𝙎𝘾𝙊𝙐𝙉𝙏 50% 𝙊𝙁𝙁 !! 𓆩♡𓆪

Ends on September 22nd

| KO-FI SHOP |

| MAJOR ARCANA |

1. Magician - Kitchen, labatory, shows, music, magic, performances

2. High Priestess - Secret place, secret society, library, somewhere quiet, reading rooms, theatre, halls

3. Empress - Old/stately homes, old school building, old hospital building, boutique, beauty parlor, restaurants

4. Emperor - Royal palace, business establishments, schools, univerisity

5. Heirophant - Church, univeristy, temple, place of worship, corporate building

6. Lovers - Sweet shop, date locations, love hotel, honeymoon places

7. Chariot - Car ralley, racing fixtures, garages, horse racing, highway

8. Strength - Zoo, petting zoos, gym, fitness studios

9. Hermit - Cave, retreat centres, hill walking

10. Wheel - Ferris wheels, london eye, casino, lottery tickets, shops selling wheels

11. Justice - Court, arbitration offices, counselling institution, police department

12. Hanged Man - Bungee jumping, sky diving, thrilling activities

13. Death - Church yard, funeral parlor, butcher, cemetary

14. Temperance - Cocktail bar, queues, waiting rooms, chemist dispensary

15. Devil - Adult shops, clubs, casinos, brothel, strip clubs

16. Tower - Chop shops, tall buildings, skyscrapers, stormy areas, fire

17. Star - Water, ocean, river, stargazing

18. Moon - Nighttime, stargazing, movie, stage, theatre

19. Sun - Birth centre, midwifery unti, hospital, holidays, tanning booths, abroad

20. Judgement - Rehabilitation centres, church, treament centres, spa

21. World - Airport, flying, dance studios

| MINOR ARCANA |

☁︎ 𝒔𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒔 ☁︎

Ace - Editor's room, skyscrapers, office, library, radio tower

Two - Statue of liberty, new york, seashore

Three - Hospital, rainy place, cloudy areas

Four - Bedroom, quiet places, funeral parlor

Five - Debate club, near water, themepark, competitive environments

Six - Boats, river, cruisers

Seven - Archery, secret location, casino, bomb shelter

Eight - Prison, therapy

Nine - Psychiatric hospital, confessional

Ten - Surgery room, accupuncture clinic, dentists

Page - Fraternity, rowdy places, sports arena

Knight - Windy places, windmills

Queen - Fenced off places, great walls, boundaries, spikes fences

King - Lawyers office

🕯 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒔 🕯

Ace - Workshop, construction site

Two - Balcony, overseas, historical travel, boat

Three - Seaside, boat travel

Four - Fastfood, cafe, outdoors, wedding, celebration

Five - Sport centre, pool game

Six - Market, downtown, show, event, someone/something noticable

Seven - Competitive/violent environment

Eight - Road trip, highway

Nine - Competitive environment, barrier, wall, bouncer, high security

Ten - Workplace, labour, sweatshop

Page - Disco, dance, party

Knight - Hot and dry place, bonfire, abroad, holiday

Queen - Social events

King - Active place, fast moving environments

꒦꒷ 𝒄𝒖𝒑𝒔 ꒷꒦

Ace - Lake, pond, birdbath, birds

Two - Luxury, home, common dating places

Three - Bar, pub, party

Four - Under a tree, graveyard

Five - A place of regret, place of bad memories, hospital, flooded areas, bridge, after party cleanup, alone in a bar

Six - Flourists, schoolyard, playground, nostalgic places

Seven - Highup places, views, drug suppliers, spots where people do drugs, drug shops

Eight - Bookstore, library, cave, quiet

Nine - Bar, party, pub, dinner, home

Ten - Family gatherings, park, outdoor, bbq party

Page - Aquariums, fish tanks, sea parks

Knight - Picnics, peaceful/romantic areas

Queen - Bathtub with cancles, home, skinny dipping, swimming

King - Beach, lake

˗ˏˋ 𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒄𝒍𝒆𝒔 ˎˊ˗

Ace - Dispensary, bank, currency exchange centre

Two - Circus, arcade, carnival

Three - Fashion show runway, art gallery, boutique, museum

Four - Uncle scrooge's home, gold reserves, saferoom, secret hideout, vault

Five - The streets, people living in powerty, homeless spots,

Six - Pawn shops, currency exchange shops, trade stores

Seven - Nursery, orchard

Eight - workshop, construction site

Nine - Gardens, green parks

Ten - Market

Page - Field, farm, family business

Knight - Workplace, chores, school

Queen - Home, nursery room

King - Bank manager's office

♥Thank you for your support!♥

Dividers by @cafekitsune, @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

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mrsdarkandyandere7 · 1 year ago

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Dark!Bruce Wayne

Pairing: Dark Bruce Wayne x (female) Reader

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

WARNING: Toxic/Abusive Relationship; Manipulation.

AN: Please, reblog and give me feedback.

Bruce loves to throw lavish parties dedicated to you - his beloved girlfriend. He literally takes any occasion to celebrate and always loves to put you at the center of attention. You deserve everyone to know how amazing and gorgeous you are.

Trust me when I say that you’ll never stay more than a month in Gotham as Bruce loves taking you (and his private plane) to all the properties and mansions he owns all over the world. Traveling will never be an issue for him, constantly exploring the world and staying at the most luxurious hotels and resorts with you by his side.

Shopping sprees are frequent. Bruce loves to spoil you with the best that money can buy so you don’t have to worry about it. If you look twice at something, Bruce won’t hesitate in swiping his credit card for you.

There are times when he can get a bit extravagant like the time where you wanted to visit this clothing boutique near its closing time so Bruce, like any diligent boyfriend would do, bought the entire store for you. Now there’s no curfew for you to leave the store, right?

And because he (or Alfred) can’t always drive you everywhere, he gifted you a brand new BMW - with a professional driver included- so this way, you’ll be able to go wherever you want (we’ll talk about this later).

Bruce is so in love with you that, although he keeps with his party boy lifestyle, he’ll want you by his side at every opportunity. On every social event, you’re dressed with the most expensive dresses, the finest jewelry, the most flawless make-up.

But as much as Bruce loves to flash his money around, he doesn’t want you to love him only for it. You need to love him for his personality.

So, please, make sure you’re with him for the right reasons otherwise you’ll be stuck with a very obsessive man and his money won’t make it better.

Now, talking about the real content here:

Bruce views you like a fragile baby. You need a strong man like him to protect you, to take the decisions for you. All you need to do is stay home (or at his mansion, to be more accurate) and be a good girl for him. He’ll take care of all the rest, don't worry your delicate head with working or trying to find a job cause you won’t need that.

As much as he takes you to parties, it’s always non-alcoholic drinks for you. You’re not allowed to drink booze at parties and that’s final. If you’re alone with him, that’s fine.

But in a public place where anyone could try to take advantage of your drunk self, not a chance. Bruce won’t allow it.

Dressing up to go out is also when Bruce’s possessive side awakens so don’t bother picking the short dresses and tops with cleavages cause that’s not gonna roll with Bruce.

There’s no way in hell you’ll ever be leaving the mansion without Bruce assessing your chosen outfit and you gotta make sure that you’re dressed up quite modestly. Your body and its secrets are reserved for Bruce and that’s the way he wants to keep it.

If you thought that being with Bruce would be a full and wild party life, then you’re wrong. Partying alone with your friends, only at his club (the one he bought in Gotham S4) and even like that, his security guards will be keeping a tight eye on you - the boss’s girlfriend.

Not to mention that Bruce will be checking in with you every fifteen minutes (much to your friend’s consternation) and you better answer his calls back, otherwise Bruce will show up at the club to make sure you’re safe and sound.

Speaking of going out, you have a curfew. Gotham at night is dangerous and Bruce can get quite protective, so it’s not long after you start dating him that he implements a curfew - for your own safety, of course.

And also, you have to ask for his permission to hang out with your friends and answer a million questions about who they are, their full names, what they do in life, their addresses and phone numbers, all of that. Something he’s so relentless in that you just give up on trying.

Going out means keeping a special tracking app in your phone. One that Bruce had especially custom-made for you and it doesn’t allow you to remove or fake your location. No tricks will work on fooling that specific app. Bruce really doesn’t take any chances with you, does he?

To make it worse, leaving the mansion is something you can only do with him or Alfred. He only trusts Alfred to take you outside, knowing he’s more than capable of protecting. And if Alfred is not available, then he’ll reluctantly allow some intensely trained bodyguards to accompany you.

So basically, you’ll get to be treated like a princess, but at the same time you’ll be just a prisoner of Bruce’s love.

--------

#@mrsdarkandyandere7 #dark bruce wayne #dark!fic #dark bruce wayne x reader #dark!bruce wayne #dark!bruce wayne x reader #yandere bruce wayne #yandere bruce wayne x reader #dark dc #bruce wayne x reader #tw: yandere #yandere x reader #yandere dc #tw: toxic relationships #tw: manipulation

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clxja16 · 2 years ago

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To hell and back

Part II

Max Verstappen x Reader

Genre: childhood trauma, established relationship

Warnings: none I think

Word Count: 1.5K

Author's Note: ummmm I have no idea if this is what everyone was expecting for a part two because I didn't think it was gonna go this way. Also apologies for taking this long, I ended up being really busy this past weekend. but nevertheless, enjoy.

Part I

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

After leaving the hotel room, you went to a boutique hotel down the street, and got a room for the night. You didn’t want to be anywhere near Max at this moment. You were so angry with how he spoke to you, what he accused you of being. You never asked him to take care of you, to pay your bills, to give you money. You haven’t even been with any other driver, except for him. You put your phone on silent and went to bed, you weren’t going to make amends tonight. You were gonna let Max sit with his words. You were gonna make him regret every speaking to you in that way.

The next morning, you thought about delaying your return even further. Maybe get breakfast before going to see Max. You wanted him to truly understand what he said to you. He thought of you as a gold-digging whore, you were gonna act like a gold-digging whore then. However when you grabbed your phone, you were met with over a hundred missed calls from, not only Max but, the entire Redbull racing team. Max, Daniel, Checo, Christian, Liam, Geri, even Carola tried calling you last night. It seemed as if everyone with your number, that Max knew, tried to call you. Your text notifications were worse. Not only did you actually receive text messages from everyone, but your social media messages were also filled. You were beginning to feel a little bad about last night. You opened your text messages with Max, scrolling to the bottom for the most recent text to read;

Max: you don’t need to come back, but at least tell me you’re safe. Christian said that if we don’t hear from you in the morning, then we’ll call the police. I need to know that you’re safe, y/n.

You were overwhelmed with guilt, regardless of how Max made you feel, you should’ve let him know that you were safe. You didn’t, you couldn’t delay any further. You raced back to him.

You thought of a thousand ways to make it up to him. How you would apologize to him, what you would say, how to explain your thought process to him. But as you got closer to the hotel room that you left him in, you slowed down. You thought about last night further.

‘Gold-digging formula one whore’ were his exact words, and you were gonna apologize to him? You wanted to laugh at yourself for being so forgetful. You were going to apologize to him, for not informing him that you were safe, but nothing else, nothing more. He needed to apologize for his words, he needed to beg for your forgiveness, he needed to make amends, not you. He caused this to all happen, not you. These were his words not yours.

You opened the hotel room door, to see him sitting on the couch, he was awake. His eyes bloodshot, when his eyes met yours, he shot to his feet. You could see his shoulders relax. The sight of him, broke your heart a little. Tears welled in his eyes, as he made his way towards you. You let the door close behind you, but you didn’t dare move a step towards him. It seemed as if one night, aged him by years. He looked exhausted, his hair sticking out in certain places, he was still in last night's clothes.

As Max stepped right in front of you, he dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around your waist. You felt his tears dampen your shirt, you were taken aback by the action. Max was not one to cry. His soft sobs made all the anger you felt from last night dissipate. You didn’t know what to do, frozen in place.

“Max,” you whispered softly, scared that you would break him, if you spoke any louder.

“I was so scared y/n,” Max whispered against your waist, as he clung to tightly, before looking up to you. You ran your fingers through his hair, taking note of the bags under his eyes.

“Did you sleep last night?” You ask, as your voice fills with worry.

Max shook his head, “I didn’t want to miss you, if you called.”

“I shouldn't have left, I’m…”

“Don’t,” Max cut you off, getting to his feet. Taking your face in his hands, tilting your head up to maintain eye contact with him, “don’t apologize, this is my fault. I should have never said such vile words to you. If I was to ever say anything disrespectful about you or towards you ever again, I shall rip my own tongue out from my mouth. You don’t deserve my drunk outburst. You don’t deserve my whiplash of emotions. You deserve someone better…”

“I don’t want someone better than you,” you grip Max’s hands as he holds your face, “I want you, and all the emotions you hold inside of you.” You stared into Max’s eyes, you could stay in this moment forever. You could be right here with him for the rest of the world’s existence.

There was a knock at the room door behind you, both you and Max hesitated to move; wanting to be in that moment with each other for a second longer. “Max,” it was Christian that called out, “did you hear from y/n?” Max pulled away first, you could feel his fingertips linger, not wanting to let go of you in the slightest.

Max sighed, as he moved to open the door, “hi, I’m sorry, she came back this morning, you were right.”

You stepped out from behind Max to present yourself, “sorry for the trouble I caused last night.” You make a mental note to apologize to the team for the trouble you caused.

Christian sighed, “are you okay?” Christian directed his question to you, he had never seen Max so worked up about anything before last night. Max was a champion at heart, he always acted like a true champion, someone that was always calm even in the most tense situations. Max didn’t allow for distractions to bother him. Until last night.

“I’m alright, I was just very angry last night,” you said, beginning to feel more guilty for causing so many people to worry. “I’m sorry, I didn’t…”

“It’s my fault, Christian,” Max spoke up, taking your hand in his. “I was drunk and I said things that I shouldn’t have, It won’t happen again.” Max turned to look at you, you could see the emotions swirling in his eyes, “It will never happen again.”

After taking a fresh shower, and getting cleaned up, you and Max went out to get breakfast together. You sat across from him at the table, on an open terrace. The sunshine highlighted his hair, to look like gold foil. “You know,” Max said, not looking up from his menu, “I've been thinking about last night, and how to make it up to you.”

“You don’t need to make it up to me,” you shook your head, as you spoke.

“You said you love me,” Max recalled, making eye contact now, “that’s the first time you ever told me you love me.”

You and Max had only been together for a short amount of time, and this was only the third race you attended with him. “And?” You asked.

“Did you mean it, or were you exaggerating to make a point?”

You couldn’t stop the confusion writing itself across your face. You wondered how broken a person had to be, to ask that type of question. “I meant it,” you said, sitting up properly in your chair, “why would you think I didn’t mean it?”

Max sighed, looking back down at the menu in his hand, “It’s been a long time since anyone said they loved me.”

“Max,” you spoke up, reaching for his hand. Max closed the menu, grasping your hand firmly, looking at you with emotions swirling through his eyes. “I love you.” You watched Max pause, taking a deep breath, before letting go of your hand and looking back at the menu. “Max,” you called out to him. He looked up at you, as tears lined his eyes. “You don’t have to say it back if you’re not ready, but acknowledge that I said something.”

“How do you know you love me? I didn’t win, I didn’t do good, I…”

“Max,” you couldn’t stop your face from filling with horror, hearing him still connect your love for him to his race finish. “I love you because you make me happy, because you always let me pull the blanket off you when we’re sleeping. Because you always let me watch my show on the tv, even if the game is on. Because you never let me open a single door when we’re together, because you make sure I walk on the inside of the sidewalk. Because you remind me to call my parents every weekend. Because you always kiss me before you leave in the morning. Because you give me the bigger piece when we’re sharing food. Because you always tell me I look pretty when we go out. I love you because you make me happy, not because of some race finish. I love you because of all the little things you do for me.”

“I love you.”

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

Taglist: @theravenclawfangirl@glame@balletgielymm@kuskumu@beyaesthetics-blog

#formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 au #formula 1 angst #max verstappen #f1 max verstappen #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen f1 #max verstappen x you #f1 au #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #red bull racing

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themaynard · 2 years ago

Link

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femininenachos · 7 months ago

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Hello lovely. I’ve been thinking about vacation au. Please tell me Clarke runs into Lexa swimming in some crystal clear Grecian water and wells has to close her mouth for her.

(Not quite, but close!)

Previously: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

By mid-morning the narrow streets near the harbour are already swarming with island hoppers fresh off the ferry. More line the quayside, waiting to board the day cruise that takes in the larger, more populous archipelago further down the coast. So-called ‘jewels of the Aegean’, they’re feted for being playgrounds of the rich and famous, boasting a slew of luxury resort hotels, designer boutiques and staggeringly expensive seafront restaurants.

For all its charm and scenic vistas, at least Polis has one foot in the real world. Here, craggy-faced fishermen and dock hands in scruffy overalls are hard at work unloading the morning’s catch, doing their best to ignore the clusters of tourists floating around, or at least tolerating their presence with stoic indifference.

And—it’s possible Clarke might be biased—Polis has Lexa, currently leading the charge like a woman on a mission. Clarke sticks close, her hand in Lexa’s sure grip, hurrying to match her loping strides as they make a beeline for the marina. Along the way they pass an assortment of small motorboats in all shapes and sizes, from dinghies and jet skis to skiffs and cabin cruisers and everything in between, until a gleaming white single-masted sailboat comes into view at last.

Clarke stops dead in her tracks on the cobblestones, fingers slipping from Lexa’s.

Her jaw drops.

“Is this yours?”

Lexa glances over and laughs at Clarke’s expression. “I make good tips, but not that much.”

She points to the modest vessel moored next to it, an open-top vintage deck boat with a walnut veneer interior and burnt orange leather upholstery that’s bleached from exposure to the sun and the salty sea air. ‘Spirit of Polis’ is written in blue cursive script on the hull.

“I mean, this one’s great too,” Clarke is quick to respond. She styles it out. “Not so flashy. Compact. Classic. Nice, uh, sleek lines.”

Lexa peers over the top of her sunglasses, lips subtly twisting to the side. “It belongs to my uncle, so you don’t have to worry about offending me or the boat.”

She puts down the cooler containing their provisions of cold drinks and extends a hand to help Clarke aboard. A little unsteady on her feet at first, Clarke holds on tightly for support while she finds her balance, shifting her weight to counteract the bobbing motion of the boat as water sloshes against the sides. Once she’s confident she isn’t going to fall flat on her face or, worse, into the harbour, she takes a few cautious steps to reach the small seating area at the rear. She shrugs off her tote bag to stow under the bench and situates herself, the sun-scorched leather burning hot against the backs of her thighs.

From this safe perch (and prime ogling spot), she watches Lexa collect the thick rope that tethers the boat, tossing it onto the deck before she gracefully hops across with the cooler and gets behind the controls. Full of poise at the helm, like it’s second nature to assume command, the signature pout in place as Lexa lifts her chin like she’s surveying her nautical domain.

It goes without saying that the whole preppy, boat-captain vibe is one hundred percent working in her favour.

Shades on. Hair spilling down her back in glossy chestnut waves, the ends getting whipped around by the wind. Appealing in her pale pink button-down worn over a snug white tank. Shirt open and catching the light breeze, the sleeves rolled up to reveal a hint of muscle definition and the ink that encircles her bicep. Tight little navy blue shorts hug her hips and ass in ways that are about to cause a major international incident at sea, because Clarke is far from looking respectfully.

“Ready?”

When her eyes snap up, she spies the half-smile on Lexa’s side profile, as though she detects the unholy thirst emanating from mere feet away.

Clarke gives a slow, absentminded nod, the tip of her tongue poking out the side of her mouth as her eyes make another involuntary sweep down Lexa’s form.

“Clarke.”

She gets a hold of herself, breathing in deeply, and with it the spell is broken.

“Mm? Oh, yeah,” she says, feeling a resurgent wiggle of anticipation about this mystery adventure they’re about to embark on together. All Lexa was willing to divulge when they met is that it’s Polis’s best-kept secret, a spot known only to locals, unreachable except by boat, and so far unspoiled by tourists. Clarke had feigned offense on the last point, but soon dropped the act when Lexa tilted in for a kiss that went on and on and made her stomach clench. Each time Clarke started to retreat, Lexa would chase her mouth and draw her back in for more.

Her lips are still tingling.

(Both sets.)

“At least give me a hint about where we’re going?”

The enigmatic smirk that plays around Lexa’s mouth widens a fraction. “I thought you liked surprises.”

“Oh, I do. But I’m also stubborn as hell and won’t take no for an answer, so jot that down.”

It earns a laugh, one Clarke is fast becoming enamoured with, and she can’t control the warm tingle that goes through her when she hears it or the rush of elation she gets from bringing a rare grin to Lexa’s face.

“Good to know,” Lexa says as she reaches for the ignition key. Her next words are almost lost to the splutter and chug of the engine before it roars to life. “I like a challenge.”

~*~

Within an hour, they reach a small, secluded cove surrounded by sheer limestone cliffs, the ancient rock sculpted by wind and waves, where sparse scatterings of tall, rugged pines sprout precariously from narrow ledges in defiance of the elements.

It appears like a mirage, shimmering into view: a bay of dreamy, pristine, white-gold sands and crystal clear turquoise waters, serene and inviting, and there isn’t a soul in sight. The closest thing they had to company was the pod of dolphins they spotted off the starboard (Clarke learned) side about twenty minutes ago. She’d gasped and clutched Lexa’s arm, bouncing on her heels in sheer delight. But it was the look they shared, brimming with joy and something unaccountably softer and fonder, that made it all the more magical, the moment already locked into Clarke’s memory.

“What do you think?” Lexa asks.

Lost for words, Clarke shakes her head in silent awe.

She turns to Lexa, and the smile Lexa directs at her, eyes bright and glowing in the sunlight, leaves her just as speechless. When Clarke finds her voice at last, it comes out thick, clogged with emotion; touched and amazed by the incredible beauty of what she sees—the place, and the woman who brought her here. So moved that she’s dangerously close to shedding a tear, her vision glazing over.

She blinks the moisture away.

“It’s…” She draws in a breath and lets it out slowly. Lifts her eyebrows. “Wow.”

She doesn’t second guess the impulse to wrap an arm around Lexa’s waist, to plant a soft, grateful kiss on her jaw.

“Thank you for sharing it with me.”

Full lips twitch at the corners. “My pleasure.”

With one hand resting on the wheel, Lexa drapes her free arm around Clarke’s shoulders. They remain like that, Clarke hugging Lexa’s side and taking in the spectacular scenery as Lexa guides the boat in at a steady rate of knots.

“I can’t believe this place has stayed under the radar. You’d think tour operators would be running excursions out here every hour until sunset.”

“Clarke.” Lexa grows serious all of a sudden, and that only makes Clarke want to kiss her again. Coax another smile. “You must promise not to tell anyone. It’s how we preserve it for future generations.”

Clarke schools her features, pretending to match Lexa’s gravity.

“Well… it’ll cost you. My silence doesn’t come cheap.”

The slight frown Lexa wears smooths out as soon as she catches on. A quizzical eyebrow flexes in a way that’s rudely attractive.

“Name your price, but don’t forget I work in hospitality.”

“I’m not interested in your money, Lexa. What I want” - Clarke trails her hand over Lexa’s hip and the perfect curve of her backside to give it a slow, purposeful squeeze, relishing Lexa’s intake of breath and the darkening of her gaze as she glances at Clarke’s lips - “is you.”

She meant to say “your body” but she doesn’t correct the verbal slip. Because, yeah, she does want to bend Lexa into all kinds of shapes like a pretzel, but she also has a deep desire to learn more about Lexa as a person, to find out what makes her tick, beyond what she likes to do in bed.

Lexa takes it in stride regardless, easing back into the confidence she has in spades.

Something about the slope of her smile signals she’s about to gain the upper hand.

She shrugs.

“Okay, deal.”

The enduring gleam in Lexa’s eyes before she turns her attention back to the sea gives Clarke palpitations. Her pulse thunders in her ears, drowning out the engine noise and the crash of the boat breaking the waves.

~*~

They drop anchor a short distance from the shore, an easy swim from the dazzling white sands. Not yet ready to take a dip, preferring to bake in the heat for a while first, Clarke spreads a large beach towel on the deck for sunbathing. She senses Lexa’s attention on her as she shimmies out of her shorts and shucks her loose tee to reveal the red halter neck two-piece that Octavia helped pick out after breakfast.

(“Hellooo, mama,” Octavia had drawled after Clarke emerged from the en suite and gave a reluctant twirl. She’d let out a low whistle as she ran her eyes up and down. “Almost wish I was tagging along just to watch Sexy Lexy’s head spin 360-degrees before it explodes. The twins ain’t playing.”)

At the time, Clarke had rolled her eyes and fought a blush but she’s glad she went with O’s suggestion.

Aware of her present captive audience, she proceeds to get comfortable on her back. One knee bent, an arm tucked behind her head as a pillow, showing off her best assets like a 1950s calendar pinup girl. Even behind the dark tinted lenses of her sunglasses, she sees Lexa’s eyes hungrily trace the shape of her body. Clarke basks in it, a smile tucked into the corner of her mouth, secure in the knowledge that she’s not just a snack, she’s the whole damn meal, and Lexa looks like she wants to devour every last crumb.

But Clarke’s smugness is short-lived, because in the next moment she’s the one left gawking when Lexa wordlessly strips down to the skimpiest pair of bikini bottoms and not a stitch else, brow quirking up as she peers over her shoulder then dives off the deck, slicing through the water with barely a splash.

Clarke quickly levers up onto her elbows to watch Lexa surface seconds later, hair slicked back and plastered to her skull, a sly little tilt to her lips as she treads water.

“Come on in. The temperature is perfect,” she calls out, looking every inch the siren that lures thirsty sapphic sailors to their deaths.

Clarke tries to cling on to the last vestiges of composure she has remaining.

“Gonna work on my tan for a little bit.”

The pout returns and she laughs, “Soon!”

Grabbing the tube of sunscreen from her nearby tote, she squeezes a large dollop into her palm. While Lexa does slow laps around the boat, Clarke liberally reapplies the lotion, slathering it on until all the exposed skin within reach is covered.

Before long, she hears Lexa climb the ladder onto the swim platform, accompanied by the rush of water cascading off her body as she rises out of the sea.

The soft slap of wet footfalls draws nearer.

“Lex?” Clarke twists around. “Could you do my—”

She stalls mid-sentence, only cognizant of her fingers closing hard around the tube in her hand when a spurt of lotion shoots out, splattering across her thigh and the towel.

She doesn’t even flinch.

All Clarke can do is gape and stare, watching rivulets of water run down the slope of Lexa’s bare chest. Eyes drawn inexorably to taut nipples and golden skin that glistens under the sun, to the long, lean lines of Lexa and the scrap of luminous orange fabric that sits low on her hips.

Clarke’s belly tightens, arousal flaring hot between her legs.

(A voice in her head that sounds disturbingly like Wells tells her to close her mouth.)

She has to remind herself to breathe.

Is thankful for the oversized shades that partially mask her expression, because she isn’t in control of what her face is doing right now. But if Lexa’s lip-bitten smile is any indication, it’s a lost cause anyway.

Casually wringing the water out of her hair as she approaches, Lexa glances at the milky white streak on Clarke’s inner thigh.

“Not the first time I’ve made a girl squirt.”

Clarke mutters a sarcastic “ha ha”, rubs the lotion into her skin, then wipes her hands on the edge of the towel before she reclines again. She fakes nonchalance when Lexa sinks down beside her, but it’s impossible to ignore the butterflies.

She rolls her shoulders and stares at the sky above, fixating on the solitary vapour trail that cuts across the endless blue.

“Speaking of previous liaisons... do you bring all your conquests here?” She’s mostly kidding, but there’s an undercurrent of needing to know too. She peers at Lexa. “Or am I one of the lucky few?”

A slow shake of Lexa’s head before she leans over on her elbow, closing in and partially blocking the sun, and Clarke’s skepticism must be plain to see, because Lexa looks so intensely sincere now, no trace of a smile or any disingenuousness when she says: “It’s the truth, I swear.”

Still, Clarke has her doubts. There’s no way Lexa isn’t tripping over hot women throwing themselves at her feet and this boat trip is too well-orchestrated not to be a tried and tested seduction technique.

Clarke peels off her shades to look Lexa square in the eye, and that frank, steady gaze pierces straight through her.

“I mean it, Clarke.”

The space between them shrinks.

Lexa’s pupils dilate as her focus shifts to parted lips. “You’re special.”

Water drips off the ends of Lexa’s hair onto Clarke’s shoulder and chest, and whatever rebuttal she had dies in her throat. She’s the one to reach out, gripping Lexa by the neck to tug her the rest of the way and kiss her like Clarke’s been dreaming of all morning.

As soon as Lexa throws a long leg over Clarke to straddle her, knees bracketing her hips, she needs no further convincing.

It’s on.

She dips her tongue inside Lexa’s mouth and slides both hands up Lexa’s rib cage to cup her breasts, a shiver running through Clarke when she feels the hard poke of nipples against her palms. She kneads, and the low, throaty noise it earns her sets her nerves alight, warm tingles suffusing her body.

They kiss deeply, greedily.

They kiss until Clarke has to drag her mouth away to gulp down some air, only to have the oxygen punched out of her lungs once again when Lexa uses the opportunity to shove her bikini bottoms off, scoop her mane of wet hair to one side and resettle against Clarke’s thigh. With her hands planted on either side of Clarke’s shoulders, Lexa holds herself up as she starts to work along the tensed muscle.

The slick, molten feel of Lexa, sliding against her skin, riding Clarke, makes her burn. She lurches up into the next kiss, hungrily reclaiming Lexa’s mouth, urging her on with a grip on her ass, and that shaky little hitch of breath in the back of Lexa’s throat whenever the friction gets her just right succeeds in getting Clarke wetter and wetter too. At this rate, she might come before Lexa does, and the odds only increase when Lexa takes Clarke’s hand and guides it between her legs.

“Use your fingers.”

Another surge of heat floods through Clarke at the instruction, hearing the normally smooth, modulated tone of Lexa’s voice roughed by need.

Clarke studies Lexa’s face, watching for the tiny flickers of reaction as she runs her fingers lower, fascinated by each and every twitch and jolt and slight gasp as she explores. She dips in and drags the wetness up to swirl around Lexa’s clit and is rewarded by the sharp jerk of Lexa’s hips and quite possibly the dirtiest kiss of Clarke’s entire life. She needs no prompting to slide through slick heat to tease at Lexa’s entrance again, fingertips doing a couple of slow swirls before she pauses.

For a beat they remain suspended in a freeze frame of anticipation. Each holding still, a breath caught in their throats.

On the exhale Clarke pushes inside.

And fuck, she missed this. Touching yourself is great and all, empowering, fantastic for stress relief, et cetera. But nothing beats the sound another woman makes when you enter her for the first time, when you hear that shaky intake of breath and you feel her clench around your fingers.

“Good?” Clarke asks.

Lexa nods, bottom lip held between her teeth as she looks down at Clarke with hooded eyes, the green of her irises nearly eclipsed by black.

Part of Clarke can’t quite believe this is her reality. That she’s buried to the knuckles and Lexa is moving on her, rolling to meet the steady pump of her wrist.

She glances between their bodies and a groan escapes, another sharp twist of lust coiling in the pit of her stomach once her eyes fasten on her own two fingers coated with Lexa’s arousal, fucking into her. But Clarke pries her eyes away, roving over tight abdominals, taking in the curves of Lexa’s tits and the jut of her nipples, torn between wanting them in her mouth and watching her fingers disappear inside again.

It’s Lexa’s half-stifled whimper when Clarke’s thumb finds her clit that sharpens her focus.

Winding her arm around Lexa’s lower back, Clarke sits them upright and swiftly brings their lips together. The abrupt change of angle has Lexa gasping hotly into her mouth. Again, louder, when Clarke’s palm rubs in. Lexa grips her by the shoulder and the back of her neck, blunt nails digging in as Lexa grinds down harder, faster, speeding towards the climax—the first of many, if Clarke has her way—sucking in short, sharp gasps while Clarke keeps pace, despite it being hell on her wrist.

They’re hardly kissing at all now, mouths hanging slack and sharing the same air, noses pressing into cheeks as they pant against one another’s lips.

She soon feels the first flutters, the growing tension in Lexa’s form, the choppy motion of Lexa’s hips and the careless scratch of her nails at Clarke’s nape. She curls the tips of her fingers on each partial drag out then slams back in, lifting Lexa an inch off her lap with each thrust. Clarke keeps the heel of her palm tight against Lexa’s clit, the pressure firm and constant, and in the next collection of halting, rapid breaths, Lexa’s whole frame pulls taut. A ragged cry is torn from her throat and she clenches hard, coming in a hot spill around Clarke’s fingers. Lexa shudders through it, a tremble in her jaw when she catches Clarke’s mouth in a fierce, bruising kiss, licking into her with a groan that makes Clarke gush in turn.

They remain in a heavy lip lock long after the tremors subside, neither inclined to separate. Restless hands weave through Clarke’s hair then seek out her curves, roaming down her chest with purpose, pushing under the top half of her swimsuit. She gives a low hum of approval when Lexa’s thumbs roll over the tight tips of her nipples, the ache mirrored in the dull, pulsing emptiness between her legs.

She feels close to orgasm already, like if she got even the tiniest bit of friction she’d go off like a rocket. Just a small shift of her hand to grind against her own knuckles would do it. But the way Lexa is touching her breasts, palms running all over, teasing her nipples into stiff, hypersensitive points, might be enough to get Clarke there.

And all the while, she’s still inside Lexa. Fucking her lazily with slow presses of her fingers, incapable of much more vigour when her wrist is screaming. She’s debating what to do next, whether to withdraw and flip Lexa onto her back for round two or continue like this, when a distant droning noise intrudes, faintly audible above the gentle lap of water, the thick, wet squelch of Clarke’s hand working between Lexa’s thighs, and their combined heavy breathing.

Growing more distracted by the second, Clarke draws her mouth away. She squints at the horizon beneath the shade of her free hand while warm lips meander along her jaw and down her neck.

She ceases her movements, despite Lexa’s meaningful buck of her hips and the subsequent small growl of complaint when Clarke fails to take the hint.

“What’s—” Teeth nip at the fading hickey on her throat and she gasps, hand flying to tangle in Lexa’s damp, curling hair. But as the object begins to resolve itself, Clarke tenses for a different reason. “Is that a boat?”

Lexa abandons her sulk to look too.

A white shape is rapidly approaching, throwing up sea spray, sunlight glinting off the surface and the waves and making it difficult to discern from this distance until… oh. Oh, yeah.

Letting out a string of (presumably) expletives in her native tongue, Lexa scrambles off Clarke to scoop up the clothes strewn across the deck. She pulls on her tank top, yanks the shorts up her legs, and has just enough time to arrange herself into a casual pose beside Clarke before the other boat reaches them. The occupants are obnoxiously young; late teens or early twenties, as far as Clarke can tell from a distance; a bunch of bikini-clad girls and lanky guys in board shorts hanging off one another as music blasts.

She sighs inwardly. Grits her teeth and refrains from giving them the middle finger while they whoop and cheer in passing, beer bottles held aloft as they thunder towards the wooden jetty.

So much for the sexy beach idyll. Clearly, not everyone has such reverence for the tranquility of this spot.

“Shall we stay a while or…?” Clarke hedges.

Lexa purses her lips and casts her stormy gaze around, jaw working side to side in rotation, but a gentle touch on her leg pulls her focus back to Clarke.

Consternation softens into regret.

“You didn’t even get a chance to swim or feel the sand between your toes.”

“I’ll cope. Besides…” Clarke wets her lips and drops into a huskier register. “It wasn’t a total bust.”

Lexa’s mouth twitches, clearly fighting a smile, and to Clarke that’s a win.

“Come on, don’t let these pesky teens ruin our hot date,” she continues in a playful tone. “I bet you have a few aces up your sleeve; other favourite haunts to wow the ladies with.”

One shoulder lifts in a slight shrug. “We do have the boat for the rest of the day. I could take you somewhere else. For lunch, if you’re hungry yet?”

Clarke gives a noncommittal hum, lightly trailing her wet fingers along the soft skin of Lexa’s inner thigh. “I could eat.”

The suggestive undertone isn’t lost in translation. Their eyes meet and Clarke dares to make it explicit.

“But lunch wasn’t what I had in mind… unless we’re counting pussy as a food group.”

Lexa loses the battle against keeping her smile under control. The tips of her ears are tinged pink. “Are Americans always so forward?”

“Um, I don’t recall any shyness on your part two nights ago.”

Dainty little ears burn brightly while Lexa’s smile grows, becoming toothier, and Clarke just wants to smooch that perfect face all day long.

“Anyway, I prefer the term ‘go-getter.’ As in, I see someone I want and I go get her.”

A pained groan. “I should leave you stranded on the beach for that.”

“Hey!” Clarke swats at Lexa’s knee in retaliation, but Lexa catches her hand, holding it captive. Clarke sniffs for dramatic effect. “I was going to let you strip me out of this bathing suit later, but now I’m strongly reconsidering.”

“If it helps sway your decision, I’d definitely appreciate seeing you naked again.”

“And how would you show your gratitude?”

“Mm. At least three times, and maybe twice more with the strap if you’re into toys.”

God.

“Okay. Alright. Well, lucky for you, I’m kind of dying for you to fuck me so I guess that clinches it.”

It’s about as far from playing it cool as could be, but Clarke doesn’t care. The truth is she’s soaked, aching for relief, and she isn’t picky about whichever method Lexa might use to get her off, as long as it happens soon.

Eyes flashing dark, Lexa cups a hand behind Clarke’s neck and pulls her mouth to hers. Clarke reacts without thought, already opening up to accept the slide of Lexa’s tongue before her brain catches up and she remembers they’re not alone.

Cracking an eye open, she’s relieved to see nobody on the other boat appears to be paying them any attention. She attempts to evade the next kiss, only for Lexa to pursue it more doggedly, and that makes Clarke smile even as she lays a palm on Lexa’s chest to gently hold off her advance. The mini pout on Lexa’s face when they pull apart is a treat, and Clarke can’t conceal her enjoyment of it. Unable to resist the lure, she steals one final peck.

For a few indulgent seconds, she luxuriates in the softness of Lexa’s full bottom lip, until it dawns on her that an hour-long return journey stands between them and more orgasms, and she sighs.

“Why isn’t teleportation a real thing yet? Having to wait a full 60 minutes to get you under me is so unfair.”

Slowly, with the greatest delicacy and patience, Lexa brushes their noses together, one side then the other, nudging the tip before she withdraws. Despite the sun beating down on her back, it gives Clarke chills, shivers running down her neck and arms. For the duration she just holds still and melts while her stomach flips, and the butterflies that had lain dormant return in full force.

When she opens her eyes, she’s greeted by the slight, sloping smile on Lexa’s lips and her stomach does another somersault.

“I’m starting to think you’re only interested in me for sex,” Lexa says lightly.

Clarke lets out a small scoff. “You’re the one with a one-track mind. I was minding my own business, soaking up the rays, until you pounced.”

“Can you blame me?”

Lexa’s heated stare roves over several inches of cleavage before she forcibly drags her eyes back up.

“Actually… I have a confession to make.” She draws that plush bottom lip, still slightly swollen and red from kissing, between her teeth. “I dropped a tray of drinks at work yesterday because I had a flashback to you sitting on my face. Anya yelled at me and I didn’t even give a fuck that she deducted it from my tips.”

Heat rises in Clarke’s cheeks, triggered by her own vivid recollection of events. She won��t forget it in a hurry and she’s flattered to hear it was just as memorable for Lexa too. But also, it feels like a point of pride that she made Lexa’s cool girl veneer slip, even if she wasn’t there to witness it in person.

“Now I feel partly responsible for this tragic loss of earnings and broken glassware.”

“I said you were trouble.”

They inch closer, eyes glued to lips, their breath hot on one another’s faces.

“How can I make it up to you?” Clarke asks.

“I have some ideas.”

Her mind can’t help going to the aforementioned strap.

All smiles, they surrender to the magnetic pull. The world around them recedes. There’s only Lexa’s mouth on hers, soft yet urgent, and the tingles that erupt all over, Clarke’s pulse accelerating when long fingers thread into her hair again.

And it’s sublime.

Close to perfection.

She can almost hear the swell of imaginary violins soundtracking the moment—until a smattering of shrill wolf whistles pierces through the bliss.

The kiss breaks on a huff of shared, quiet laughter. Clarke’s eyes slide across to the jetty, where they’re being enthusiastically toasted by their neighbours. She groans and drops her forehead to Lexa’s shoulder, breathing in the saltwater, sun-warmed scent of her before showing her face again.

“I believe that’s our cue to leave,” Clarke says.

The long, lidded look Lexa favours her with, eyes shaded darker by desire and the hint of some deeper emotion that feels altogether too big, too soon to acknowledge, has Clarke battling the urge to launch herself at Lexa’s lips again, regardless of the unwanted spectators nearby.

“Keep that up, Lex, and they might really have something to holler about—and possibly livestream on the internet.”

A faint smile reappears. “What am I doing, Clarke?”

“Looking. Giving me those” - she gestures vaguely - “eyes.”

It loosens a small laugh. Lexa lowers her gaze and Clarke regrets mentioning it now, because it feels like the sun momentarily disappearing behind the clouds when Lexa’s thrilling, singular focus isn’t on her.

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”

Lexa looks up, and the restored eye contact makes Clarke’s blood pump faster.

She lets out the breath she was holding. “Maybe I like it more than I should, considering.”

“Considering…?”

“I won’t be here next week.”

Pragmatic; matter-of-fact. A reality check and a casual reminder they both need to hear before they throw themselves headlong into… whatever this thing is between them: it has an expiration date.

In the lull, Lexa scans every millimetre of Clarke’s face and she hopes the nerves don’t show through the front she’s putting on.

After a moment, the corner of Lexa’s mouth lifts into a smirk, but it seems slightly forced. Her eyes are more pebbly, neutral grey than green. “Then let’s make sure you have good memories to take home with you.”

#vacation au #cool for the summer #clexa fic #my fic

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aaurishotels · 8 months ago

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hotelayaanresidency · 9 months ago

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quillandink333 · 6 months ago

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The Dove and the Swan Take Flight • pt. 2

Credit to @winterxisxcomingx for the beautiful banner ♡︎

SPOILERS FOR HAZBIN HOTEL ~ Read ahead at your own risk!

After centuries spent distancing himself from his people and letting affairs of state fall into neglect, Lucifer decides it’s high time to get reacquainted with his would-be fair kingdom and brings Emily along for a grand tour of the Pride Ring.

WARNINGS: Abrahamic imagery (obviously), corporatism, body dysphoria, I wouldn’t exactly condone telling shady strangers where you’ll be going in the near future

Part I • Part II • Part III

“I’ve been thinking…” Emily broke the silence. She and her host had been enjoying their breakfast so thoroughly that they hadn’t noticed when the conversation had dwindled to a halt.

Lucifer had a mouth full of sugary carbs and fresh fruit as he answered, “Hm?”

“We’re going to Sinsoplex today, right?”

“We are indeed!” he proclaimed. “I wanted to give you a taste of what mainstream city life is like down here. That, plus our excursion to Cannibal Town made me realise we stick out like a sore thumb in public.” He tilted his head with an awkward glance toward his hat and coat, which were draped over the unoccupied chair beside him, and she giggled. “That’s why we’re hitting the boutiques first and foremost, as clearly I don’t have the first clue about today’s trends and the like.”

“That’s perfect!” Her eyes lit up with excitement, making his heart flutter. “Because I’ve been thinking, I know I just got my hair cut at the barber’s, and I love it! But the thing is, now that’s made me wanna change it even more,” she confessed, as if simply wishing to alter her appearance was a sin.

“I see no reason why we couldn’t do that on the same trip,” he offered right off the bat without question. “There’s bound to be a few sinners in the beauty industry who could help us on both fronts.”

“Well, yeah, but do you really think we’ll find someone willing to do all that for us on such short notice?”

“Naturally. I’m Lucifer Goddamn Morningstar; who could possibly refuse?” he chuckled. Being the supreme ruler of Hell had all the perks one would expect, which he could surely stand to take advantage of more often, he pondered. Emily, however, was of the mind to disagree, but she didn’t dare correct him when he’d been showing her such endless generosity ever since her fall. As long as he paid their stylist what they demanded in return for their services—which he obviously had the means to—she supposed it didn’t matter.

Word Count: 2.7k

“Right, let me just get this straight.” The youngest of the so-called Vees was hardly giving them half of her attention as she played around giving herself different flashy manicures with a flick of her wrist. “So the pair of you just poof into my studio out of nowhere, then order me personally to give you each the full Transformakeover service right this fucking second with no appointment?”

Emily felt a stab of shame at the sarcastic accusation, causing her to shrink back into Lucifer’s side. Before she could say anything, though, he waved his cane and conjured a pile of cash taller than a fridge between them and the overlord. “I take it that should work for you.”

Velvette’s eyebrows shot up toward the top of the stack. “Yeah, no, tha-that’ll do.”

“That’s what I thought,” he smirked.

The first order of business, as apparently per their stylist’s standard practice, was hair. She took Emily aside and sat her down in front of an oversized mirror in a frame of uncomfortably bright LEDs, then had a stylist on standby sit the king in the chair next to hers. “I’ve gotta say, darling, you’re in desperate need of some layers,” she noted, running a comb through the lilac tresses. “A new colour wouldn’t hurt neither. Any requests?”

“Uhh…” Out of habit, she cast a lost glance over at Lucifer. It took him a couple of seconds to notice, but when he did, she whisper-yelled to him, “What colour should I get my hair dyed?”

He raised an eyebrow. “What are you asking me for? It’s your hair, sunshine,” he smiled tightly. “I shouldn’t need to tell you by now that I think any colour would look great on you.”

“Oh. Okay…” Her gaze meandered back to her reflection. She’d never had her hair dyed before, and she’d never had much of a say when it came to styles either. Velvette was getting restless as she waited for an answer, which had Emily chewing on the inside of her cheek.

“Here, how ’bout something like this?” Lucifer stood up to show her a picture on his phone. “That Angel Dust fellow sent it to me the other day saying he thought it would suit you. Now, why he didn’t just send it to you directly, I have no clue.” The image showed a sinner from behind. They had shoulder-length hair with feathery layers and a balayage going from dark roots to a warm vanilla blonde at the crown, then into a blinding platinum for the better part of the length. Emily’s brows rose and her lips formed a lowercase ‘o,’ telling him she at least wasn’t averse to the sight of it.

Velvette scoffed. “Are you joking? That’s, like—” Her words caught in her throat when she spotted Morningstar shooting a glowing red glare her way through the mirror. “I mean—y-yeah, if that’s what you want. Seems easy enough.”

She promptly got up, wasting no time walking Emily over to one of the sinks for a wash. The little angel floated along without a care in the world while the other two trailed behind. Having heard that it would be ‘easy enough,’ she was surprised to find out the dyeing process was a lot more complicated than she was imagining. Lucifer was already in the middle of getting his blow-dried by the time she got back from her rinse.

“Good god, where’d you get this cut, Cannibal Town?” cringed Velvette as she got started on the trimming process.

“Yeah, actually!” Emily was anything but oblivious to the disgust in her tone, but she’d already decided to ignore it. “Lucifer’s taking me on a tour around Pentagram City, and that was the first place we visited. Today it’s the commercial district!”

“You don’t say?”

“Mhm! I went to get my hair done at the barber shop, and they had a singing quartet in the shop! It was so cool!”

“So where you off to next, then?”

“Uhm…” The abrupt change of subject caught her a little off guard. “Well, I forget what her name was, but she’s an overlord like you, and I feel like her first and last initials were the same. We’re going to visit her. Either that or we’re visiting someone named…oh, fudge. Did it start with a ‘Z?’ I think it started with a ‘Z…’ Sorry, I can’t remember. It was one of the two—or both, maybe. I dunno.”

“Was it Zestial Morde and Carmilla Carmine, perhaps?”

“Yes, that’s it! Oh my gosh, thank you. That was driving me crazy!” she giggled at herself. “So does that mean you know them?”

Not much time had passed before they were interrupted by Lucifer’s hairdresser, spinning him around in his chair to show her work to her boss.

Lucifer himself was looking none too pleased. His forelocks messy and unkempt, the devil was now sporting something called an undercut. The roguish diva had tried to have it dyed—he’d vehemently put his foot down at the very first mention of the idea. But even though he didn’t care much for the end result himself, when he saw Emily clapping for him and flashing him a double thumbs-up with an open-mouthed smile, he couldn’t help but smile back.

“She’ll be done in a minute,” Velvette dismissed him after reluctantly approving the work of her tired-looking employee.

Once the trimming and styling steps had been wrapped up, she sprung up from her seat and made a beeline toward the waiting area where he was sat. “So? How do I look?”

“Lovely!” he grinned from ear to ear. “Wow, uh… This might sound a bit strange, but you look just like Charlie. It’s like you two could be sisters,” he chortled.

“Really?! Haha! I wonder if she’ll think the same when she sees it.”

With their hair done, it was onto the retail stage of the trademarked Transformakovers.

“So what kind of look are you thinking for me?” asked Emily as they were led into the overlord’s walk-in closet, which was really more of a gallery. “Woah…!”

Her eyes popped and her mouth hung open as she ogled her surroundings. There were garments of all different colours and materials and personalities she couldn’t even label, the racks on every wall going all the way up to the vaulted ceiling. She’d had no idea how vast the world of fashion really was until she’d stepped inside.

“Velvette, this is amazing!” she squealed, forgetting that she was supposed to be hiding her wings as she darted from rack to rack. Lucifer smiled quietly at her unabashed excitement. “Did you design all of these? Ahh, look at those shoes! And that top! Oh my gosh, how do you ever decide what to wear?!”

Velvette’s curt body language contradicted how flattered she actually was. “It’s not hard, really. I mean, I wouldn’t touch half the shit in here, but that’s just me.”

“What?! Really?” She fluttered back down to the floor, shocked and a little crestfallen. “You mean you don’t like this stuff?”

“No, it-it’s—well, yeah, most of it’s…fine, I guess.” This reaction had Emily crossing her arms at the emotions she was detecting now: mainly flattery, but also a hint of vulnerability and… Was that guilt? Before she could figure it out, it vanished, both from her senses and her memory. With a snap of her fingers, Velvette summoned a rack on wheels full of clothes and accessories ranging from ostentatious to understated beside her. “Here’s what I’m thinking for you two.”

Emily wasted no time getting a closer look, the hooks of the hangers screeching against the metal rod as she flipped through them. Upon observation, the rack seemed to be divided in half, each side containing the makings of a whole outfit plus a few alternate options for certain parts.

“I’m guessing that’s her side and this is mine?” Lucifer inferred as he side-eyed the white tennies on his end with reflective toes and ludicrously chunky tread.

“Ooh…” Emily grimaced as she took a strikingly short mini skirt off the rack and held it up to her hips. It was covered in a loud print of candies and desserts atop a sweet pastel pink. “Oh gosh, it’s even shorter than I thought,” she laughed crookedly.

“Absolutely not!” Her chaperone, livid, snatched it out of her hands practically in the middle of her sentence. He shot daggers at the diva, which seemed to bounce right off of her.

“Oy, calm your tits, Your Holiness,” she jeered, “I’ve got it covered.” Then she reached between them for Emily’s half of the rack and removed from it a pair of fuzzy, black, thigh-high leg warmers. To Lucifer’s dismay, the model looked pleased as punch when she saw them, leaving him no choice but to give her his begrudging approval.

Then out of the corner of his eye, he saw Velvette positioning her fingers for a snap. He raised his cane and froze them with his own magic just in time.

“Nope! No, nuh-uh,” he chuckled despite the severe crease festering between his brows. “We can get changed by ourselves, thank you. If you’ll just point us in the direction of your changing stalls.”

Though she just had to give him attitude in the form of a bratty shrug, she complied. Lucifer was the first to emerge from his stall, and Emily appeared a short while later, the two of them decked from head to toe in their shiny new drip.

“Tada~!” She gave a dainty little twirl. “What do you think?”

He and Velvette looked her up and down as she greedily soaked up their attention. She had on the skirt and leg warmers from before, and under the latter were a pair of black platforms with reflective toes that matched those on Lucifer’s shoes. For the upper half, she wore a sunny yellow crop top under a white zip-up hoodie. Her hair was tied back in a mid-low ponytail, and her collarbone was adorned with a colourful pastel necklace with beads of all different shapes and sizes, which looked almost edible.

When she asked for his thoughts, Lucifer had all sorts of adjectives going through his head, but none which he dared say out loud while they weren’t alone. He cleared his throat. “Well…” Maybe her special empathicism would be enough to let her know he didn’t entirely dislike it.

Meanwhile there he was, his own outfit perfectly on theme with hers, and yet he felt like an absolute buffoon wearing it. From the top down, he had on a plain white tee with an alarmingly deep V-neck, which was tucked into a pair of bulky, high-waisted, greyish magenta cargo pants. Overtop of that was a black baseball jacket with glaring yellow trim and a meaningless monogram.

“You’ll want a mask, too,” Velvette added, making the accessory appear directly over his nose and mouth with a snap. “To cover up those little red spots on your cheeks.”

He caught Emily cracking an amused grin, causing his ears to fume with the heat of rushing blood. Pulling the mask down to his chin, he huffed, “Not sure I’d be super comfortable going out in public dressed like this.” He didn’t bother trying to hide his scowl, peering down his neckline at his pale self. “Don’t you have anything a bit more, erm…normal?”

“Nah.” Velvette stood firm in her selection. “You told me disguises—what’s the point of a disguise if it doesn’t make you look like someone you’re not?”

He grumbled, “Right you are.”

“Hey, at least we match!” Emily chirped and grabbed both his hands with a bounce in her posture. “That’s a pro, isn’t it?”

He couldn’t help letting out a nasal chuckle at her enthusiastic attempt to find a silver lining for him. “That’s true, I suppose.”

She checked her phone and noticed it was only a few minutes past midday. They still had a whole afternoon of fun ahead of them! “Oh, we should probably get going,” she said, to which Lucifer nodded in stoic agreement. “Thanks so much for everything, Velvette, this has been so much fun!” she beamed. “I’m so glad I got to meet you!” Velvette replied with a charismatic grin and nothing more. As she showed them the exit, one turned and waved goodbye while the other offered half a smile over his shoulder before the door closed behind them.

Velvette waited until both their backs were turned, then dropped her hand and pulled out her phone. The screen buzzed with static and the speaker crackled before the face of the one receiving her call appeared. “Yeah? What?”

She grinned. “Vox, you are never gonna believe who just showed up at the studio.”

The two fallen seraphim were making their way on foot to their next destination of the day: some sort of music festival supposedly happening on the roof of the massive skyscraper nextdoor. The younger of the two was bursting at the seams with excitement, but the older had only agreed to it because Charlie had vouched for its security.

“You know, it honestly does suit you,” blurted Emily.

Lucifer scoffed and gave her a raise of his brow. “Seriously?”

“Seriously! Believe me, I may be the angel of joy, but I’d never say something I didn’t mean just to make someone feel better.”

This earned her a hearty laugh as they strolled across the skybridge connecting the two halves of the sprawling complex. “Well, thanks, but even if you think it looks okay, I still can’t say I see the appeal.”

“Ah, well… That’s okay.” She gave his hand a squeeze. “It’s just for today. When we get home, I can start sketching out some ideas for a new outfit you’ll definitely like.”

He almost stopped in his tracks when he heard that. “Wait, you’re gonna make me a brand new, Emily-original outfit?” he gawked. “From scratch?”

“Absolutely! Seeing that walk-in closet gave me an inspiration overload. I can’t wait to get started! In fact—I don’t think I will.” Concentrating all her attention, she held out her free hand and expertly manifested a fresh drawing pad along with a pencil wrapped in hot pink.

“Oh, nicely done!” applauded her doting guardian. “Looks like my lessons have been paying off, huh?” But when he looked over again, she was already deeply engrossed in her sketching, the pad of paper fixed in mid air a foot or so away from her while they walked. He tightened his hold on her hand and turned his gaze straight ahead, his fond smile hidden beneath the black face mask.

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aggold15hi01 · 2 months ago

Text

A late night Lolex dialogue

I miss Lolex so much so why not I'll write a late night dialogue.

Also, let's just say apart from both the loss of Lolex and my currently both permanently and equally d**d and unresponsive 6 year old 2019 Macbook Pro model; I did felt truthfully more stressful than I was on a personal yet an irrelevant note; sorry. :(

But enjoy this dialogue from me to everyone. ;)

Also, I did felt as if they both are messaging via Sony Ericsson flip Phones especially the T707 phones.

A Lolex text message between Alex and Logan.

Let's just truthfully say, I'll truly imagine Logan is now living in the island of Oahu; Hawaii—both single and living a "Normal daily life" imaginatively in my very own universe. ^_~

Alex: Logan, do you truthfully miss me?

Logan: Yeah, I do; you?

Alex: I do really miss you very much. It hadn't been the same without you; buddy. :(

Logan: I know, it hasn't been the same without you.

Alex: Where are you now living?

Logan: An apartment building, dejectly not in an area near the beach but in the inland area.

Alex: At where, buddy?

Logan: Honolulu, Oahu: Hawaii. If you go near the area near a canal called Ala Wai Canal, it is on the opposite of the canal. Not the one with the hotels but much more inland or makua as what they had told me about. Makua means "Inland".

Alex: Oh okay, but I do truthfully miss you very much that every day I tried not to cry but already it does feels challenging to truthfully hold it back so I did ended up crying.

Logan: ?

Alex: I cried so much all because how you had left me so soon, buddy.

Logan: Sorry, maybe can you look for me at Island Vintage Coffee? It's Hawaii version of SB.

Alex: Okay but at where?

Logan: Royal Hawaiian Shopping Center; next to the pink iconic hotel building at Waikiki.

Alex: Okay. I'll see you there buddy.

Logan: Yep, I'll see you there. Plus you'll get to meet a new friend I had met her when she works at a boutique at the Waikiki Beach Walk.

Alex: Oh, can I get to know her?

Logan: Yes, but I'm going to truly keep it as a secret so no 'true' offense to you; buddy. Sorry. ;P

Alex: Oh. :/

Logan: But I'll make you a special cup of coffee but go get your sleep okay? See you soon.

Alex: Sure, take care of yourself. See you & miss you, bud.

Logan: Same here, I miss you too & take care: bro! Brothers forever & always.

#my own post #my own words #my own writing #logan sargeant #my writing #alex albon #f1 fan fiction #f1 fanfic #dialogue writing #lolex

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senditcolton · 2 years ago

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could u do 1 with kreider 🙏

absolutely my lovely anon! this was entirely inspired by Joe Jonas and Sophie Turner.

Hand in hand like we planned as the night takes us away.

You came to Las Vegas with Chris to get away from your stress. That was the plan. But it seems like your upcoming wedding wasn’t going to be as easily set aside as you had hoped.

“So, is there anything they can do?” you sigh, running a hand across your forehead as you sit in your hotel room, listening to your wedding planner talk after receiving an urgent 911 text from them.

“We aren’t sure as of yet. I called the boutique where you bought the dress and they don’t have another in stock and we are right now scouring every bridal store in the tri-state in hopes that there is one out there. Hopefully we find one and can get it here and altered in time. I will tell you when we have an update. Best case scenario, we find a replacement and it all works out. Worst case, you may have to go with your second-choice dress, which I will try to prevent with everything I got.”

“Alright,” you breathe again, taking another moment to try and collect yourself. “Thank you for everything Andy.” After a few quick salutations, you hang up and collapse onto the bed, your cell phone carelessly thrown onto the duvet next to you. Without thinking, your arm reaches up to grab one of the pillows near the top and you bring it down to cover your face before releasing a piercing shriek, fueled by all of your frustrations.

“Woah,” you hear the slightly muffled voice of your fiancé and you throw the pillow back to see Chris staring down at you, his suit slightly undone. “Is everything okay?”

“No,” you whine, eyes closing as you sink deeper into the mattress and your misery. Chris doesn’t respond instantly and you hear some moving before you feel his weight land on the bed next to you. You open your eyes and look over to find him laying next to you, his gentle eyes taking you in.

“What happened?”

“There was a pipe burst in my friend’s apartment,” you start to explain, relaying the message that Andy told you mere moments ago. “And the majority of it was in her closet,” you continue and as you speak, your words become more stilted, the emotions and tears that you had held back starting force their way to the forefront. “And that was where I was keeping my wedding dress.”

You see the implications of your words register on Chris’ face and when he looks at you with such empathy, that is when the first tear falls, the truth that you didn’t want to believe falling out of your mouth with it.

“It’s ruined, Chris. My dress is ruined,” you say, instinctively rolling towards him. Chris doesn’t hesitate to scoop you up in his arms, holding you tight and letting you cry, pressing soft kisses into your hair.

The two of you stay like that for a moment, Chris comforting you as you catch your breath. He waits until you are ready before speaking again.

“Is there a plan to get this fixed?”

“Well,” you breathe, pulling the solutions that Andy gave you from your memory. “They are trying to find another one of the same dress in any store they can and hopefully get it back to New York in time to get altered. But if they can’t find it, then I might have to pick a different dress.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Chris says, his hand running soothingly up and down your spine. “I know you came out here with me to get away from all this.”

“I just wish this all could stop,” you huff out, the overwhelming frustration hitting you. There is a heavy silence as the two of you lay there before Chris speaks again.

“Do you want to delay the wedding?” Your body shoots up at his words, a jolt of shock running through you.

“What? No. No. I want to get married to you. I can’t wait to get married to you,” you say, adamant and relax when you see Chris’ gentle smile grace his features. You heave a sigh before laying back down in his arms. “I just wish this could be easier.”

Another silence comes, just quiet contemplation over everything until Chris once again startles you with his next words.

“Why don’t we just get married?” You turn to face him again, the puzzlement clear on your face.

“What, you mean like, now? Here in Vegas? Like with the Elvis impersonator and everything?”

“Well, we don’t have to have Elvis unless that’s what you really want,” Chris says, his voice easy.

“Is that what you want?”

“What? Elvis?”

“No,” you laugh, your anxieties lessening with Chris’ sweet and goofy demeanor. “Do you want a Vegas wedding?”

“I want to get married to you. Just as much as you want to get married to me. In any place, any time, any shape or form. I want you to be happy. That’s all I want. And this was just a solution I thought of.”

You smile at him, your incredible amazing fiancé, the man you loved with your whole heart. You close the distance between you and kiss him gently, smiling against his lips.

“I would love to have a shotgun Vegas wedding with you,” you laugh when you pull away from him, the smile never leaving your face.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Let’s do it.”

Another beaming smile tugs at Chris’ lips before he pulls you into another kiss, and it feels as if a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. This wedding would be perfect; a simple easy declaration of your love for each other. And the wedding you had been planning for months…

“Wait,” you say, pulling away from Chris for a moment. “We’re still going to have the other wedding, right?”

“Of course,” Chris says quickly.

“Okay, perfect,” you breathe out in relief, causing a chuckle to fall from Chris.

The planning of this wedding was easier than you ever expected it to be, so much so that you wish every wedding was this easy. But you suppose that was the point. Within hours, the chapel was booked (Elvis impersonator and all), you found a sleek white jumpsuit, and you were standing across from Chris at the end of an aisle, the pews facing the two of you filled with other NHL All-Stars and their wives and girlfriends.

“By the power vested in me, by the rock-n-roll gods and the state of Nevada, pronounce you husband and wife,” your ‘preacher’ announces after you and Chris have exchanged vows. “You may now kiss the bride.”

Chris’ smile widens impossibly as he steps forward, taking you in his arms as he leans in, capturing you in an elated kiss. Your own arms wrap around his broad shoulders as he dips you slightly, the flowers from your bouquet pressing against one of his gameday suits and you can’t stop the smile that comes even as your lips are connected to his when you hear the hoots and hollers from everyone in the chapel.

You two break apart breathlessly, intertwining hands as you make your way down the aisle, your guests throwing the handfuls of fabric rose petals over your heads as you pass. The two of you stop at the end for one last quick kiss before bursting out into the cool Vegas night and hustling into the limo.

You collapse against the seat in breathless excitement as Chris quickly relays the address of your hotel to the driver before joining you.

“We’re married. We’re actually married,” you laugh as Chris takes you in his arms and you recline against his chest.

“Yes, we are,” he responds with his own breathless laughter before grinning down at you. “Mrs. Kreider.”

“Husband.”

“Wife,” he shoots back and the laughter falls from you easily. Chris pauses, just looking down at your smiling face before brushing away the stiff tulle of the chapel given veil away from your face before kissing you again, the pure unfiltered love radiating from him into you. After a moment, you two pull away, still smiling at each other, cuddled together in this newfound love haze.

“So,” Chris begins, “was this wedding everything you could’ve hoped for in a shotgun Vegas wedding?”

“Everything and more,” you reply, your voice light before you switch over to a more serious tone. “Seriously, Chris, this was perfect.”

“Just like you planned it, right?” he gently teases and you let out another small giggle.

“Nah, it was better than anything I could’ve dreamed up. I’m just happy I get to call you mine, officially.”

Chris’ smile softens at your heartfelt words before he lifts your left hand, captured in his, and presses a small kiss onto the stone of your engagement ring. And as the limo drives the two of you through the bustling nightlife of the Las Vegas strip, you knew for certain that this was exactly where you and Chris were meant to be.

#nicole writes #trinity of terror prompt night #weddings should be a celebration of love and that's what this is #chris kreider blurb #chris kreider fluff #new york rangers blurb #nhl blurb #hockey blurb

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