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hazelfoureyes · 10 months ago

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The Radio Demon fucks a Human Sacrifice (part 3)

I deadass wrote part one as a one shot. Is this what peer pressure is? I love it.

It would have been easy to forget you, your soul was his anyways so the real fun had already finished. But that pesky video hit most streamed in 24 hours, he couldn’t even walk to the butcher without hearing you scream his name from errant phones. Surely there was a way, even from hell, to finish what he started and get you out of his system.

⟢ part1♡̶sidestory♡̶part2♡̶part3♡̶part4 ⟣

tags/warnings/promises: Alastor x reader, smut, soft Alastor, unprotected sex (duh?), creampie, edging a little, feelings, Valentino exists, Vox also exists, literally wrote this split screen with part 2 on the right side so I could line it up right like he does hehe, Alastor has a bad time

tag requested: @astraechos , @thekanrojimitsuri2 , @hoeforalbedo , @crazylazybabyk , @oddball08 , @lovingyeet , @just-trash-yeah-thats-it , @random-3455 , @alicehasdrowned , @des-deswain5621 , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @doctorswife221b

When Val released, ‘The Radio Demon fucks a Human Sacrifice’, it immediately went viral. The website crashed, downloads surpassed his wildest, horniest dreams.

It’s scary but also hot? ☆☆☆☆☆

Eat me Mr. Radio Demon!

I’ve never wanted to be a pussy so much in my life.

The reviews were all favorable, the comments rolling in, it was perfect.

Until Vox said it wasn’t. He had seen the video, but figured no one would care about seeing Alastor fuck anything. It wasn’t the success that got under his skin, it was the wave of positive attention it brought Alastor. Suddenly everyone was tuning in to his broadcasts, little miss princess’s hotel was busier than ever.

And it was ubiquitous. Every screen seemed to feature Alastor’s breakout role.

“I said pull it, Val!” Vox slammed his hands on Valentino’s coffee table.

“Vox, baby, you’re being really sensitive about this. I’m literally fucking piles of money right now. Actual piles of money, like, person sized piles.” Val took a drag of his cigarette, “Its good for business.”

“Would you rather fuck money, or me?” Vox’s screen glitched.

Val leaned his elbows on his knees, “That’s a really difficult question for me and I think you know that.”

“Augh! Val! Think of the big picture! That obsolete dickhead gaining attention means gaining power. And that’s bad for business.”

Val’s eyes fluttered, “What if we like, say it wasn’t him?”

Flashes of Alastor’s face fazed in and out of focus across Vox’s screen, your body flipping over, a mess of tentacles writhing.

Val took off his glasses, “Oh yeah, that’s pretty obviously him.”

“What is?” Vox’s face splintered back to the screen.

“Do you—- do you not know you’ve been like,” Val used his cigarette to gesture at Vox’s face, “just straight up playing his porno?”

Vox’s hands flew to his screen, “No! Fucking shit! What the fuck!!” He picked up a vase and threw it across the room, “Wipe it clean off the server! Delete it! Ban it’s fucking streaming! End of discussion!”

Val shrugged, he owned every bootleg distributor in the pride ring. He’d pull it and up the price threefold for illegal downloads. “Whatever you want, amorcito.”

Alastor was quite happy the video went ‘underground’ of sorts. The first month after you left, he was plagued by the sound of your voice. Everywhere he went it seemed you were screaming his name, every phone and television a conduit for you.

What really bothered him though, was the reaction others had to him. Where once sinners leapt from his path and set theirselves on fire to avoid him, now people winked and waved. It made his skin crawl. When alive, at the peak of his radio show fame, it wasn’t uncommon to have fans approach him in jazz clubs. But the decorum of 1930's jazz fans was a far cry from the brazen displays of desire from the citizens of hell.

“Perhaps I should have thought it through?” He mused.

“Ya think?” Rosie put her tea down, “Was it worth it, at least?”

He mulled the question over. Worth it? Well, he had your soul. Which is grand. But you weren’t even in hell to be called upon. What did he really get from the deal? Alastor brought his palm to his face, already feeling the blush spreading. Rosie's chuckle didn't help. He did get something. You'd been gone a month, and each day he woke up having forgot you existed. And every night he lied down to rest and imagined your eyes staring back at him. Did he want to fight you, or surrender, when he saw that look? When the silk tie had fallen from your face, slipping down your nose to reveal your intense stare...He thought his heart had stopped. For every ounce of resilience in your voice he found a pound of fury in your gaze. What poor luck Valentino had been given to receive you as an offering.

"Too soon to tell." He leaned back, finally dropping his hand.

“Well it seemed you had a good time… not that I could see much through the green glow and all that static noise. Really spoiled the climax with that move, Alastor dear."

Alastor’s eyes were saucers, “Rosie. Are you implying-,”

“What?” She drew out the word, “I thought you weren’t into those things so of course I was curious!”

He sighed, “I’m not.”

Rosie pushed the teaspoon around her cup with one finger, “Sure looked like you were.”

He crossed his arms, indignant, “You don’t have to have an appetite to enjoy a meal.”

“Message received loud and clear dear! I won’t bring up the subject again.” She cackled and changed the topic to the latest gossip around the colony.

Another night staring at the ceiling, mind ghosting over the idea of you. He felt like he his sanity was unraveling Leaving his bed, he stepped barefoot onto the grass of the swampy forest he materialized into his room when he moved in to the hotel.

With an outstretched hand, Alastor felt for your connection. He couldn’t see it, but the weight of the chain connecting your soul to him sunk into his palm. Curious, he wrapped his fingers around the invisible links and pulled.

With a soft green glow, you rose from the grass.

His breath hitched, he hadn’t expected that. “It seems our deal really did stick, didn't it?" walking towards you, Alastor dropped to his knees at your feet. You were on your side, unmoving.

His head cocked to the left, ears turned in. Alastor crawled toward you, rolling you onto your back and opening your legs. He slotted himself there, “Hellooo,” He took your face in his both of his hands, elbows resting beside your ears, “Are you… sleeping, dear?”

This is ridiculous.

Alastor inspected your face; peaceful. It was a new sight for him, he'd really only ever seen you in some kind of rage or lost in pleasure. His hand slid down your body, realizing you were in the robe still. He laughed, but realized it was for no one. "Are you really going to sleep, hmm?" He hooked his hands under your knee and brought it up around his hip.

Nothing.

"I'm starting to get offended, dear." He leaned down and whispered into the crook of your neck. "If you don't wake up-" He slid down, the robe open enough to let his breathe ghost over your stomach. He stopped. He couldn't do anything to you while you slept. It was void of any enjoyment for him. Without your reactions, it was just....pointless. While he did enjoy your performance in the studio, he was taught to show respect for those of fairer means. A sleeping partner fell into that category.

He reached beneath you and straightened your robe that had bunched there under your body. Placing your leg back down by your ankle, he began pulling the collar up and closed it snuggly.

He stood there for a second, looking over you. It worked. You're here again. His mother had taught him that the human soul was most vulnerable at night. When asleep, the soul could wander from the body and travel earth and beyond. She even said people could train themselves, and with practice, remember their journeys even after waking.

Kneeling down, Alastor pushed your hair from your face, "Don't forget. What fun is there in that?" The shadow beneath your body shimmered neon green before you were swallowed by inky darkness and Alastor was once again, alone.

After his mother died, Alastor was often alone. Most of his time, really. Well, there were people always around. But they were staff, or hangers-on, or women looking for a comfortable life. They were dancers and bootleggers and musicians. Which was fine and grand. But, they never saw him. He never let them, they never tried. He was the radio host. The great dancer. The southern gentleman. The killer. The cannibal. The deer in the woods. Not a single person ever looked at him on earth and saw him. Which was precisely what he wanted, and manufactured with his wide smile and good manners.

So when your eyes bore into him from that tacky studio set, and he felt suddenly naked in front of you, he knew you were looking at the him. You saw him.

It was worth it. Alastor was willing to admit that to himself.

Over the next couple days, he would randomly try to pull you to him. Through out the day, in different places, he would summon your soul and wait. Nothing. It confirmed his theory, your soul was only able to leave your living body while you were asleep.

In the privacy of his room, Alastor paced the space between grass and carpet. What was this feeling? Nerves? He hadn't felt nervous since he was a child.

But, what was causing him a pause, was if he summoned you and you didn't appear. Maybe it had been a fluke? Maybe for the 7th time in 3 days he would pull on that connection and be left standing there, alone.

Still.

He ran his hands through his hair, trying to regain composure. Finally, he reached out for your ties to him, and pulled you into hell.

He held his breath, unconsciously.

With a glow, you appeared again before him. He was quick this time to approach you, setting beside you and leaning close to your face. Asleep.

"Is this my foreseeable future?" He asked, "Staring at you while you sleep, my doe."

Suddenly, you opened your eyes and met his. Reaching up, you grabbed him with both hands and pulled his face into yours. Your hands ran through his hair as you took him in a frenzied kiss. Alastor froze for a beat, but when your tongue licked at his bottom lip, he was brought back to the moment. He pushed his tongue into your mouth, rolling over yours and reaching as deep as he could. He felt like he could unhinge his jaw and swallow you whole. He really could, if he wanted to.

Alastor swung his leg over your body and straddled your hips. "Mon cher, you've finally joined me." His chest was rising and falling with excited breath.

"Alastor?" You tried to feel your body, but it was nowhere near you.

"Don't worry your pretty little head. You're still alive and well. I've merely borrowed your soul for the evening." He looked down at you, and finally, for the first time in what felt like months, your eyes fell to his face.

But today, they were soft and out of focus.

"Can you see me, my dear?" He leaned down slightly, trying to read the look on your face.

"Am I dreaming?"

He chuckled, "Perhaps we both are." With an exhale he wondered if he had been holding his breath this entire time. "No, this isn't a dream."

"I don't understand...but--," You lifted your arms towards him, "Should I say thank you? It was fucked, what happened." Your voice was slow, words a little slurred, "But, I'm home safe and sound now. You did what you promised me. I don't know if I'll ever see you again so...should I thank you now?"

Your tongue felt fat in your mouth, heavy and delayed.

Alastor leaned down over you, "You don't have to say anything." He used his knees to open your legs, and settled there. "Unfortunately, you've become a little worm in my mind." His hands slid under the silk robe you hadn't stopped wearing yet, "I'm hoping if I finally have you, I can...whet my appetite, and return to my normal self." He felt along your hips, hands stopping when he realized you were naked under the thin piece of fabric.

"I keep remembering," you covered your eyes with your hands, "that big hand of yours. And I realize, you never touched me past that."

He smiled, genuinely, truly, "Exactly! You understand the problem precisely. Shall we both have our fill and be done with it?"

You moved your hands to touch his ears, waiting for him to disappear at any moment, "Please. I'm so tired of missing someone I don't even know." He removed your hands, and you held them to your chest.

"My thoughts exactly, mon cher." He adjusted his hips, letting his crotch rub against your core. This was the closest he had been to you since you'd met. It was dizzying, and it felt like his skin was vibrating everywhere it met yours.

A soft moan left your throat, causing his cock to twitch in his pants. Yes, it was you. This wasn’t his standard response to such sounds. Alastor sat up, his legs bent and knees at either side of your hips. Taking one of your hands from your chest, he placed a kiss on a digit. Then another. He kissed his way down your arm.

“So gentle. Weird.” You tried to focus on him, but your mind was still cloudy. The sensations were here but also so far away, too far away, in another lifetime all together.

“Was I not gentle before, all things considered?,” he continued his way down your arm.

You let your eyes drift to the sky, stars watching you from above, “More than him.”

His mouth went dry at the mention of Val, "I am many things more than him, darling." As his lips found your neck, he took a deep breath. "I can actually take my time now. No audience." He sucked a bruise, and released you with a pop. He presented two fingers to your lips, and without thinking about it you began to suck them. While you were slipping your tongue over and between his fingers, he moved to continue a trail of kisses and nips down your right arm.

"Get them nice and wet." He watched through half lidded eyes as you licked his long fingers. He knew he needed to remove his hips from yours, but the idea pained him. Finally, he took his fingers from you and swiped them over your entrance. Your chest jumped, so he did it again. He tried to push the fingers into you, but the resistance was more than he expected. You were wet, but tight. He let his middle finger slip inside you. So soft. So warm. His shadow tendrils allowed him some feeling but not this, this was something they kept to themselves.

"When was your last time, mon cher?"

Your mind searched for memories still left behind in your body somewhere, "In hell."

"You're in hell now."

"This doesn't feel like hell." You ground your hips onto his palm, trying to get that single digit slowly moving in you to come deeper, to become more. He replied by pushing in his pointer finger, erection becoming painful already as you let out a little moan. Bending them up, he began to make long thrusts past your g-spot. His mouth long stilled on your arm, staring at your face as you whimpered into the sky.

"Look at me."

Your eyes darted to him, half open and wet. Alastor felt his patience snap. Undoing his belt and zipper, he finally freed his cock. He ran his head between your entrance to your clit , gathering your fluids on him to ease his entry. Taking both of your legs, he held them at the ankles and set them on his left shoulder. With your hips slightly raised, he pressed into you.

With a hiss you dug your fingers into the dirt, body tensing instinctively. One of his arms hugged your legs to his chest, the other was now bruising your hips as he continued to push into you. With just his head in, he began fast and shallow thrusts. Every time making more progress into your warmth. The stretch burned, but the feeling of him forcing space into you for himself just made you wetter.

Finally, he bottomed out. He had no sense to still himself, shallow thrusts gave way to long, deep plunges. Alastor's breathing was filling the space around you, mixing with your own. Leaning back, he looked down at where you two were connected.

He withdrew slowly, nearly entirely, and pushed back in. Again. And again. It was intoxicating, how he felt himself melt into you. He'd had lovers in life, but never had he been with someone without a barrier of some sorts. Be that his well placed smile or latex. He'd never fucked anyone raw before. He almost regretted not trying earlier, as the sensation of your walls and arousal sticking to his cock and thighs was breaking him. Watching himself entirely disappear inside you, he closed his eyes. Everything was so hot, so tight, would he disappear entirely? Would he lost in the pleasure your body was so effortlessly giving? Was he the unlucky one?

Alastor pushed your knees up to your chest, using his body weight to hold them down as his paced picked up. You brought your dirtied nails to your own legs, holding on tightly. Desperately you needed something to tether you to the ground, keep you still against the twitches shaking your stomach and chest. You felt with any jolt to your nerves you'd fall off the world and drift into the night.

He felt the build up, his balls tightening and drawing in, he wanted to slow down-- he wanted to bring you there first but he couldn't stop the rutting of his hips. With a whine, Alastor's forehead came to rest on yours, hips smacking into you with a wet slap. "Look at me," He commanded again, and you obeyed. One of his hands came to your chin to hold your head still, "Don't you dare look away."

Struggling to keep your eyes open, he pushed into you with one final, deep thrust. His hands came down now to the ground around you as he pushed you into the grass. Hips stuttering, cock twitching in you. You'd never let anyone cum inside you before, the sensation of heat quickly filling your cunt made you tighten around him. "Good girl", He purred, jaw tight.

He pulled back slowly before bringing his hips down, sweat sticking to his forehead where it met yours. His pace was quickly becoming brutal, a hand finding its way to that little bud of nerves of yours. With rough pressure and hurried speed his thumb drew out your orgasm. When you came, you gasped out his name, craning your neck up to ghost your lips over his open mouth. As the pleasure surged from your center, you could feel your body again. He tried to keep his eyes on your eyes, but the overstimulation of your cunt trying to wring him dry forced him to shut them.

A light shone through his eyelids, startling them open again.

"Wait-!" He watched you get pulled away from beneath him. Before he could react, Alastor was on all fours in the forest, alone. Eyes wide, he pounded his fist against the grass. He tried to summon you back to him, to drag you to him but nothing happened.

He thought he'd gone crazy. Hands came to his head, smile pained as he tried to process what he was feeling.

No.

Not enough.

Too soon.

A growl ripped through his chest. This hadn't satiated him at all. No, he was worse off now. He was starved, he had nourishment ripped from his mouth and he as angry for it. Angry to hell, to Valentino, to the conditions of owning a living soul.

He did not even attempt to rest that night. Taking his time, he had to find composure again. Alastor managed to pull himself together after several hours of self isolation. After his heart stopped racing, after his hands stopped feeling phantom skin beneath them, he calmed his smile and went about his day.

When night returned, he couldn't help but stare into the forest domain. He wanted so badly to bring you to himself, but that want was terrifying. It was overpowering him, and he couldn't accept that.

Another night left, another day passed. Husk found Alastor's cruelty to be growing, his patience giving out at the smallest perceived slight. Angel stopped engaging entirely. Charlie found herself wanting to approach him, find out why it seemed his hair was always standing on end, his eyes sharp. But, she didn't. She couldn't. Alastor would pass through the halls like a raging specter. He wouldn't slow or acknowledge anyone.

He managed a week. Satisfied with his resolve, he waited for when night fell and he was sure you'd be deep asleep, yanked your soul from your body and into him. He felt rabid, like he his brain was catching fire. Finally when you materialized before him, he grabbed your face with his hand.

"My doe?"

Just like before, you stirred, and your hands immediately went for his hair. He pulled back, "Are you awake?"

"Am I dreaming? Alastor?" You looked drunk, mind struggling to process the change in scenery. Your arms wrapped around his neck as he hovered above you, and you pulled him into a kiss. He happily returned it, hands quick to untie the robe you had taken as your own. He wasted now time in getting himself unsheathed and lined up with you, before he could enter you reached out to him, "I wanted to say--- thank you. I don't know if I'll ever really see you again."

The realization made his blood run cold. His mother's stories flooded back to him. It takes training, and time, to remember the travels of the wandering soul.

"You don't have to say anything." Alastor thrust into you, your body tense but not as resistant as before. When he was finally enveloped in you, he could feel himself calm. He didn't feel any need to be gentle this time around. He immediately set a bruising pace, digging his nails into the soft flesh of your ass as he forced your hips to meet his with every thrust. You gasped beneath him, eyes wandering up to the sky just past his head. He'd bring you to climax, wanting to drink in your expression, and to his horror as you choked out his name you were spirited away from him again.

Everyone on the floor heard Alastor's rampage. When Angel ran to get Charlie and Vaggie, they were scared to knock. With a steadying breath Charlie rapped the door, "Al? You okay in there?"

Suddenly, silence.

The door whipped open, Alastor smiling with half lidded eyes, "Why of course. What ever made you think otherwise?"

"The fuckin' sounds of carnage, maybe?" Angel looked past Alastor. The sofa shredded, coffee table in pieces. The wallpaper had been ripped down and torn to shreds. Charlie noticed the dirt under his nails, but Alastor coolly pulled his hands behind his back.

"Can I do something for you?" His tone was cold.

"I guess not, Al...," Charlie took in the damage, "Did something happen?"

Alastor smiled wider, "No," and closed the door. No one saw him the following day, which wasn't entirely unusual but it was weighing on Charlie. When Alastor finally appeared and announced he was going to Cannibal Town, she was elated. A chat with Rosie would surely bring him back to himself.

"I don't see the problem. You've got her soul, you can summon her to you, and you get a little," She searched for the word, "relief. Why do you look so pained, old friend?"

"You know better than most I have no interest in chasing women, Rosie."

"Yet..." She cocked her brow.

"It isn't about the release. I don't particularly need that. I never have." He huffed, the conversation already exhausting him, "When I would kill someone, I was God. Their life was in my hands. I took that power from them."

Rosie clicked her tongue, "And when she's in your hands?" Alastor hunched over his black coffee before remembering himself and straightening his back. "I've never seen you like this before, hun. You've got it bad, huh?"

"Personal connections like this, Rosie, are dangerous. I lost my self restraint entirely. It's a weakness." He fought to regain his smile, never knowing who could be passing by.

She tutted him, "Oh no, that's where you're wrong. The difference between a strong man and an unstoppable man is having something to care about." Rosie leaned over and set her hand on top of his, "Imagine you walked into Val's studio right now and found her like you did a couple months ago. How would you react?"

His stomach wretched forward, if he saw you today, hanging from the ceiling? The stench of Valentino's cigarette smoke clinging to your hair, the marks where his hands had made contact with you? His hand under her's tightened, claws leaving marks into the wooden tabletop. "Do you feel weak right now, Alastor?" The hair on his ears was standing straight up, his now black eyes met hers, "You sure don't look it."

He’d remembered hearing something similar before from Vaggie. Could it be true? It was a precarious ladder. If he let himself be close to someone, then the person is in turn close to him, then that person knows him intimately, and then— they are a walking soft spot. Someone could take them and torture them for information. Or, hurt them to hurt him.

But, who would dare? A fire rose in chest at the thought. What was the point of power if he couldn’t have what he wanted? If he had to answer to others about his desires? To pursue strength and status was what he wanted but if that strength didn’t afford him freedom than what good was it, really?

"I say, not that you asked," Rosie smiled and withdrew her hand, "Could be nice to have a little company now and then. Plus, better than waiting 60 years or something for her to just die." She shrugged, "Now, eat. You look like a shit."

Rosie had a point, while your existence was fragile, it was still available to him.

For awhile, he would call you nightly. Alastor would fuck you into the grass, beneath the trees, under the stars. He learned your orgasm would wake you, and he would draw it out as long as he could. He'd edge you for hours, watching you sob for your release. Slowly, your consciousness became more and more solid during your meetings.

To his relief, his hunger for your presence calmed over time. He could handle a week or even two without sharing your company, and he noticed each time you seemed to recognize him more. You'd participate more, moan louder, scream his name and squirm from the pleasure. He relished trapping you underneath his wide shoulders, pulling you onto his lap as he fucked up into you.

He wasn't fond of the few times he summoned you and you were already wet, or smelling of cologne. He'd tease, "Lonely?" and when he'd fuck his back cum into you before helping you chase your own orgasm, he'd remind you, "You're mine, little doe. No one can replace me." And he'd feel his chest swell. Others had your body for the night, but your soul was his forever. With every meeting, he felt more like himself. And the nights you were screaming his name in the forest, and his horns were looming over you as he marked you over and over as his, he felt powerful.

Some nights, he'd call you to him to just let you rest. He'd enjoy a book, or some jazz over a meal, while you lied quietly in his bed.

The days he pulled you into hell and your hair smelled of the trees, of sweat and dirt, he would be gentler. He could feel the ache in your muscles, the tan on your cheeks, and sent you back.

One such night came, where he of course took your chains in his hand and tugged. But this time, when you arrived, your face was painted with anger. You were asleep still, and even when he whispered to you, you didn't wake. You were having a nightmare, from what he could tell. He took you to his bed, and let you settle.

You stayed there until waking up again in your bed.

And every night that week, he'd bring you to his bed and go about his tasks while you fought some demons in your head. He'd never seen you have a nightmare, and began to wonder if something was happening in the overworld.

Alastor was enjoying a deer carcass in his room, humming softly to himself, when a green light erupted on the floor.

He was well aware it wasn't night anymore, and that he hadn't brought you here. With a soft smile, he left his meal and approached the light. Slowly, your body rose from the darkness there. Not just your soul.

When you looked up at him, a smile on your lips and two small doe ears on your head, he grinned, "Did you miss me terribly, my little doe?" He offered you a hand up, "Welcome home.”

༻Masterlist༺

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griffinsabina · 10 months ago

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If there will be a Blades 3, i hope the love interest don't get alternative romances, except between each other. They can't give them all one, there's too many of them. If they do, I think Imtura would get one being the least popular choice. I don't want her to get the Luke Harper treatment, i hated it. It would've been fine if all four got one, but only him and Hamid possibly had one in the Christmas book. When I pushed him under the mistletoe with Annabelle's sister, he was receptive, while Ernest became uncomfortable. I'm just glad they didn't pull that shit with Griffin and Aster.

#playchoices #blades of light and shadow #blades 3 #desire and decorum #imtura tal kaelen #luke harper #mine #text post

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stellasdrafts · 26 days ago

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Coffee & Confessions - Leon Kennedy

Summary: he regrets what he said. (RE2R Leon x Reader)

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: none really- angst, thoughts of cheating if you squint (not on reader), forced proximity, no use of Y/N, reader’s features are not described but is briefly mentioned as female – self insert to your heart’s desire <3

Notes: Leon may be a bit OOC, still working on characterization. It’s a long one! Kinda let myself go. Hope you enjoy my first one shot! ~Stella

“Don’t you understand?! No! I’m sick of saying no to you!”

His words reverberate through you, pounding in your head incessantly. You feel the wave of burning embarrassment crawl up from your stomach to your face. Your limbs go numb and you’re not even sure how you’re standing upright. There’s a spotlight shining down on you, highlighting your lowest moment in the dimly lit, deserted west office of the RPD. Your consciousness floats somewhere in the shadows above, the bezoar of nauseating dread being the only thing keeping you grounded to this damned blue tile floor.

You’re not even processing Leon standing before you, panting and lingering in the weight of his words. Kind, soft-spoken Leon… Even he doesn’t know what came over him. It was a moment of irritation brought forward by an exhausting day, and a girl unfortunate enough to be standing in his line of fire. You hadn’t even realized you had been pushing his buttons. Sweet, sweet you – feeding into an innocent crush on the newest addition to the task force with soft greetings and warm smiles… You don’t recall when humble acceptances of coffee turned into apprehensive ones, then polite rejections.

Sure, maybe those cordial acts of service were your subtle way of flirting and making an impression upon the rookie, but you had never seen yourself as pushy. They were simple acts of kindness, special enough to make him notice that you were going out of your way, but simple enough to pass off as coworker decorum – or so you thought. You had even backed off to a certain degree after finding out that he had a girlfriend. Though, clinging to the selfish hope that maybe things wouldn’t work out between them. Leon isn’t like any man you’ve met before. He’s selfless, caring, funny… There was something about him that kept you hooked, despite your better judgement. He was a real find, and you couldn’t bring yourself to completely let go of him. The guilt ate up at your insides.

Your subtle relentlessness wore him down. Unbeknownst to you, he had been battling torn feelings of his own. He didn’t enjoy rejecting your coffee date offers – though you never used the word date. He’s a smart young man… perceptive. It was part of the job. He didn’t miss your longing stares, the purity of your smiles when directed toward him, and the way your warm fingertips lingered just a moment too long when you handed him paperwork and office supplies. That had grown to be his most used word around you: no. Not because he doesn’t want what you continuously offer, but because he is a faithful man. His relationship feels more like a duty at this point, much like processing perps that came in the station or filling out paperwork after an arrest. That love had lost its spark a long while ago. You on the other hand… He had always found you to be a pleasant presence. There’s something about you that brings a glowing light into his life. A spark, brighter and more powerful than the one dimmed by the woman in his bed.

And now he has to watch as he snuffs out that spark from your eyes.

“R-Right… Okay.” You’re completely taken aback by the bite in his words. You step backwards, stiff as a statue. Your mouth gapes open and closes repeatedly. Never had you expected him to speak to you like that. Tears immediately well in your eyes. You look utterly heartbroken… Maybe you deserved it.

Leon is so caught up in his own tormenting feelings that the realization of having hurt you doesn’t really hit him until he sees the tears in your eyes. His expression drops from frustrated to shocked. This is the first time he’s seen you without your usual effortless smile – it’s the polar opposite of it. “Wait- That’s not-” the officer tries to say something, but the words catch in his throat, a war raging in his mind.

You lift your hands in surrender, still staggering back and blinking back tears. You raise the white flag at his counterattack. “N-No. I understand. I should… I should’ve stopped a long time ago,” your voice breaks.

Leon flinches. His heart clenches as he realizes just how badly he’s hurt you. You with your pure and loving intentions… A sickening feeling of guilt arises within him. His mouth opens and closes, so much like yours had just done. There’s a million thoughts racing through his mind, yet he can’t find the right words. His body yearns to reach out to you, to stop you from walking away and leaving this irreparable fracture between the two of you, but he finds himself unable to move. There’s so much he wants to say – anything, really, but he’s frozen in place, terrified to say the wrong thing again. Terrified to let the emotions swirling inside him take over.

You look away in a futile attempt to hide your crying, to salvage the last bit of your dignity. You quickly gather your things from your desk and messily dump them into your bag. You head for the door at a fast pace, wanting nothing more than to remove yourself from this living nightmare. “Goodnight. See you… tomorrow.”

The man’s body jolts as he registers the slam of the door closing behind you, the sound ringing in his ears. The realization of what just happened hits him like a bus. He could have stopped you. He could have called out your name, said anything, tried to move. But he didn’t. He just stood there and watched you trip over your words, watched you go. He just stood there and watched you take a part of his joy with you.

Tomorrow. He had to make things right with you.

But you don’t let him. Downright humiliated by last night’s incident, you pour all of your efforts into avoiding him. The day turns into the week, which turns into a month, which turns into ten. Ten months without speaking to Leon Kennedy beyond simple task updates at work. Maybe it was excessive, but you were plain embarrassed to talk to him, and when you felt slightly okay again, it felt too awkward and out of place to approach him after the hiatus.

Approaching him is what set him off in the first place, and he had made it clear that he wanted nothing of yours. You realize perhaps you had been pushy, but what’s done is done. It felt bizarre to cut him out of your routine when your heart still yearns for him, despite the shame he’s caused you. Alas, you learned how to live without him: one less warm greeting as you enter the station, one less enchanting smile, one memorized coffee order stored in the back of your mind never to be ordered again.

Your vow of silence is successful these ten months until Chief Irons assigns the two of you to a dreaded stakeout. As if being stuck inside a cold car at night for who knows how long doesn’t sound like hell enough, you’ll have to do it with someone whom you can barely even look at. Wonderful.

The ride to your suspect’s house is as silent as a tomb. That combined with the cold of winter and the feeling of unease circulating around the small space – you both might as well be in one. You can’t say you’d mind being six feet under right about now. Leon parks a few houses down and across the street from the target. He turns off the engine, bathing you in complete silence now, save for your breaths and the occasional crumpling of your coats as you readjust your positions. It’s excruciating how aware you are of his icy eyes on you. You keep your eyes on the house because you’re frankly terrified of looking at him.

“Look out for any movement, particularly women, coming in and out of the house,” you softly remind him of your orders, hoping to entice him into turning his unwavering attention away from you.

“Noted,” he grunts, clearing his throat to fill the silence. “And how long are we supposed to keep watch for?”

Was he not listening while you were getting briefed? You sigh. “Until we see something interesting.”

He lets out a sigh of his own. “And if we don’t?”

“Until the sun comes up.”

This has to be a form of torture. Leon nods absentmindedly, his gaze shifting from you to the house and back. He can’t help but steal glances at you, his chest tightening as he notices how you go out of your way to avoid looking at him. He taps his fingers against the cold steering wheel in a slow, irregular rhythm as he tries his damnedest to keep his eyes on the house. “Guess this could take a while, huh?” he mumbles, his gaze slipping to you once more. The tension couldn’t be cut with a knife, you’d need more of a fucking chainsaw.

You shouldn’t be this upset by it all… Everything happened almost a year ago. You’d both changed. Hell, he wasn’t even with his girlfriend anymore. In theory, you should both be able to behave normally – professionally. But that’s not the case. It’s so strange. You two used to be able to chat and joke around together. Now, neither of you could say ‘hello’ without feeling like you were treading on thin ice. Your heart aches at the thought that you drove him away, that you ruined things between the two of you. You suppose a dark, freezing car with nothing to entertain yourself but the mist of your own breath isn’t exactly great to keep up morale.

Once again unable to stand the silence, Leon hesitates before speaking. “You cold?” he asks quietly, catching on to how you hug your thin jacket tightly around your frame.

“No,” you lie.

But his sharp analytical eyes don’t miss your slight shivering. He can’t help but roll his eyes and let out a half-hearted huff. “Liar,” he mutters under his breath, careful to hide the slight fondness in his tone. This is so like you; brushing aside your comfort to appease those around you.

“Believe what you will.” You tuck your legs underneath you, hoping to maintain at least some of your body heat. You still can’t find it in you to look at him, settling for the perp’s house and his neighbours' holiday decorations.

The young officer’s lips twitch. Why couldn’t you just admit it? Was it really that hard for you to let him help? He sighs again. “Stop being stubborn. You’ll freeze in here. Take this,” he scolds, already unbuttoning his coat.

You shake your head when you notice what he’s doing in your peripheral. “That’s stupid. I already have a jacket. You won’t have one at all if you give me yours.”

He rolls his eyes again, his hands pausing on one of the buttons. “I’ve got a sweater on, I think I’ll be fine. It’s the middle of winter, that excuse of a jacket won’t keep anything warm.”

“I’d feel better if you kept it. It’s going to be a long night.” You clench your jaw.

It was almost infuriating, the lengths you would go to deny any kind of help. He scowls at you, but he can’t deny the fact that part of him craves the chance to take care of you. “I don’t care how you think you feel at the moment. You’re taking my jacket. It’s no good if my partner gets frostbite during the night and we have to call the stakeout off,” he rumbles, already pulling the jacket off his body.

“I don’t think that’s how frostbite works.”

He bites back an amused smile and reaches over to drape the coat over your shoulders. You try to hide the immediate relief it brings – a blanket of his body heat. It smells like him too… his aftershave, you think. It makes your heart ache with memories of earlier this year. How you would’ve done anything for him. How you still would if it came down to the wire… He watches as you bury yourself in the material, practically being engulfed by the puffy thing. The sight alone makes his chest pang with emotion. Seeing you wearing his jacket – he couldn’t think of anything more beautiful than that.

“Let me know if you start getting cold,” you say quietly because you can't bring yourself to say thank you.

Leon nods quietly, his lips pressed into a tight line. The deafening silence returns yet again. He struggles not to say anything. This is unbearable. Sitting in a silent car, with you a mere foot away, and he can’t even speak to you normally. It’s driving him crazy.

“God damn it, why can’t you just look at me?” he suddenly blurts out, breaking the silence.

Fuck. You knew this was coming. “Because we’re supposed to be keeping our eyes on the house.”

“Quit being a smartass. You know we have nothing to do but sit and watch the house for god knows how long. But you’d rather stare at the damn streetlight than talk to me or look at me for even a split second.”

That’s true. You think that seeing him – bewitching as ever even when you want to hate him – would break you. “I’m doing my job. I suggest you do yours.”

Leon clenches his jaw, annoyance flaring up inside him again. You are infuriating, acting aloof as if nothing is wrong. As if it doesn’t bother you at all. “You’re being impossible, you know that?”

You hug his coat tighter around you, wanting it to swallow you whole right about now. “We’re coworkers. I wasn’t aware you expect me to be a certain way.”

The sight of you melting into his jacket just makes Leon’s heart clench painfully once more. He’s torn between your evident hurting, and cold words and attitude. “You’re twisting my words and you know it,” he retorts, narrowing his eyes at you. “We used to be more than coworkers.”

That’s it. You look. And dear god it’s a mistake because things are always more beautiful when you can’t have them. He’s everything you remember – everything you etched into memory all those months ago. If anything, he looks even more ethereal now as the streetlights and holiday lights reflect off the snow and onto his pale face.

“No, we weren’t. Because you never let us be, Leon.”

His heart tightens in his chest all over again as you finally look at him, his breath catching in his throat. It’s almost painful how beautiful you look in this moment. Sitting here in the car with him, wearing his jacket, with the soft glow of the outside lights illuminating the planes of your face. As much as he’d like to deny it, you are right. He is the reason for your coldness toward him now, so how could he possibly blame you for it?

“You really want to go there?” he asks softly, his eyes not leaving your face.

“No, but you seem to be pushing me there,” the hostility slips out.

“Because you’re not being honest. Not to me. Not even to yourself.”

“You think you know better?”

“I think I know you.” He looks deep into your eyes. “You act like you don’t want anything to do with me, but look me in the eye and tell me you feel nothing for me. Tell me and I’ll leave you be.”

You can’t. You couldn’t lie if you tried, not about this. You feel that bezoar of dread return to the pit of your stomach just thinking about cutting him out of your life completely. That’s about the last thing you want. “Why are you doing this? So you can humiliate me all over again?” Your whole demeanour softens, that naïve, lovestruck girl from ten months ago trying to claw her way out of the cage you banished her to.

He hates how hurt you look right now, all because of him. It breaks him. “I-I didn’t mean to hurt you. I know I did, but-”

“You raised your voice at me and told me you were sick of me. Not that you needed some time to yourself, not that you were having a bad day, not simply that you didn’t feel the same, but that I made you sick. Do you realize how fucking damaging that is, Leon?!”

He winces away from your outburst, his mind reeling at the memory of that night. It still makes him nauseous to think about it. He is ridden with guilt – has been for the past ten months. He takes a breath. “I didn’t say I was sick of you. I said I was sick of saying ‘no’ to you… Look, I know nothing I say can make up for speaking to you like that, but please… Just try and hear me out, okay?” He tries to reach for your hand gently, but you pull away. “You don’t have to forgive me or believe me for that matter. I just need to explain myself. You deserve at least that… It’s no excuse, but- but I was already stressed to my limit from things at home… And you-”

He sighs, looking dreamily into your eyes. “God, you made me feel. You made me feel so much that it scared me. I went to work and all I wanted to do was search for you in every room… You were so kind, so- so compassionate. I got attached and at some point, I started to feel guilty. I had my ex at home, but our relationship was rocky and I couldn’t stop thinking about you. It was like… like some emotional affair. I knew that wasn’t right – that it wasn’t fair to either of you, so I was stupid enough to think that distancing myself from you until I got my shit sorted out would be the lesser of evils… I was wrong. Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I hated rejecting you every time. I hated hurting you. A-And I guess it stressed me out so much that I just snapped…”

Tears glaze over your eyes. Do you believe him? You thought you were done crying over him. “H-How was I supposed to know what you felt- what you wanted?” You feel the warm tears slip down your cheeks.

He’s quick to lift a hand to wipe your tears. “You weren’t- You weren’t,” his voice is more delicate than you’ve ever heard it before. “That’s on me. That was my fault. You couldn’t have known,” he coos. “But I want you to know now…” You look up at him expectantly through wet lashes. “I want you to know that I wanted this. I wanted you. I still do.”

Your breath hitches. You’re surprised at how unsure you are about something which you thought you wanted more than anything. The hopeful part of you wants to trust him again – trust him with your heart. You remember how you thought of him before that night; gentle, caring, selfless… One mistake didn’t mean that that had changed. It’s not like you had never accidentally raised your voice at anyone before… A weight lifts off of your shoulders. Only he could lull out that old part of you, the one you had so carefully tucked away for safekeeping.

You open your mouth to scramble for an answer when the dark figure of a hooded man exits the suspect’s house. Leon follows your gaze.

“You got something?”

Making up your mind, you extend the hand that you had previously pulled from him. “Let’s go catch our guy, Kennedy.”

He takes it, his face lighting up. “I’ve got one condition.”

“What?” you ask confusedly. Your suspect was right there.

“In the morning, you let me buy you that coffee.”

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #resident evil #resident evil 2 #fanfic #one shot #leon s kennedy #raccoon city #leon kennedy x you #re2 remake #re2 leon

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choicesficwriterscreations · 2 years ago

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CFWC Tumblr Top 3 - 2022

Please see below for links to each fic and more information.

Thank you to all our talented creators who have participated in this event and provided outstanding content throughout the year!

🖤 = Adult Content/18+ 🔥 = NSFW/18+ Only

@aallotarenunelma

Burnt Orange Leaves | ILITW - Dan Pierce, F!MC

Bathed in Sunlight | BOLAS - Tyril Starfury x F!elf!MC

The Little Cabin in the Woods | ILITW - Conor Green x F!MC

@cariantha

Allergic to You | OH - Ethan Ramsey x F!MC

You Look Very | OH - Ethan Ramsey x F!MC

The Boyfriend Excuse | OH - Ethan Ramsey x F!MC

@coffeeheartaddict2

Precious | OH - Ethan Ramsey x F!MC ��

Begin Again | OH - Ethan Ramsey x F!MC

I Honestly Love You | OH - Ethan Ramsey x F!MC

@genevievemd

Tattoo | OH - Ethan Ramsey x F!MC

Something About You | OH - Ethan Ramsey x F!MC 🔥

Like the Leaves | OH - Ethan Ramsey x F!MC

@headoverheelsforramsey

Family Traditions | OH - Ethan Ramsey x F!MC

Back to the Beginning | OH - Ethan Ramsey x F!MC

Another Senator | OH - Ethan Ramsey x F!MC

@jamespotterthefirst

Jealousy | OH - Ethan Ramsey x F!MC

Umbrella | OH - Ethan Ramsey x F!MC

The L Word | OH - Ethan Ramsey x F!MC

@jerzwriter

Tobias & His Lovely Ladies | OH - Tobias Carrick x F!MC

This Christmas | OH - Ethan Ramsey x F!MC

Message Delivered | OH - Ethan Ramsey x F!MC

@liaromancewriter

Always My Number One | OH - Ethan Ramsey x F!MC

The Prize | OH - Ethan Ramsey x F!MC

Convincing the Chief | OH - Ethan Ramsey x F!MC

@lucy-268

Coffee Break | OH - Ethan Ramsey x F!MC

Happy Birthday Charley | OH - Ethan Ramsey x F!MC

Not Meant to Be | OH - Ethan Ramsey x F!MC

@missameliep

Like Poetry | BOLAS - Tyril Starfury x f!human!MC 🖤

In Your Arms | Bolas - Tyril Starfury x f!elf!MC

A Love Like No Other | D&D - Ernest Sinclaire x MC

@peonierose

A Pinch of Pink and Blue... This One's for You | Bryce Lahela x F!OC

Go Blonder | OH - Bryce Lahela x F!OC

Late Night Talking | OH - Bryce Lahela x F!OC

@peonyblossom

Love Lost | OH - Ethan Ramsey x F!MC

Donahue's | OH - Ethan Ramsey x F!MC

Expectant | OH - Ethan Ramsey x F!MC

@potionsprefect

Birthday Surprises | OH - Ethan Ramsey x F!MC

Healing Old Wounds | OH - Ethan Ramsey x F!MC

The Gossip Machines | OH - Ethan Ramsey x F!MC

@storyofmychoices

Home Sweet Home | OH - Bryce Lahela x F!OC

Sharing is Caring | OH - Bryce Lahela x F!OC

The Sound of Joy | OH - Bryce Lahela x F!OC

@theartoflovingthomashunt

Love Finds a Way | RCD - Thomas Hunt x F!OC

Rate My Professor | RCD - Thomas Hunt x F!OC

My Weakness | RCD - Thomas Hunt x F!OC

@trappedinfanfiction

Kiss it Better | OH - Ethan Ramsey x F!MC

Lazy Days | OH - Ethan Ramsey x F!MC

A Crash With Fate | OH - Ethan Ramsey x F!MC

#choices fanfic #playchoices #choices fic writers creations #cfwc tumblr top 3 2022 #open heart fanfic #blades of light and shadow fanfic #it lives in the woods fanfic #desire & decorum fanfic #red carpet diaries fanfic #cfwc special events

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jaylaxies · 1 year ago

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KINKTOBER DAY 18 — TOYS

PAIRING: haechan x fem!reader

GENRE/CW: smut, use of toys (vibrator, hand cuffs, and dildo), mutual masturbation, usage of nicknames, haechan is a perv and so are you.

WC: 1.3k words

WARNING: 18+ content, minors dni

A/N: hihi, angels! hyuck and @jaeminvore never fail to make me go feral istg, i hope you all enjoy reading this :3 all likes, comments, reblogs and feedbacks are highly appreciated! iloveyou all <33

✎ kinktober masterlist

“If you wanted it so much then you could have just asked for it, sweetheart.”

The voice snapped you out of your daze, eyes opening to see a very smug smile plastered onto your roommate’s face, having caught you in the act of pleasuring yourself with what? A mere vibrator.

You were beyond embarrassed, also frozen as you did not expect to see him back at your shared apartment so early. He was solid two hours early as per his usual schedule, which gave you the perfect opportunity to play with yourself in the privacy of your room, not caring about being loud whenever he was out.

Problem? It was your roommate you always fantasized about while giving attention to your needy cunt, he was irresistibly attractive, and so was your insatiable need to have him, yet you couldn’t quite go to tell him the same, to maintain the decorum of being roommates and all.

Now, Haechan wasn’t a saint by any means. He had lost the count of times he had successfully stolen your panties (especially your white lace ones with the small bow in the middle), from the laundry basket, using the already soiled cloth to jerk off, wrapping it around his cock, his cum straining it further (but you did not need to know about that).

He too was equally as depraved when it came to fantasies—you being the reason and root of the core for the majority of his fantasies at least.

So, when he returned home early, only to hear your sweet moans lingering in the air, he knew he had to take his chances and intrude in hopes of catching you in the act.

What he did not expect, however, was to hear you whimper out his name with your eyes closed, legs spread enough to give him the clearest view of your wetness, along with the pink vibrator which you had been using to stimulate your swollen clit.

That’s exactly when he said that sentence, making you halt your movements altogether, yours legs closing with panic when he took a step inside the room.

“Though, I’m really offended if you think that a measly little vibrator will make you feel half as good as I can,” he spoke up, clicking his tongue before pushing it against his inner cheek, something he did when he was annoyed, or feigned annoyance if you take the current situation into consideration.

“Fuck! Hyuck, I—I’m so sorry, I didn’t know y—you’d be home,” you stated rambling, covering yourself up by side, avoiding eye contact at all costs, but he was quick to chuckle hearing your sentence.

“Shh, darling. You should be happy I’m here to help now. And since I’m so generous, I’ll be keeping the punishment time short,” he mused with amusement, yet you could see the glimpse of darkness in his eyes, swarmed with the desire he’s been holding back all this while.

You gulped, your hands barely hiding your tits as Hyuck shamelessly gave your body a once over, mumbling pretty under his breath.

“What do you mean? P—punishment?” You whispered, and Hyuck could have sworn the sight of you being confused and breathless made him want to ruin you.

He walked closer, leaning against your bed and closing the distance between you two, lips brushing against each other in a gentle caress, which sent a shiver down your spine. You could feel just how soft his lips felt, and you hadn’t even kissed him.

“So fucking cute,” he chuckled, “now be a good girl and open your legs for me if you wanna be fucked properly,” he whispered, his warm hand resting on your thigh, parting them and you gasped when the sudden gust of cold air hit your wetness.

“Fucked? Wait, Hyuck what?” You mumbled, lips on the verge of touching his and your heart felt weaker than ever.

“Just follow what I say, yeah?” He raised his brows, nodding and you found yourself in a daze, nodding back.

Then he leaned back, not giving you the kiss you were so desperately waiting for, rather, he bent down to get a box from below your bed, your eyes widening because Hyuck was not supposed to know where you hid your box of sex toys.

“Be good and you’ll get what you want, baby,” he smirked, seeing how innocent you looked, especially when he handcuffed your hands to the bedpost, getting your blue vibrating dildo out and keeping it beside you.

Your eyes were fixated on his figure, your breath hitching when he took off his T-shirt in one go, exposing his pretty melanin and the faintest abs, which was probably the prettiest sight you had even seen.

He then sat down on the couch right in front of your bed, spreading his legs as he sat, hand resting on his hardening cock. The print of his length was visible through his shorts, your mouth open and dry as the thoughts of wanting to have him in your mouth took over.

“Get that toy, baby. Let me see you pleasure yourself,” he urged, voice sultry and eyes hooded.

“Wait—you won’t touch me?” You asked, sitting with your one wrist cuffed, disappointment clear in your voice.

“So eager to be touched by me, sweetheart? First show me how much you want it,” he said, palming his cock through his pants.

Your body felt warm. Hyuck’s aura was strong, his gaze even stronger and you found yourself following his directions simply because you wanted to be good for him, your subspace pulling you right in.

“C’mon, baby. Show me how you use that dildo, and think of me while you do it,” he commanded.

You picked it up from your free hand, shyly spreading your legs to make space for it, switching it on and rubbing it all over your wet folds, eyes closing as you thought about Hyuck’s tongue, wanting it to replace the toy.

“Hyuck,” you whispered, the toy prodding at your entrance.

“Fuck,” he bit his lip, the sight in front of him was lewd yet the most innocent thing ever, he couldn’t help but get rid of his shorts, stroking his fully hardened cock now.

“Good girl, put it in your tight little cunt,” he said.

You nodded, eyes still closed and breathing ragged, a low moan leaving your lips, which caused Hyuck’s cock to twitch as you pushed the vibrating phallic in you, thighs closing and opening again at the sensation.

A whine of his name left your mouth again, and he could have sworn it was the prettiest sound he had ever heard. You continued your ministrations, leaving the dildo in your cunt and pressing a small vibrator on your clit, doubling the feeling of your unadulterated pleasure, your eyes watering when you saw him fucking his fist at the sight of you touching yourself.

It was too hot for you to handle.

“Yes, baby. Let go for me,” he whispered, watching your body shake and a tear falling down your cheek.

That’s it, that was your punishment—watching Hyuck touch himself but not touching you, which left you frustrated.

An irritated sound left your lips, causing him to chuckle and approach you again.

“What’s wrong, darling? Not satisfied?” He asked, mocking you.

“Please,” you said in a small voice.

“Hm?” He asked, urging you to speak louder.

“Please touch me—fuck me,” you begged, surprising yourself as you had never been this desperate before, your body shivering as it ached for him.

His eyes darkened, his carnal desires taking over, “I hope you’re ready to be fucked all night, darling,” he said, voice deep and promising.

That’s all he said before capturing your lips into a deep kiss, pulling you closer by your neck, your knees weaker than ever as he bit your lower lip, making you go feral with just one action.

Oh you so knew it was going to be a long (and adventurous) night.

THANK YOU FOR READING!

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princess-geek · 25 days ago

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Thank you so much for reading and reblogging, @lorirwritesfanfic

I am happy you enjoyed it :)

White Peonies (Part I)

Book: Desire & Decorum

Series: Unspoken Desires (Modern Desire & Decorum AU)

Summary: Another peek into the past, this time to lift the veil on Mary’s life and three generations of fascinating women of the Howard family.

Main Pairing: Vincent Foredale x Mary Howard.

Word Count: +/- 7280

Rating: General (but with light mentions to adult/violent situations, sickness and death).

Notes: 💖English is not my first language. Please, excuse me for any typos /or grammatical errors. 💖Special thanks to @rosesnink for proofreading.

💖 This is my submission for @choicesficwriterscreations ‘Fics of the week’

(December 1945 )

After the war, the Captain James Arthur Howard returned to Grovershire, his hometown, with the love and saviour of his life, his Italian fiancé, Elena Moretti. They got married on December 24th of that year.

The couple settled in James Howard's small cottage. The war had interrupted the works, so it needed a lot of love and sweat to make it comfortable again.

The first few months were hard, but that didn't discourage the newly-weds. Together, they finished the works on their modest home.

Taking advantage of the skills honed during the war, James opened a small automobile repair shop. Elena worked at home, but no less hard. She baked cakes and biscuits in the Italian way for the village tea shop and sold the vegetables she grew in her garden at the market.

They had two children: Thomas, born in 1947 and Sophia in 1950.

At the beginning of the 60s, the Howard’s future seemed promising: James had a lot of work and had to take on an employee to help. Thomas was showing interest in mechanics and was already working as his father's apprentice on Saturdays. James had high hopes for his son. He dreamed of Thomas becoming a mechanical engineer. Besides continuing to make cakes and cookies for the teahouse, Elena had started to cook pizzas to order a few days a week. She got Grovershire hooked on her Italian flavours; Sophia had passed her Eleven-plus with flying colours.

However, the summer of 1961 was shadowed by tragedy. Thomas caught pneumonia and could not resist the consequences of the disease. He passed away on September 1st of that same year, leaving a deep scar of loss in the family.

This caused two very different reactions: James became more demanding towards Sophia, and Elena became an overprotective mother.

Sophia finished her studies with distinction. James Howard's sister, who lived in London, tried to convince her brother to send her niece to London. She was planning to get Sophia a job at the bank where her husband was working. Despite the aunt and niece's pleas, James and Elena refused to be apart from their daughter.

Nevertheless, Sophia was determined to not let her parents' fears stop her to blossom. Even though there weren't many job opportunities in Grovershire, she found a position as the doctor's secretary.

She was a quick learner, so in a short time, Sophia was helping the doctor with some procedures, showing great competence. Dr Morrison encouraged her to become a nurse.

Despite her parents' reluctance, Sophia liked that idea and was saving money for nursing school. Becoming a nurse would not only allow her to do something she enjoyed, but also conquer her independence.

Therefore, besides her job at the doctor's office, Sophia never missed the opportunity for any extra work.

However, one of these extra jobs would change her life completely.

Mr Oliver Paterson, a handsome and clever young lawyer, arrived in the small town to take over his great-uncle's office. As there weren’t many legal disputes in regions like Grovershire, Mr Paterson needed a secretary only for a couple of hours a week, so, on the recommendation of Dr Morrison, he hired Sophia.

Among legal proceedings books, letters, stacks of papers to organize, tea and Italian biscuits, the cordial relationship between employer and secretary didn't take long to become something more. Sophia didn't expect to fall in love, but in a few months, she couldn't think of anything other than a future with Oliver.

She was so confident in a life with him that within a few months, Sophia introduced Oliver to her parents. His charm won over the Howards, who welcomed him as a member of the family.

Thus, when she found out she was pregnant, Sophia wasn't too worried. That would speed things up, and soon they would get married. Even though she couldn’t work for a year or two, Oliver made enough for their little family and her nest egg would allow them some extra comforts.

Her dreams and her heart shattered when she told Oliver she was expecting a child. Upon hearing the news, he not only refused to take on the child, but also announced that he was moving to the USA, quoting the bastard, ‘to work at an important international law firm'.

If that was true, Sophia never bothered to confirm. Overnight, the charming Mr Paterson disappeared without a trace, owing her money and leaving a child without a father.

Disillusioned, ashamed and fearing her parents' reaction, Sophia fled to London to her aunt's house. Upon learning of the rumour that Oliver had gone to the USA, the Howards feared that Sophia had run away with him. The couple was losing hope when James's sister called to say that her niece was there. James and Elena came to London to join her daughter and the rest of the family for the holidays.

Despite her fears, with her aunt's help, Sophia told her parents she was expecting during the holidays. Those were the saddest holidays since Thomas' death, but her parents reacted better than Sophia expected.

They had already lost a son, so even though they were not ecstatic about their daughter's situation, they assured her of their love and support every step of the way.

Sophia returned to Grovershire with her parents. Ignoring the scandal caused by gossipers, the family prepared to welcome the baby.

This time, it was her parents who were making plans for Sophia to go to nursing school. They would take care of the baby for as long as necessary.

On August 8, 1970, Mary Helen Howard was born. The labour went well, but Sophia caught a serious infection at the hospital, and died a few weeks later.

It was another terrible loss for the Howards, but this time, they had a beacon of hope to hold on. Baby Mary became the reason for their lives. James and Elena decided that they would not let the shadows of the past dim their granddaughter's light.

Mary was a lively and healthy child. There was some drama in her teens, nothing that wasn't normal and that they couldn't deal with.

Since childhood, she had revealed a natural talent for music, dazzling everybody with her voice and piano skills on Sunday services and school plays.

Full of pride, the grandparents bought Mary a small piano, making her promise to keep good grades though. She kept her promise and finished high school as one of the best in her class.

Nevertheless, from an early age, Mary showed signs of wanting something different. Elena could understand her granddaughter's heart. Before the war, she had dreamed of becoming an opera singer. In fact, Elena had tried to escape to Milan a couple of times during her adolescence.

In addition to her talent, Mary had the aura of a diva, like the Italian prima donnas. Elena saw how she fascinated everyone who listened to her, as if her voice could cast a spell. Such enchantment power could give her much success, but it could also open the door to some heartbreak. As a grandmother, she could only prepare Mary for life the best she could…and prepare James too.

When Mary turned 18 and told them she was going to move to London to pursue her dream of becoming a singer, her grandparents buried their fears and let her fly.

Unfortunately, Elena and James didn't live long enough to see the first fruits of Mary's labour.

********

Even though she was aware it wouldn't be a fairy tale, some obstacles along the way made Mary’s heart waver.

During her first few months in London, she lived with a great-aunt. Mrs. Lee knew her great-niece's talent, so more than just a house, she wanted to help her pursue her dream. Even at short notice, she managed to get Mary to apply to the Royal Academy of Music and get an audition. Mary was not accepted that year, but her great-aunt encouraged her to take a sabbatical and prepare to apply in the following year.

Sadly, her grandfather's sister died suddenly, and her cousins sold the house immediately.

As if she had predicted what was going to happen, her great-aunt had found her a job as a live-in maid. It was far from perfect; however, it gave her a roof over her head. The job was allowing Mary to save some money but depriving her of enough time energy to dedicate to the music.

On one of the nights off, Sophia and Dahlia, one of her coworkers, went to a pub in another part of the city. It was a cosy place; the people were nice and there was live music that night. They were having so much fun that the girls didn't notice the time passing until the first ring of the bell. They asked for one more pint.

“This one's on me, girls. It’s my last night here, and you're my last clients. Cheers!” The waitress said, drinking a pint with them.

As she drank, Mary found herself watching the musicians arranging their instruments. One of them was particularly attractive, but it wasn't what lit her spirit. Mary had an idea. “Do you know if they will hire someone to replace you?” She asked the waitress.

“My boss interviewed some candidates today. I don't know whether any of them were selected.”

“I am interested in the position. I have some experience. Besides, I'm also a singer. I would save your boss some money by performing on nights like tonight.” Her experience was limited to a summer job at the town pub, though, but she tried to sound as confident as possible. It was a long shot, but at least she could do what she loved for a couple of hours a day.

“After making money, Mr Brown's favourite thing is saving money.” The waitress laughed. “I'll meet him here in the morning to settle our accounts. Show up here, maybe he'll fancy you.”

With Dalia’s help, Mary called sick day. Pretending to leave the house to go to the doctor, Mary went to the pub and presented her proposal.

“Miss Howard, are you aware that I won't pay you not a penny more for singing, right? At least, not until you give me evidence that your performances will make a profit.”

Mary nodded. Mr Brown asked to take a pint and prepare a couple of drinks. Her hands were shaking, and she could feel the sweat running down her back. Then he asked her to sing a song. From her point of view, it didn't go very well, but he didn't seem to hate it.

“You're not very fast, but you look like someone who learns quickly. Very good, Miss Howard. I'll hire her for a month to see how she goes. No guarantees! You start tonight. Welcome to ‘The Black Panther'!”

Even with guilt on her conscience, for the first few days, Mary pretended to be sick and sneaked out to the pub. After a week working there, Mr Brown showed no signs of being unhappy with her work, so Mary resigned.

She was without a roof over her head again, but she managed to persuade Mr Brown to let her sleep for a few days in a sleeping bag at the back of the pub. Dahlia let her shower and wash clothes secretly at her former bosses' house.

A few days later, Mary found a room in a flat shared by college students who hung around the pub. They were noisy and even more messy, but that wasn't what kept her up at night.

It's been almost two months since she had started working there and Mr Brown still hasn't allowed her to perform, not even a song in karaoke night. Every day she took the guitar with her in the hope of having an opportunity.

Dahlia offered to try to get her job back as a maid. Mary was tempted to accept.

Arriving at the pub in an afternoon, Mary found Mr Brown very distressed around the karaoke machine.

“This is a disaster! The machine will never be ready in time for tonight! ‘The Golden Lion’ will feast on my clients tonight!” He mumbled dramatically to himself.

Mary saw an opportunity in his drama and volunteered to perform. After thinking for a while, Mr Brown concluded that it was better to have an amateur singer than to run the risk of clients swapping him for another feline.

Mary barely had time to feel nervous over the next few hours. While carrying out the evening's tasks, she chose what she was going to sing and reviewed the chords in her head. Dahlia hurriedly brought her a change of clothes and some makeup, so Mary could get ready.

Minutes before going onto the small stage, nervous butterflies invaded her body. She was so tense that could barely open her mouth. Playing with the gold necklace that her grandmother had given her, a familiar melody began to play in her head, calming the butterflies. Although she couldn’t speak Italian, Mary had heard her grandmother sing it so many times that the verses flowed like a Milanese diva: ‘E quest' è il fiore del partigiano /O bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao, ciao, ciao/E quest'è il fiore del partigiano / Morto per la libertà”.

Feeling warmer in her heart, Mary picked up the guitar and sang to the pub's customers as if she were singing at a packed opera.

She did not remember how many songs she sang that night, for as soon as the first notes left her guitar and her lips, Mary lost track of the world around her, only occasionally being awakened by applauses.

“Not bad for a girl from Grosshire.” Mr Brown said counting the money at the end of the night.

“It’s Grovershire, but thank you. I hope there will be more nights like this.” Mary tried to decipher his intentions.

Mary started to perform once a week at the pub and hosting the karaoke nights. Mr Brown was cheap, but he was fair, sharing part of the profit with Mary. Thanks to the extra money, Mary could leave the chaos of the students’ flat and rent a studio. It wasn't big, but to her it was her own Buckingham Palace.

For months, customers old and new came every week to listen to the nightingale of ‘The Black Panter’.

One night, after her concert, a woman gave her a business card. She asked Mary to stop by her office the next day. “I can’t promise you the world, but I can put you on a bigger stage.”

‘Lemay Events

– Your dream, come true’

Intrigued, Mary showed up there on the next day. Mrs. Lemay, the woman who had approached her the night before, explained that their event organisation company was growing, and they needed a full-time singer at their service.

“Your voice, Miss Howard, is divine and deserves more than weddings and corporate parties. I'm sure someone with more power than me will listen to you and take you where you deserve.”

Even if that didn't happen, at least she wouldn't have to share the songs with the beers. Despite the salary wasn't much higher, it would allow her to save up for a demo.

Working with Mrs. Lemay, Mary travelled around the British islands, singing for all kinds of people and occasions... even funerals. Wherever she went, Mary enthralled all who listened to her and made Mrs. Lemay prospers. Over time, Mary and Mrs. Lemay had become close friends. After her grandparents were dead, Mrs. Lemay was the closest thing Mary had to a family.

At times, her charms attracted some unwanted attention. Not all of them were drunk wedding guests. Some of those who tried their luck were decent and handsome guys. However, Mary ignored any advances, whether drunk or sober. Except if they brought flowers. Mary always accepted the flowers. Especially if they were peonies.

Not that her mother's unfortunate affair with her boyfriend (or ‘The Piral’1 as her grandmother referred to him when she thought Mary wasn't listening) made her sceptical about love. Her grandparents' example had shown her that true love was real and wonderful. Mary had a sweetheart in high school, but she had decided long ago to prioritise her dream over romance.

One morning, Mary and the musicians were preparing the repertoire for a wedding, when Mrs. Lemay arrived at the office ecstatic. An obscenely rich guy had hired them to organise his party at The Trafalgar St. James.

“He hinted that there will be royalty among the guests. I promised him nothing less than the pinnacle of perfection.” Then, Mrs. Lemay turned to Mary “Take care of your voice over the next few weeks, Mary. Take a vow of silence if necessary. This is a lifetime opportunity!”

Mrs. Lemay hardly slept for weeks to get everything to beyond magnificent.

*****

Mary had never been there before, but the hotel certainly never had shined as brightly as it did that night.

She was determined to shine as well. Mrs. Lemay told her some important names in the music industry were among the guests. She rented an exquisite burgundy dress for the evening so that Mary's figure would not pass unnoticed in the opulence of the room.

Before the party starts, the hosts went backstage to greet the musicians. Although obscenely rich, the Sinclaire’s did not match to the stereotype of the rich snob people. The husband was clearly the more extroverted of the pair shaking hands with everyone and exuding a good mood. Though more discreet, the wife seemed to be a very sweet person. She was holding a cute toddler in her arms. When Mary tried to play with the little boy, he hid in his mother's red hair.

Behind the curtain, the sumptuous room was intimidating. There were many famous faces among the guests, including musicians and singers she admired. She felt a knot tightening her stomach. Mary thought she was going to throw up before getting on stage.

“Head up, dear Mary!” Mrs. Lemay encouraged. “This night will change our lives forever.”

Despite the applauses from the audience at the end of the first part, Mary came back to the dressing room very frustrated with herself. Her nervousness had gotten out of control, woken up her parodic perfectionist side.

“Mary, that’s fine, no one noticed got the lyrics wrong. I didn't notice it myself.” Mrs. Lamy quickly prepared some tea to calm her down. Mary was her main asset that night, she couldn't let her lose control.

Mary was about to take the first sip, when she was interrupted by a loud noise. The loud knock on the door only irritated her even more. Annoyed, she set the cup down with such force that she broke it, staining her dress with tea. “Shit!”

Mary gathered herself as best she could to open the door. Standing t the door, there was a young man. He was very tall with an aristocratic bearing.

“There is no need to attack the door. You scared me!”

“I…I’m sorry, Miss Howard, it was not my intention.” He said in a rather posh accent. Despite his imposing appearance, he seemed to be very nervous as he faced her.

“May I help you, my lord?”

“How do you know…?”

“I didn’t know for sure, but I noticed that you seem to be very close to Mr Sinclaire, so there was a high probability that you had some title.” She made sure her words had a harsh tone. She didn’t like to sound like a diva but the last thing she needed that night was a playboy looking for an unwary girl. Men like him only brought problems to women like her.

She looked him straight in the eyes to be sure he was understanding that he had no chance with her. That technique had worked on other occasions. Nevertheless, looking at him more carefully for those seconds, she couldn't help but notice that he was very handsome, with all the attributes of the charming princes. In addition to a breathtaking shade of blue, Mary noticed something else in his eyes that was pulling her towards him with an overwhelming force.

“Vincent Foredale, at your service, Miss Howard.” He kissed her hand gently. “I have to say I’m bewitched… my body, my soul… your voice is divine…Would you be so kind as to agree to go out with me after your performance? There’s a lovely place near here that’s open until late…”

“You can stop right there! This isn’t my first fancy party, so I know how this end with men like you…or rather, how you want it to end… and I’m not interested. Did you really think you would convince me with a Jane Austen paraphrase? Points for erudition, but no thanks.” Mary closed the door in his face, scared by what he was making her feel at that moment. She leaned against the door, trying to process what had just happened.

Despite her harsh words, the young lord didn't give up and remained at the door, declaring his good intentions. “I’m sorry if some called gentlemen took improper liberties with you, Miss Howard, but I assure you I have the best of intentions. If you are still listening, Miss, I’m just asking for a chance to get to know you better. I feel your voice is just the pale reflection of your beautiful soul. Please, I will do anything to prove my pure intentions. I will be at your disposal all night if you change your mind.”

“He seems to be a very decent guy, Mary.” Mrs. Lemay smiled.

“You can’t be serious, Mrs. Lemay! I don't have time to play Cinderella!”

"Cinderella never asked for a prince charming. She just asked for a night off to have fun. You are already at a glamorous party and wearing a beautiful dress. Why don't you have some fun? I can see that you liked what you saw and heard, Mary, don't deny it. I know you better than you know yourself. Bonus, he's very handsome.”

“He is, but I can’t…” Mary was torn between following what she had set in her mind or following the impulse of her heart.

“If you have doubts that are just sweet words, why don't you test it?

“Mrs. Lemay, how am I supposed to test him?”

Mary glanced at the clock. The break was ending. She had to calm her heart and mind quickly. The singer thought that if she asked him something ridiculous, he would stop bothering her, ending the torment. “This is a terrible idea, but here I go…”

Mary opened the door, almost slamming Vincent with it. “Oh… you are still there!” Mary blushed. “It is not polite to eavesdrop behind doors. Someone like you should know that.”

“I wasn’t eavesdropping, Miss Howard… I…” Vincent got flustered.

“I will accept your invitation with one condition: You will have to sing tonight. You will open the second part of my concert.” She smiled playfully.  

“One song, one date?” Vincent repeated, “Do you mean, right here and now?”

“Yes, on this very stage.”

“I…I’m afraid I don’t sing very well, Miss Howard.”

“You said you would do anything… I thought gentlemen always kept their word.” Mary turned her back and closed the door. She heard footsteps moving away. Problem solved. Mrs. Lemay left her alone to get ready.

Her time was coming, so she walked towards the stage. As she got closer, Mary heard the notes of the piano resounding on her body. Peaking behind the curtain, she saw him bravely facing the shame. The fact that he has accepted the challenge baffled her.

“Wise men say/ Only fools rush in/ But I can’t help falling in love with you/ Shall I stay? / Would it be a sin/ If I can’t help falling in love with you?”

As he sang the first song verses, an intense shiver ran through her body, making her heart pounding fast.

He wasn't a nightingale, but he wasn't terrible. Although she couldn't hear, she could guess from the looks and the whispers he was going to be the laughingstock of the night among his peers.

For a moment, his voice lulled her to dreams of the love that the song promised. Could it really be true?

When he finished, the musicians hurried him out, and Mrs. Lemay hurried her entry. They just had time to catch a glimpse of each other.

Mary resumed the concert as if nothing had happened. Minutes later, he reappeared, sitting at the tables in front of the stage.

In some songs, Mary invited the audience to dance. Vincent never left his seat, even though some women invited him directly.

*********

At the end of the concert, Mary assumed Vincent was waiting for her outside the dressing room but there was no sign of him. Could he just be playing around with her? Whatever the case was, she decided to take a walk around the hotel to see if she could find him.

As she walked through the never-ending corridors, Mary crossed paths with Lydia Sinclaire. She was walking back and forth with her son in her arms. The boy was crying desperately, and his mother seemed about to start to do the same.

“Is everything all right, Mrs. Sinclaire? Is the boy sick? Would you like me to call someone?”

“No, Miss Howard, thank you. He woke up grumpy and is throwing a tantrum to go back to sleep.” Lydia sighed. “He's usually a calm baby. I don't know what's going on with him today.”

“Maybe it's because he woke up in a strange place for him and not in his comfy crib.”

“I know you must be tired, Miss Howard, but...Could you sing for him, please? I have been here for almost an hour. I have tried everything.... not even breastfeeding is calming him down.” She vented in despair. “I think he likes your voice because he fell asleep before the end of the first song.”

Mary didn't have the courage to refuse a desperate mother. Bringing back her babysitting skills, Mary gently took the boy from her mother's arms. “Shhh, my, my, why are we so angry, little angel?” She stroked his curls. “What are you up to? ‘Beatles’? ‘Elton John’? ‘Oasis’? No. I think ‘Queen’ suits you better.” Mary smiled. “I was born to love you/With every single beat of my heart/Yes, I was born to take care of you/Every single day,” She sang, rocking him softly. The crying decreased with each verse until the little blue eyes began to close. Once the song was over, Mary hummed the melody until he returned to the world of dreams.

Mrs. Sinclaire was very grateful. “Thank you so much, Miss Howard. I will make sure your kindness will be rewarded.”

Mary continued with her quest. Almost giving up, she called the elevator to go back to the dressing room. When the doors opened, she came face to face with Vincent.

“Miss Howard!” He gasped. “Thank God you are here! I was afraid you were gone!”

“I thought you would be…” The two spoke at the same time, both trying to explain themselves.

Vincent invited her to 'The Red Lion'. They walked there, all the way in silence, arriving almost at closing time. Fortunately, Vincent knew the managers and they let them stay after hours.

After ordering something to eat and drink, Vincent tried to make conversation, but all his eloquence stammered before her.

“Something tells me you don’t have much in the way of picking up a girl!” Mary laughed.

Vincent turned red. “No, I don’t have. My friends tried to give me speed lessons tonight, but as you may notice at your door, they were useless.”

“Good thing I like Jane Austen.” She smiled. “Which is your favourite?”

“’Persuasion’. It's not a popular choice, but I like the idea that true love always finds a way.”

“Good choice of words. You should try more often. With practice, you will certainly be able to persuade more women.”

“I mean it when I say I would very much like to know you better. I don’t want to just ‘pick up you’, Miss Howard. You or any other woman. I collect pens, not lovers.” Vincent fidgeted nervously with his glass.

“Does that mean you see me as a potential lover?” She teased him.

“Miss Howard, that wasn’t…I...” He almost dropped the glass.

“Or I am not handsome enough to tempt you?”

“No, it's quite the opposite...You are rather alluring... I'm sorry, maybe that wasn't the best choice of words this time.”

“You can call me Mary and it’s okay, I was only teasing you.” She took his glass and put it on the table. “If it’s not a lover, what are you looking for, Viscount Vincent?”

“I have never wanted a lover...I have always wished for someone who I can share all my secrets with.”

“Don’t you have a best friend for that?”

“I do, but...Miss Howard...Mary... My soul has been dormant, and you awakened it with the first note you sang. I have felt nothing like this.”

“How can you say that? It hasn't even been a couple of hours yet since you met me!”

“Singing the way you sing, with that passion and depth... I can feel that you are certainly the sharpest and most ardent woman I will ever meet.”

From those first sentences on, the conversation between them never stopped, extending from the pub for the rest of the night at The Green Park. The young viscount's embarrassment faded into conversation, allowing Mary to glimpse an intelligent and sensitive man. Although his noble bearing never wavered, Mary found no trace of vanity or pride in him.

Despite the obvious gulf between their lives and some of their ideas, he never, even for a moment, seemed upset or irritated by what she was saying, listening to her with respect and attention.

He obviously put on his coat on her back before she even felt cold. Even in that moment of closeness, Vincent didn't try to touch her, he didn't even look at her cleavage, despite the dress exposing that area.

Mary was truly enjoying her time with him. Maybe enjoying too much, as the voice in her head was warning. She had a plan for her life and was determined to stick to it. And her plan didn't include falling in love.

However, the more they talked, the more she wanted to know about him, to be closer to him.

Mary didn’t remember falling asleep, but somehow, she woke up with her head resting on his chest, snuggled on his body. They were surprisingly warm under his coat at that hour. She inhaled the soft scent of his shirt. The last few hours had been a beautiful dream, but it was time to come back to reality.

He insisted on driving her home. Mary accepted it. She would sing at a wedding mass in a couple of hours and couldn't be late (and being with him a little longer was a bonus).

Vincent got out of the car and helped her out. ‘God, why you have to be so nice?’, Mary thought to herself.

“Thank you for this lovely night, Mary.” He kissed her hand. “May I hope to see you again?”

Her head said no, but her heart went ahead. “That depends.” Mary flashed him an enigmatic smile.

“Of what?” Vincent had an adorable, confused look on his face.

“If you kiss me. I have been waiting for it all night.” Mary had wanted to kiss him since he left the stage. Vincent cupped her face. She felt his hands shaking. “And promise me that we won’t fall asleep on the grass again. Even the peasants back don’t survive a night on the ground.” His arms gently circled her body. Mary’s hands instinctively grasped his shirt. “I am not a crystal glass, Vincent. I will not break.”

Vincent bent down, his lips against her cheek, brushing it lightly. “I am afraid if I kiss you, you will vanish in the air.

“I am not Cinderella, and we are a long way from midnight, my lord.” Mary smiled sweetly, reaching up and pulling him closer to her.

Once, she had read in a book that after a first kiss, there is no going back. It changes both people. At that time, she thought it was exaggerated. It only took a few seconds to change her mind. Kissing Vincent was as natural as breathing. It wasn’t just the touch of two lips. It was the meeting of two souls. And they talked, through the lips, the heart beatings, the soft sighs… Mary tried to deepen the kiss. Reluctantly, Vincent pulled away, whispering against her lips. “If I don’t stop now, I will never be able to let you go from my arms.”

“Is that a promise, Viscount?” She grinned at him, dizzy with the intensity of what his lips had told her.

Vincent peaked her lips. “So, I suppose that this opens the door to a second date?”

“What are you doing to me, Vincent Foredale?” Mary thought aloud as she caressed his face.

From that day on, there were not many days when they were apart, both arranging their lives to spend as much time as possible together. For almost two years, Mary felt like she was living in heaven on earth.

It didn't matter if it was a romantic weekend away, a Sunday lazing around on the sofa, an afternoon playing cards, making him coffee in the early hours of the morning while he wrote down new ideas for his novel or a morning trying to teach Vincent how to cook... all these moments were precious and only made her fall in love even more.

Besides Vincent’s heart, Mary had caught someone else's eye on that night at 'The Trafalgar St. James'. A music producer contacted her sometime later, offering their services to book her some concerts at small festivals and opening the concerts of some renowned singers. He also asked her to write some original songs to record. If they liked it, there could be good news soon.

As the months passed and their feelings deepened, Mary found herself wondering when Vincent would introduce her to his family. When she asked about it, he avoided the topic. He justified the delay with the need to prepare both sides.

Like most noble families, his parents would certainly still have many of the old prejudices. The encounter between their worlds would be a shock for them and herself. Mary had agreed that the moment would require preparation and patience.

Besides, it was also in the interest of Mary's career to keep a low profile for a while. A malicious article in a tabloid would be a damage difficult to repair.

Although Mary understood his reasons, she noticed there was something wrong with her boyfriend. Over the last couple of months, Vincent looked tired and worried all the time. He was spending less time with her and, sometimes, when they were together, she could say his body was there, but his mind was away.

In those moments, she felt the shadows of doubt take over her heart 'Would Vincent be ashamed of her?' 'Did he truly intend to take her to his parents?' 'Was she just a rich boy's entertainment?

On the holidays in 1993, Vincent whisked her away for a surprise travel. At first, she was a little disappointed upon arriving in Scotland. She hoped his surprise would be Christmas at Edgewater, not a cottage in de the middle of the fields.

On the night of Christmas Eve, Vincent asked her to dress warmly, let him blindfold her, and follow him. Although Mary found it a strange request, she followed Vincent. After walking for some time, they were climbing a small hill. When they reached the top, Vincent removed her blindfold.

Opening her eyes, Mary was lost for speech, enraptured by the northern lights above them. On the night they met, among the many things they said, Mary had commented that she would love to see the northern lights one day. Mary didn't know what made her happier: if she finally saw the lights, or if Vincent remembered that little detail.

“They are so beautiful…so magical! Don’t you think, Vincent? Aren’t they the most wonderful thing?” Mary beamed at the sky.

“No, they aren’t.”

Mary turned to him, staggered by his response. Then she saw him kneeling before her. He gently took her hand and kissed it. “You, my dearest Mary, you amaze me every day with your heart, the wits of your mind. When I met you, my soul was almost extinguished, but you became the light of my life. People say that I was born with the best life has to offer, but in reality, it is with you that I discovered the best life there is. Neither lands, nor treasures, nor titles have done in years what you have done in these months... You make me a better man with your love. My Mary, would you be so kind to accept me as your husband?”

The intensity of what Mary felt at that moment raptured her. She was shaking, laughing, and tearing up all at the same time.

“My dearest Mary, please say something…even it’s not what I wish to hear…” Vincent was getting worried.

“What your family will think? I am just a…” Mary stammered.

“You are the most important person in my life. I will find a way for us; whether like it or not.” Vincent hugged her tenderly.

“No, Vincent. We will find a way.”

“That means…”

“Yes, my love. My heart has no choice but to love you forever and furthermore.” Mary caressed his face.

Vincent twirled her in the air, deliriously happy. They kissed wildly, reasserting through their lips all the affection, admiration, devotion and passion for each other.

In the intensity of the moment, the ring box slipped from Vincent’s hands. Fortunately, it fell at Mary's feet. Vincent took it out of the box and gently placed it on her finger. It was made of gold, with three flowers. The central flower was made of small pearls and adorned with a discreet diamond.

“It’s stunning, Vincent.” Mary beamed.

“I designed it myself. I know it's simple... I tried to make it look like a peony...at least it's white...You deserved a bigger diamond... I can’t afford it now, but I will spend my life making up for it.”

“I don’t care about what it’s made of. It means hope, a promise of a future with you. Nothing else matters to me. Our love is the is the greatest treasure of all.” Mary kissed his hand devotedly.

*****

The following weeks were crazy for Mary, between services for Mrs. Lemay and some scheduled concerts. Vincent had something prepared for Valentine's Day, but it was impossible to be with him. Her concert ended too late for his plans.

To make up for him, Mary convinced Mrs. Lemay to give her a weekend off to “rest her voice”. They didn't do anything special. They barely left their castle (aka Mary's flat). Not like they needed anything else anyway. Their hearts always had a lot to tell each other.

It was a mild February Sunday morning. Some rays of sunlight coming through the window woke her up. Vincent was still sleeping soundly. The morning light illuminated her hand resting on his chest. Every time she looked at her engagement ring on the hand her heart skip a beat with so much happiness. Mary had never spent much time fantasizing about wedding plans, but after singing at so many, she had some ideas.

She planted a kiss on her lovers’ chest. Maybe they could discuss it over breakfast. It was time to go get bread.

Mary rarely had any problems getting up in the morning, but for a few days now, she's been struggling to get out of bed. Mary was exhausted, but she couldn't stop now that there was light at the end of the tunnel for her music. Rolling her body off the bed, Mary felt her head heavy, and for an instant, the small room was spinning around her.

After coffee, Mary was sure she would feel better. Nothing was more wrong. The coffee tasted horrible that morning.

As usual, there was a queue outside the bakery. With no coffee to sip, Mary bought 'The Sunday Times' to entertain herself. She was so distracted reading some trivial news that she almost dropped the newspaper when a lady asked her if she could see the headline.

Mary opened the newspaper wider so the woman could see better. The woman seemed shocked by the headline.

Intrigued by the woman’s reaction, Mary turned it to her. There was something controversial about Princess Diana, but that was hardly new lately. Then, her eyes reached the bottom strip of the headline.

‘Viscount Foredale and Mrs. Marlcaster announce their engagement! - Read everything about the wedding of the year on page 20.’

She couldn’t believe what her eyes were reading. That couldn't be true. Mary ran out of air as a sharp pain coursed through her body, making her throw up.

When she could breathe again, Mary flew back home. Fury, disappointment, anguish, fear... hope. She was feeling everything at once. Although it was difficult to think through the hurricane of emotions, something inside her was screaming it was true.

Her mind wanted to get home as quickly as possible to find out, but her heart was terrified.

Vincent was still in bed. Mary couldn't say anything right away, frozen by dazedness. She was clutching the newspaper on her hand, trying to come back from the shock.

“What happened, Mary?” Vincent asked, feeling that something was wrong.

His question made her blood boil. Mary threw the newspaper at him, hitting her fiancé hard in the face. “Congratulations on your engagement, Viscount Foredale! Wishing you a lifetime of joy, love, and happiness. Now get out of my house immediately!”

Vincent picked up the newspaper and read the headline. “Mary, I know what this sounds like, but believe me, I have an explanation. I should have talked to you earlier…” He stuttered, losing his colours.

“I don’t want an explanation! Look me in the eye and tell me it’s a lie!” Mary cried.

The moment Vincent looked her in the eye and admitted it was true, her heart had shattered into a thousand pieces. Mary loved him more than life, but she refused to be the other woman. She had given him her soul and body and would accept nothing less from him than the same commitment. It would be better to live without him than to live in the shadows.

To show him she was kicking him out of her house and her life, Mary tried to take the ring off her finger. Vincent knew her so well that the ring was just the right size, making the task more difficult.

“I mean what that ring symbolizes. You are my true betrothed.” He tried again.

Hurting her finger, Mary snatched the ring and threw it at him. Her hand was bleeding, but what were a few scratches on a finger compared with the abyss that he had opened in her heart?

Vincent took the ring from the floor. “Mary, my love, please, don’t do this.”

“Don’t dare to call me that ever again! Get out of my house! Now!”

@jeanele ❣  @missameliep ❣  @regencylady1810 ❣ @i-put-the-sin-in-sinclaire @whenyourheartskipsabeat ❣ @xjustin-ethansgirliex ❣@rosesnink @rosesnink ❣  @gardeningourmet ❣ @paisleylovergirl  ❣ @dailydoseofchoices ❣  @rhyssescups ❣  @storyofmychoices ❣   @lorircreates ❣ @lorirwritesfanfic

❣ @walkerduchess ❣ @indiacater

❣ @kinkypot ❣ @ezekielbhandarivalleros @anotherbeingsworld ❣ @hellooliviaolivia ❣ @pixel-writer19  ❣ @sinclaire-ity  ❣ @ezekielbhandarivalleros ❣ @marlcasters ❣ @bhartigat81 ❣ @lyannacyrill706 ❣ @daddytyrilstarfury ❣ @secretaryunpaid ❣ @allisonreilynn ❣ @fauxleaves ❣ @twinkleallnight ❣ @kingliam2019 ❣ @iloveethanramsey ❣ @surewhyynot ❣ @yvettegolx ❣ @itlivesinpixelberry ❣ @chutchoices ❣ @electroniccreatorwerewolf ❣ @spookycolorpeanut ❣ @peonierose ❣ @quixoticdreamer16 ❣ @lilyoffandoms ❣ @tessa-liam

@storyofmychoices @rosesnink @lorirwritesfanfic @gardeningourmet @dutifullynuttywitch @ladylamrian @rosesnink @storyofmychoices

#desire and decorum #unspoken desires #vincent foredale #desire and decorum book 3

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loversatthegreatdivide · 7 months ago

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Heavy Lies the Heart - Chapter 1

Masterlist // Continue Reading

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x F!OC Word Count: 2k Tropes: mutual pining, fluff, angst with a happy ending, royalty Warnings: death Summary: When two second-borns looking for direction meet by chance, can they find purpose in each other? Or will circumstance keep them apart? A/N: This starts at the beginning of season 3, but some timeline things are a bit different here than in the series. Also I'm changing history--it's fine, it's basically in an alternate universe anyway.

A new season had begun, and it was with an all too familiar sense of annoyance that Benedict Bridgerton found himself arriving once again at the Danbury ball. If not for his mother's insistence and his desire to support Francesca in her first season out, he may not have come at all.

Benedict certainly had no desire to join the mart, and he found society and it's rules disingenuous at best, insufferable at worst. It was another season. Another ball. Another night of counting down the minutes while avoiding the attentions of the more emboldened debutantes and their scheming mamas.

Then again, what else had he to do? With his exit from the academy and Anthony's return, he felt rather unmoored. Adrift with no real purpose or goal. A second son with no role to fill or any steadfast ambitions. Even his younger brother Colin seemed to have truly found himself in his time abroad.

What would it take for Benedict to feel so secure?

The ball had barely begun, yet already Benedict found himself hounded by the attentions of the young ladies of the marriage mart. He suspected this was due, in no small part, to the transformation of his younger brother. Colin seemed to rather enjoy the attention, but Benedict found he did not feel the same. At the first opportunity, he made a quick exit, escaping to the safety of the garden. He stood alone, close enough to hear the music inside but far enough to feel the weight of expectation lift. He took in a deep breath of the crisp night air, and sighed in relief.

As he enjoyed his moment of peace, he heard a commotion from inside. Given the excitement, he could only imagine that the queen was finally in attendance. Always the most anticipated guest, yet always the last to arrive. He thought to avoid the fanfare, sipping the lemonade in his hand as he enjoyed the night's sky.

Benedict spend some time just appreciating the silence, but knew he would have to return soon. With things inside having quieted somewhat, he supposed it was as good of a time as any. He was also aware that certain members of his family would likely be cross with him if he disappeared for too long. He sighed, downing the last of his drink before turning to enter the fray once more.

He set his empty glass on a nearby table as he ventured through the crowd. He looked across the room, making eye contact with both Anthony and his mother. At the very least they would know he hadn't fled the grounds altogether.

He scanned the crowd, thinking he ought to at least check in on his three remaining siblings. Instead, his eyes landed on a young woman.

She was lovely.

Her golden hair was tied up simply, with a few stray curls falling to frame a heart shaped face. Brown eyes sat below worried, upturned brows as her full, rosy lips held a nervous smile.

She stood in a crowd of young men, the lot gathering around her like circling wolves as they vied for the attentions of their pray. The young woman looked anxious as she attempted to hold fast to decorum, her smile wavered but never completely disappeared. Benedict thought perhaps he should rescue the poor girl, but as more stragglers joined the crowd, he wondered if he even could.

Before making up his mind, he saw her address the crowd with a quick word, before turning and, as swiftly as was proper, escaping into a group of debutantes. The men seem to argue with each other as they each tried to follow. But by the time they turned to do so, they had already lost sight of her.

But Benedict hadn't, his gaze following her as she weaved her way through the crowds.

She smoothly slipped between different clusters of people, clearly trying to avoid anyone's notice. Many did catch sight of her, but she quickly moved on before they could entrap her in a conversation. Soon she made it to the wall, which she followed until she had disappeared into the same door Benedict had only just entered from. It seemed he wasn't the only one who desired the calm of the garden.

He debated for a moment if he should follow. She was clearly overwhelmed, and likely didn't want another man pestering her--not to mention unchaperoned. He came up with a few shaky reasons that were in favor of it, but he knew they weren't honest ones. In truth, it was simply that his curiosity had been peaked, and he was attempting to rationalize why it was that he should follow.

Curiosity won out in the end, and Benedict once again made his way back out into the night.

He saw her sitting on a stone bench near the door, her lilac dress flowing out around her. It wasn't one that ladies would consider currently in fashion; having an hourglass shape and a full skirt rather than the more simple, straight shape of the dresses most of the ladies inside were wearing. Still, he thought it quite suited her.

She looked as if she had lept from the frame of a painting. Her face draped in moonlight as she stared up at the sky. A tear slid down her cheek, sparkling in the pale light, and Benedict suddenly felt quite ashamed of himself. He realized he had been selfish, planning to disturb the time she clearly needed to herself. He turned, intent to leave her to her thoughts. However, the scuff of his shoes was enough to get her attention and she turned suddenly. Her eyes caught his, and for a moment he stood frozen in her gaze.

Finally, he came to his senses and addressed her, his tone apologetic.

"Forgive me, miss. I did not mean to disturb you," he said quickly. She looked confused, but soon composed herself as she turned to wipe the tears from her face.

"No need to apologize sir," she began, turning to face him with a small, reassuring smile, "I was just getting some air."

Benedict took a few, small steps forward. He waited for her to object, but when she said nothing he took a few steps more. They were shoulder to shoulder, though he left a healthy amount of space between them.

"It's all rather stifling, isn't it?" he asked. He returned her smile, and she quickly turned her gaze down, running a gloved finger over the embroidered vines that decorated the bottom of her dress.

"Certainly more so than I had expected."

"Am I correct in thinking this is your first year? I don’t recall seeing you at one of these," he gestured vaguely at the manor, "before."

She looked back up at him, searching his face for a moment. Whatever she was looking for, she apparently found it. She smiled with a degree more enthusiasm.

"That's quite a skill, recalling the face of every young lady to grace such a grand event," she joked.

"I could say it was well practiced, but the truth is I would simply be unable to forget a face as lovely as yours," he replied. He could see her cheeks flush through the cool moonlight illuminating her face.

"You give compliments with such ease. Is that skill also well practiced?" she asked as she began to regain her composure.

"I may be prone to the occasional bit of flattery, but in this case I am quite sincere." She looked away in clear embarrassment, and Benedict had to look down briefly to hide the grin forming on his face. "But I have made you uncomfortable, forgive me; I shall say no more about it." Her eyes moved back to him, "I certainly wouldn't blame you for being apprehensive under such circumstances--given what I saw in the ballroom, I imagine you've had quite enough of men and their compliments."

She looked back up at him, "You mean those gentlemen who were speaking to me earlier?"

"The same. They all seemed rather...frenzied to gain your favor."

"Yes, I suppose," she agreed, looking forlorn, "though I believe their intentions were quite different than yours."

Benedict raised an eyebrow, "Oh?" He thought a moment, "If it was not your looks that drew them, was it perhaps the allure of a large dowry? Or possibly some grand title to be inherited?" She actually laughed at that, albeit more to herself than as a sign of amusement.

"Yes, I suppose you could say that," she agreed, "though they may be disappointed; they would certainly be settling for second best. It is my elder sister's family who will inevitably inherit my father's title, and sadly for those gentlemen she has already married."

Benedict was quiet for a moment, looking over her self-effacing expression with understanding and, in spite of himself, a measured degree of affection.

He smirked, "I thought there must be some reason we get on so well; I myself happen to be a second son. Maddening, isn't it? Always feeling like the spare?"

She looked at him in surprise, before relaxing into a grateful smile.

"It certainly can be," she agreed. She hesitated a moment, before deciding to continue, "I often feel as if I don't know what to do with myself. I have always existed to be my sister's replacement, should the worst happen. Now that she is married and with child, a replacement is no longer needed. So what am I, now that I'm no longer what I was born to be?"

Benedict had to think on that for a moment. He was hardly one to advise someone in the exact predicament he found himself in. Still, he hoped he could give her some degree of comfort.

"You're free," he finally answered. She looked up at him, her eyes locking with his. They stared at each other for a long, quiet moment until at last she looked away.

"If only that were true," she said softly to herself.

At that moment, the sounds from inside grew louder. The young woman looked back into the light of the ballroom. She sighed, then looked at him with a soft smile.

"I suppose I should return; I'm sure at this point I'm quite missed," she stood, smoothing out the silken fabric of her dress. "It was a pleasure to meet you, mister…?"

"Benedict. Benedict Bridgerton," he said, bowing gracefully.

"Mister Bridgerton," she repeated, "Well Mister Bridgerton, I do look forward to speaking with you again sometime."

With that she made her way towards the door. Just as she reached the threshold, she stopped. She quickly turned back to him, "Oh, and perhaps you should wait before returning indoors--it would be unfortunate if anyone came to the wrong conclusion."

She was certainly right about that. As she turned back, a sudden thought occurred to him.

"Wait a moment--" Benedict called out suddenly, his hand raised to stop her. But it was too late, she had already disappeared into the warm light of the ballroom. "--what's your name?" He asked to no one, sighing as he turned.

He wandered over and sat on the bench she had been on only moments before. Resting his palms on the cool stone and leaning back on his arms, he couldn't help but grin. He turned his face up to the moon, hoping to meet the curious young woman again soon.

---

Benedict eventually made his way inside, thinking more than enough time had past. As he walk through the ballroom, he searched the crowd. With her nowhere in sight, he accepted that she had already gone. With nothing else to keep his interest, he eventually wandered over to where his mother, Anthony, and Kate stood.

"And just where were you?" Violet asked, annoyance clear in her voice.

"We were quite sure you had run off," Anthony added, smirking. Benedict smiled, turning his face out to the dance floor.

"Not at all brother--I was simply enjoying the ball," he replied. Anthony and his mother shared a perplexed look, but Benedict didn't notice. His thoughts were otherwise occupied.

---

The young woman took the gloved hand that was offered as she carefully stepped into the opulent, golden carriage. She delicately adjusted her skirts as the queen looked her over.

"So Beatrice, tell me--did you enjoy the ball? Was it everything you had imagined?" The queen asked, amused.

"It was certainly different than what I had expected--but I did enjoy it very much," the young woman smiled, looking back at the queen, "Thank you for agreeing to bring me along, grandmama."

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x oc #heavy lies the heart #my writing #loversatthegreatdivide

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wiliowisp · 1 year ago

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Sebastian Sallow Headcanons | Pt.3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

A/N: i promised you nsfw headcanons and they've been eating away at my brain since! as always, characters are aged up 18+, and this is just a little bit of fun!

What Sebastian is like in bed (18+ only):

➻ he is a switch through and through, but naturally bottom-leaning. sebastian enjoys sex in all its forms and will happily go with the flow; his main concern is that his partner is enjoying it, therefore he can fulfil whatever they desire. they like someone who is rough and can take charge? easy. they like someone who begs and whimpers for them? say less.

➻ his true nature unearths itself as he's about to come, though. no matter how the situation has been set up, as he gets closer to finishing he always becomes a brainless, whimpering mess. any kind of act or decorum leaves him and he's just chasing the pleasure.

➻ on that note, sebastian is vocal. he's not afraid to moan, or whine, or grunt, and he's not afraid to be loud. it comes naturally to him, even pleasuring himself, he has to exert effort to be quiet—which is part of the fun, really.

➻ further to this, he loves talking during sex. words of praise especially. if his partner likes degradation he can play the part, but he naturally leans towards mindless horny babble. "you look so good like that—fuck." "cannot believe how well you're taking my cock, just like that—ohfuckohfuckohfuck." "I'm so close, love—ngh—feels so good."

➻ he has this intoxicating quality of acting in disbelief every time he's intimate. it's like he can't quite believe how lucky he's gotten. his expression when looking at his partner is a mixture of a desire-addled haze and awe.

➻ this is where his 'bottom-leaning' side comes in. if he finds a partner that is happy to take charge, sebastian melts. when he doesn't have to think about his own pleasure, when the reins are taken out of his hands, so to speak, he turns into a raw, hot, mess.

➻ he likes having his nipples played with. he likes being called a 'good boy'. he likes being teased and edged until he's begging for it. "please, please, i wanna cum. i've been a good boy, please." he likes being pounded into the mattress until he can't think anymore. he finds it liberating.

➻ however, on the off occasion, sebastian likes doing the same to his partner. forgetting all the pre-tense and pouncing on them like an animal, bending them over and fucking them until they can't think. "merlin, you're taking me so well—just like that—mmh, so perfect."

➻ he's playful in bed too; cracking jokes, making innuendos. flirtatious until the second his partner's hand flies to his cock and every thought exits through his head like an open dam gate.

➻ his libido is also very high. after graduation when he and his partner are away from prying eyes, sex is almost a daily occurrence. from his teen years, sebastian has been one to wake up horny and go to bed horny; god help his lover who is now the subject of all those desires.

➻ all in all, sebastian is very easy with sex. he enjoys it, he finds it liberating, and most of all he loves the connection. he's devoted to his long-term partner and that devotion never strays. he wants only to please them, whatever form that may take.

(now im thinking of fleshing out my ominis headcanons and starting some garreth ones too! stay tuned!)

#willow writes #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow headcanon #sebastian sallow headcanons #sebastian sallow fanfiction #sebastian sallow fic #sebastian sallow smut #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x reader #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #hogwarts legacy fanfic

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chihoshisai · 3 months ago

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Double Arrangement

Sabo x Reader

Part 1 Part 2

cw : royalty au, strangers to lovers, arranged/political engagement, reader is royalty, sabo is cold (but will warm up over time), fem reader // wc : 2.7k // A/N : Chapter was originally 7k words but has been cut in half because I judged it too long for tumblr, so part four will be longer

Part 3

“Reduce the budget set aside for the ball, and the volume of dishes as well,” you told your elder brother. Having found your way into his office — furnished with more books than furniture, large windows and an overall navy blue color— without seeing the need of an appointment due to your familial bonds, you watched as he stopped scribbling to give you an imposing look. He seemed to give you a moment to reconsider your words and take them back had they been spoken out of folly, and though you felt intimidated by his silent pressure you maintained your ground.

After some time had passed and he conceded to your determination, he asked rather darkly. “What did you just say?”

“You heard me.”

The pen he had been holding got placed down, and his hands intertwined, signifying he now was according you his full attention. “What is your reasoning behind such a request?”

“I would like for us to take into consideration the likings of my fiance.”

He gave a rather offending scoff. “Does that include for the royal family to appear foolish as well?” His gaze on you remained sharp even while the ridicule of his words sent a puff of shame to your cheeks.

“Surely you jest.”

“Unfortunately dear sister the castle has a certain face and decorum to maintain. Surely your beloved can understand that?” He brought his chin to rest on the back of his joined hands, giving you silent instructions through his face to let the truth reach, and convince, your fiance.

You shook your head, standing your ground. “And as the trendsetter of the kingdom, we can also encourage and set a model for the nobles to follow. One that involves the decrease of abundant waste.” Your desire to appear more than a figurehead reflected not only in your immovable posture, but also through the beating of your heart, wishing to win your plea.

“It will not be easy.”

“Oh please,” you blinked to hide an eyeroll. “We all know everything is mostly for wealth display and no one ever eats that amount of food anyways. You're not powerless either and can make it happen.”

Your brother narrowed his gaze. “What is the reason behind your insistence? Is all well between you and your fiance?”

A pause occurred in which you pursed your lips, memories painting the blank canevas of your mind. “All will be if you do as I ask of you. Might I remind you, the event isn’t only about me after all.”

He sighed while shaking his head, but finally by the look of his untensing shoulders, he seemed to give in. “If we proceed, a valuable reason must be given to convince the nobles of the display.”

At the hearing of his words, you had to suppress your glee. “Say the union between royal and noble isn’t about showing off the wealth of one but balancing both on the same pedestal.”

Your brother mused on the idea for a second. “The family in question might find offense in this,” he gave as a last resort rebuttal.

You thought back on their words and ungrateful behavior towards a gift many would have appreciated and found value in. “Their problem, not mine,” you waved your hand as though their opinion was benign. “I don’t care as long as this will satisfy the one that matters.”

“Fine,” a compromising sigh heaved itself from his lips. “What more do you have in mind?”

You grinned, taking further steps towards his desk to partake in the sharing of your ideas, a slight nerve tingling down your stomach.

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

The castle busied itself beyond usual on the said morning — you were the first child to be engaged, first of the kingdom to soon administer such news to the populace. As such, it holded a rather significant meaning necessitating grand preparations, which you had personally asked to turn down a notch. As you heard the clamor and running steps of staff, the whispers of the maids, it dawned upon you that no one would criticize or point blame in your direction for holding such a downgraded ceremony. And you felt bad for your brother who shouldered the nation on his shoulders, therefore thinking of making it up to him someday.

Modesty was what you envisioned, what brought you to stroll down the gilded corridors of your mansion, towards the location of the event and to witness the fruit of your scheming. A secret meddling in which you had faith your brother would have upheld, considering he had never failed you once in the past.

It was nearing midday, a time in which preparations were nearing their end and in which your liberty lasted before the excruciating hours of bodily prepping and glamoring for the ball happened. Finding the excitement of a child, you skipped, not without proper respect, over servants and flight of stairs to reach the main floor and ultimately the ballroom.

What you saw, much in increase to the tying knot of your insides, your heart and your breathing, was… dumbfounding. Defeat was what you felt, while your eyes circled over many rows of yet to be lit chandeliers, falling from the ceiling like golden jewels when you had asked a single one to be placed in the center of the room. Horror choked you, when amidst those were encircled the signature wisteria flowers of the garden, with promises of soft fragrances throughout the night.

The worst of it all, what caused you to feel lightheaded and zydizziness, sharp and ruthless in its provoking your suppress anger, was not the amount of tables set, for they were the same as you instructed, but the lining of the nappe used. Its lace linen, far more detailed and precise, done by handy crafting skills that must have taken an eternity to unjustly paid workers, the bows attached to hang as a need for details and it's overall palette matching the golden beige of the room with subtle lilac flowers to reflect the colors cascading from overhead.

This was, truly was not what was previously agreed upon. After your eyes had analyzed the room with your chest heaving in an anxious way, they scavenged the personnel present for the traitor who had allowed this foolery.

He was there; your brother — standing further in the midst of the room, his lavish clothing allegorating his importance next to the servants he spoke with, and finding place next to the similar garments of your mother.

Seeing her, you quelled your rising anger, fearing a stern reprimand and coldly let the sounds of your heels announce your arrival.

“Sister, you're here,” your brother greeted with a well hidden guilty face.

You clenched your jaw, returning politeness through gritted teeths. “Mama. Brother.”

“How do you like it?” Your mother looked you dead in the eyes, giving you a faint smile, leaving you self-conscious of the feelings that were currently suppressing themselves inside you. She wanted without a doubt for you to feel your happiest and satisfied with things.

“It’s more detailed than I expected,” you gave her a stiff, forced smile. One that you gave whenever you felt empathetic of her feelings.

“Well of course, dear child,” she waved your remark with a shroud hand. “It is a ball, it must look as such. You wouldn't have believed the state of the room when I first got in. It looked quite drab.”

The comment landed on your heart rather bitterly and with no words left to offer, you gave a chuckle.

“Isn't it about time you went on to prepare yourself?” She pointed out, joining her hands together in a stout manner to look at your attire.

You nodded, refuting her words far from being a possibility. “Before that, could I have a word with his Majesty?” You purposefully called your brother by his title, a silent threat that had not failed to stiffen his shoulders.

“Of course, I will leave you children to it,” your mother gave a slight smile, feeling happy of the celebration no doubt, before she trailed away to further attend to the room's composition.

Once out of earshot, you shot an angry glare at your brother. “This is not what we agreed on,” you whispered viciously, tilting on your heels to face him.

He, making no attempt to show emotions on his face, returned a devoid expression by staring away from your eyes. “As you can see, mother's had a hand in it. There wasn't much I could do once it came to it.”

You pressed your joined palms until a sharp pain prevented you from losing the grip on your temper. “I came to you so this could be avoided.”

“Count yourself lucky sister, this is the best she could do with the budget restriction. And even then, for a ball thrown by the royal family it still falls under the label of simple.” He gave you a look, one that impelled you to shut it and accept facts as they were.

Yet, frustration still swelled inside you like a ripped apple, and as it spread you couldn't stop your tongue from running. “For God's sake, you're the king.” The words left as a high ushered whisper.

“And she's our mother,” he harshly spat in your face, startling you enough to recoil your neck to the back. “I did my part as best I could and you are welcomed,” he heaved a dry sigh to the side. “Now if you'll excuse me, I have a list of tasks awaiting me other than dolling myself up for hours.”

Your elder brother walked past you, exposing you to stand amidst the room, laying bare, bitter and out of options. Refusing to cast suspicion on yourself after your talk, you turned your heels away, making sure not to cause eye contact with another soul in the room and exited its vicinity.

There was nothing to be done, your brother had been right in the sense that defying your mother would be as easy as seeking immortality. Therefore, with tainted red feelings as companions, you coursed through the palace, your expression grim all the way to your room. Your sole consolation was, perhaps with enough convincing, that Sabo would come to believe you if you claimed to have arranged for things to be otherwise.

If your words were your consolation, you realized, as the door of your chambers trapped you inside with its closing, that you still retained power — no one could enforce an attire on you. Not your brother, nor your mother who had, after many years of proven worth, allowed you the choosing of your gowns at your own discretion.

As such, when your lady-in-waiting and maids came to fuss over you upon your entering, a smile had found its way on your face.

But not for long — many times in the past, ever since the first crack of dawn broke through the sky, punctual in its glowing duty, you had been forced, dragged, entailed to sit through a full prepping routine. This time was no different, if only for the hour of the day. By prepping we’re talking massages, haircare and skincare. Every inch of your body, from the thinnest strands of hair to the nails of your toes was touched, handled, with attention and care meticulously..

If not for your position requiring for you to be handheld, like the nurturing of a garden by others since birth, you probably would have felt overstimulated — there was no need for you to lift a finger, as you let yourself lay about, giving idle thanks to the perhaps honest compliment of your staff. This time, the endless routine was what bothered you more than feeling the dry, moist or damp hands of your selected personnel. Laying down for a facemask while a pedicure was being done, bathing in a rose and citrus scented bath, sitting for a scalp massage; it never ended nor did you see its necessity. Rather you doubted it, shuddering at mental images you formed of Sabo had you the willpower to tell him of your day. For that reason, it would undoubtedly remain as a hidden fact, even if he did suspect how much water, products and whatnot was used, lost, wasted.

You couldn't hide the results of the ballroom, but your own self-care was different.

By the time the ginger colors of dusk warmly embraced your room, a reminder to the time to come, you stood; detailed undergarments on your shoulders awaiting for the final piece of clothing to be brought.

“Are you sure about this dress, your highness?” One of your maids asked, holding the item in question in a way that revealed its full length. A satin pastel lilac ankle length dress, detailed with short puff sleeves and golden flower embroidery on its core. It was a simple dress, one that wouldn't entice a second look your way. One unfit for a ball, let alone royalty.

“Yes. Put it on me please,” you had, with Sabo's taste in mind, chosen it for its modest aspect. And to your eyes, it didn't fail to strike you as pretty. In fact it would, were it worn for another occasion.

Your maid did as ordered ; slipping the fabric with ease on your body, attaching a simple white pearl necklace decorated with a metallic golden bow, placing similarly colored Huggies earrings and a brooch attached to the side of your hair.

After the fitting of lilac heels, your prepping had come to an end, much to your relief and the fragrant way in which your muscles relaxed under your skin despite your growing anxiety. You stood in front of your mirror, turning only your neck to scrutinize the final result — the impersonating of a lowly born noble daughter at best was the image exuded.

However, it didn't register as such to your mind, instead thinking whether the golden embroidery might have been a notch too much and would displease Sabo. Worse have him criticize your taste. Lost in your musing, you ignored the subtle silent fretting of your maids that lined up in a corner of the room, frankly aware that your current attire far from undermined all you had ever worn.

What came to interrupt your moment, was the knocking on your door. You turned your head momentarily from the mirror, feeling the beat of your heart increase for you knew who stood behind it. “Come,” you commanded loudly.

Seeing your mother enter, you returned your attention to the mirror, her silence broken only by the clacking sound of her heels. Your years of experience told you that the longer it lasted, the angrier she was or worse, the backlash would be.

She circled you like a hawk, her eyes piercing layers of thick skins, edging you to falter. “Is this your way of opposing this mariage?” She asked, having stopped to stand on your left, her gaze ever so burning you.

“I would never dare do such a thing,” you kept your look straight, staring only at yourself in the mirror.

“Frugality has no such place at a ball,” her words, uttered dryly, seemed to have dried along the air entering and exuding from your lungs.

“Call it simplicity, mama.”

She surprised you, only enough to compel you to look at her from the mirror, by scoffing at your claim. “Simplicity? I will not let you embarrass yourself,” she spoke sternly.

At this, having not found her support, you broke free from the spell of the mirror to face her. “What else can they do but gossip? Let them if they want to,” you spoke briefly of the guests without care. “Is this ball not in honor of my engagement mother? I at least wish to wear what I want,” your chest heaved from the air it had finally found.

“How stubborn you have grown,” she looked you up and down rather pitifully. “Yet still remains a child,” she looked away to step aside to face the servants. “Mount her hair in an updo with more accessories.”

“Mama—”

“It is a command,” she gravely looked at you, much to shroud the voice in your throat. “Add braids to her hair, perhaps it will help salvage the mess,” she ordered towards the staff, before giving you a last look. “Let lessons be learned tonight if necessary.”

This time, she excused herself completely from the room, the closing of the door resonating like the drums of insecurity that roused deep from your stomach. There was no doubt you had disappointed her, and yet, maybe out of pity or mercy, she had let you do as you pleased; not forcing you to change out your gown. You stared at the door, dreading what would await you beyond its path following the first objective reaction you had received.

“Princess, we must do your hair by order of the Queen Dowager,” one of your servants politely asked of you.

You nodded, with no better choice but to obey.

Part 4

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