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uozlulu · 1 year ago

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Fic. IwtV AMC. Swallow My Fang at Night Island. Human AU. Explicit.

Character(s)/Relationship(s) Alice, Armand, Daniel, Daniel's daughters, Lestat, Louis, Marius; Devil's Minion, Loustat(background) Genre Alternate Universe/Drama/Romance Rating Explicit Word Count 12,318 Disclaimer As this is fanfiction, I do not hold copyright to the source material(s) nor do I claim that I do. This is for free entertainment purposes only. Summary Human AU. It's the dawn of a new millennium. Daniel is newly divorced, almost fifty, and dealing with his daughters' troubles at school. Armand is one of his daughter's teachers. The instant they meet, Armand decides Daniel will be his and Daniel finds himself equally intrigued despite his better judgement. Warning(s) language, alcohol, workplace homophobia, mention of masturbation, food consumption, sex Notes Saw an ask on Tumblr about how Zaman has high school teacher vibes and someone in the reblogs was like “Someone should write an AU where Armand is a high school teacher at the school Daniel’s daughters go to,” and my brain just went “I volunteer!” and immediately began flinging plot points and pretty much the entire AU at me. Since we don’t have any canon anything about the daughters, I just decided to continue using my concept of them until I stand corrected. While I was watching the show I for some reason came under the impression that Alice is the first wife but not the girls’ mom (can’t remember why I thought this, but it was before my brain went “What if Alice is Armand?”) but for this fic, Alice is the girls’ mom. Decided to make Daniel about a year older than he probably is in show canon so then I could set this during the 2000 – 2001 school year instead of the 2001 – 2002 school year for obvious reasons. That said, I have never been to NYC so apologies in advance if I get some nuance wrong. As you might suspect, my greatest writing weakness are my titles. This one will make sense in due course.

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Swallow My Fang at Night Island

The new millennium was not even a year old. It was almost nineteen years since Daniel Molloy started down the path to giving up illegal drugs. It was fourth months since his twenty-year marriage ended. He had a weekly political column in syndication and he was on the first draft of his fourth book. Both of his daughters were now in the same private high school. It was one week into the new school year and Daniel was on his eighth parent-teacher meeting of the afternoon. His ex, Alice, was the secretary to one of the busiest and most powerful lawyers in the city, so he had to attend alone.

Daniel settled onto a small stool in front of the French teacher’s desk. Louis de Point du Lac was young and striking. An LSU alumni calendar sat atop his desk. He stared at Daniel through his lashes and then reached into his desk drawer. He placed a half-empty pack of cigarettes on top of his desk.

“Shit,” Daniel murmured.

“Luckily Mandy just turned eighteen or this would be an instant expulsion,” Louis said. “Unfortunately, there is a three day suspension.”

Daniel stared at the pack a long moment. He was fifteen when he took up smoking decades ago and forty-five when he finally managed to quit. He suspected this was not a new habit for his older daughter. His lips drew into a fine line. When he was not writing a book, he researched the next and barely at home. During the trial separation over the last two years, he only really saw his daughters on holidays. He had not noticed a thing.

Louis leaned closer and spoke in a low voice, “Or it would be, if I reported it.”

Daniel’s gaze returned to him.

“My sister Claudia is good friends with Mandy. She told me about the divorce. We also have a new headmistress who over-reacts to imperfection, so it’s best she not get involved.” Louis pulled a printout from a stack on his desk and handed it to Daniel. It was entirely in French. “I want Mandy to turn in a five-page paper by Friday and to think before she brings these to school again. Alright?”

“Yeah,” Daniel said. “Does she know about this?”

“She knows there will be consequences,” Louis said. “I wanted her to sweat it out today.”

There was a knock at the door and then the choir director breezed into the room as if accompanied by his own theme music. Lestat was a little older than Louis was and his hair always looked as perfect as he strove to make his choirs. “Louis, I need your attention on an important matter.”

Daniel immediately rose from the stool and slipped the cigarettes into his pocket. “Anything else?”

“That’s all,” Louis said. He stood. “Thanks for coming in.”

“It is not all for me,” Lestat said as his gaze fell on Daniel. “Your eldest daughter has been ignoring my advice again. Her voice keeps deteriorating. If she cannot give up her vices, I will have to cast another girl as Christine in the musical. I do not wish to do this since my next option is a little shrill on the high notes.”

“I can imagine. I’m sure Mandy knows,” Daniel said.

“Then she must follow my advice,” Lestat said. “Her antics jeopardize our position as national choir champions this spring as well.”

Daniel nodded. “I’ve got another meeting.” He waved to both Louis and Lestat before heading down the hallway. He sighed to himself and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his free hand. Mandy might have two teachers disappointed in her, but his younger daughter, Jess, had at least six of hers disappointed and he highly suspected her seventh teacher would be too. Daniel was not looking forward to the trip back to Alice’s apartment after meeting with him.

Armand taught English, Community theater, and Drama at the same private school where Louis and Lestat worked. Normally he would have left work by now, but he had a meeting with a parent first. He stood in the middle of his classroom and placed a hand on his heart as he spoke his monologue in his head. He stepped from desk chair to desk chair that impeded his blocking and easily dropped down to a different aisle. He finished his monologue and looked at the clock.

Someone knocked at the classroom door. Armand returned to his desk and faced the door. “Enter.”

Immediately the door opened and the world seemed to pause as Daniel entered the classroom. Gray hair created tiny paths through dark curls. His eyes were almost a violet shade of blue. Armand saw Daniel so many times in their borough and even now, Armand could not look away as he finally put a name to his face. “Are you Mr. Molloy?”

Daniel seemed to return to the classroom from his own thoughts. He licked his lips and then entered the room, letting the door quietly close behind him. “Yeah.” He cleared his throat and his voice became stronger, “You must be Mr. Armand.”

Armand’s eyes lingered a moment longer. “That’s what the students call me. To everyone else, I’m simply Armand.” He retrieved a stack of assignments from his desk and crossed the room. He offered Daniel his hand, never once breaking eye contact.

Daniel took the hand, his grip firm, warm, and electric. “No last name?”

“Most can’t pronounce it,” Armand said. He let go of Daniel’s hand slowly. “These are your daughter’s assignments from last week.” He handed the papers to Daniel, letting their fingers brush in the exchange.

The tips of Daniel’s ears seemed to turn red, but the blush faded as he looked through the papers and his frown grew. “Jess didn’t finish any of these. She didn’t even do half of them.”

“I heard from her other teachers this is a habit,” Armand said as he moved even closer. “If this continues, she’ll have to leave the school.”

Daniel sighed. “She’s even like this in art class. She draws all the time. Just not what the teacher wanted.”

“She’s on top of the reading and a leader in discussions,” Armand said, “but she also seems distracted.”

Daniel shifted his weight and almost bumped into Armand. Armand did not move. Daniel added Jess’ assignments to the ones already waiting for her in his laptop bag. He kept Mandy’s assignment in his hand. “I’ll talk to her about it.” Daniel looked at Armand then immediately averted his gaze as if searching the room for anything else to look at. His eyes settled on a few framed photos on the wall behind Armand’s desk.

“That’s my theater troupe,” Armand said, his voice practically in Daniel’s ear. “We perform at the community theater on Saturdays evenings, and then celebrate at the club afterwards.”

“Seems lively,” Daniel murmured.

“You should take in a show sometime. Sit in the front row. I’ll look for you,” Armand said.

Daniel’s gaze returned to him, almost skeptical. “I’ll think about it.”

Armand smiled and guided Daniel to the door with a hand on his back. “I look forward to it.” He felt a small shiver traverse Daniel’s body at the whisper in his ear.

Once Daniel left, Armand gathered his things and went headed to the community theater for rehearsal.

Alice and the girls still lived in the three-bedroom condominium that Daniel shared with them until he separated from Alice. The original custody arrangement went out the window when Jess’ teachers called asking for meetings and it turned to ash when Louis called looking to talk about contraband. Daniel let the girls into the apartment with the key he kept for emergencies. There was no sign of Alice yet. He would stay with the girls until she arrived home.

“Why are you even babysitting us?” Mandy asked. “It’s not like you cared to before.”

“It’s not babysitting. I’m your dad,” Daniel said. He put Mandy’s cell phone in a high cabinet in the kitchen that Alice used as a time out space for electronics. Mandy and Jess’ Discmen were already there. “And I wouldn’t have to be here after school if the two of you were responsible enough to be home alone.”

Mandy sighed and rolled her eyes before escaping to her room to do her homework.

“Can we put Cartoon Network on while we work?” Jess emptied her book bag onto the dining table, adding to the pile of unfinished assignments Daniel set there.

“No,” Daniel said. “Sit. You’re going to do your homework and I’m going to write.” He set his laptop bag on the chair Alice normally used at the table before sitting in his former seat beside it.

Jess sighed and resigned herself to her fate.

A long time later, Alice opened the door and called out, “Hi!” After hugging the girls, she asked them to finish studying in their rooms while she spoke with Daniel. Jess eagerly gathered her things and escaped to freedom while Mandy simply nodded and returned to her room.

Daniel followed Alice into the kitchen. She retrieved two wine glasses, sighed, and looked at him. “How’d it go?”

Daniel accepted the wine she poured him. “Jess actually hasn’t done a complete assignment all week. Mandy had cigarettes in her purse. I put Mandy’s phone in the cabinet.”

“Fuck,” Alice hissed. “Isn’t the counseling we’re going to supposed to help this?”

“It didn’t prevent us from getting divorced,” Daniel said.

“Neither of us are straight enough to make it to our golden anniversary. You know that.” Alice sipped her wine.

Daniel decided not to comment and sipped his wine.

Alice sighed. “Sorry. This is probably cramping your dating life.”

“I’m committed to my book right now,” Daniel said. “There is no dating life.”

“That’s no fun,” Alice said. “You need to get out there. It’s not like you’re going to meet someone at work like I did.” She started poking about the freezer. “Are you staying for dinner?”

“No,” Daniel said. “The girls have to keep getting used to this reality, right?” He finished his wine and retrieved his things. “I’ll say goodbye to the girls and head home. See you tomorrow.”

“Alright,” Alice said. “Be careful.”

Daniel nodded and took his leave.

Armand noticed Daniel’s new schedule immediately. The first time he saw Daniel walking home at night after their meeting at school, Armand watched but continued on his way. The second time, he followed Daniel and discovered Daniel lived a block away from Armand’s apartment complex. The third time, Armand settled at Daniel’s side while waiting for the crosswalk light to change. .

The night was cool and the moon hung low on the horizon. Daniel had his hands in his pockets and an arm over the laptop bag strapped to his body. Armand shifted his weight so their arms bumped against one another.

Daniel’s gaze shifted to Armand. Annoyance immediately changed to something much nicer.

“Good evening, Mr. Molloy.” Armand met his gaze.

Daniel stared a long moment and then seemed to shake his head to himself. The people in front of them started to cross the street and they followed. “You can call me Daniel. Otherwise it feels like some kind of 50’s sitcom.”

Armand continued to watch Daniel, managing to avoid any obstacle in his path from all his years onstage. He knew the borough well enough to know exactly where they were at any given moment. He casually nodded towards the other side of the street where people stood in line to get into one of the local clubs. “Have you ever been to Night Island?”

“No.” Daniel looked over at the line and neon palm trees at the door. “Is it good?”

“There’s no dress code. Everyone is welcome.” Armand moved close enough his voice stayed between them, “The Saturday before Halloween is their best night. Everyone goes in costume.”

Daniel glanced back at Night Island. His brain seemed to spin behind his gaze. His attention returned to the sidewalk in front of them and then back to Armand. “So you like costumes and theatrics?”

“I like many things,” Armand said with a small, almost predatory smile, which only grew at when Daniel seemed to swallow. He touched Daniel’s arm and felt him shiver. “This is where I leave. Let’s find each other again.” He slipped away and headed to his apartment complex. He felt Daniel’s gaze on him until he disappeared into the building.

The new routine was easy to adapt to for Daniel. On weekdays, he woke early, had breakfast, wrote until his stomach could not take it anymore, had lunch, did other things, and then kept track of the girls after school until Alice returned home at night. On Friday nights, he took the girls home with him to his two-bedroom apartment. On Saturdays, they found fun things to do and he took a break from writing. By Saturday night, the girls were back with Alice so they could go to church on Sundays. Daniel devoted his Sundays to research for his next article. Mandy was still smoking, but smarter about where she kept her cigarettes. Jess managed to complete her assignments well enough to avoid expulsion. Daniel made more progress on his book. It was routine. It was monotonous. It lent well to writing.

Saturday evening arrived again. The girls returned to Alice. Daniel stared at himself a long time in the bathroom mirror, thinking about the club Armand pointed out to him earlier that week. Daniel twirled a gray curl around his finger. He grasped the slight sag of skin at his chin and wiggled it. He wore all black. No matter how he ran his fingers through his hair, no matter which shirt he wore, he still looked like a dad picking his kid up from the club instead of someone who belonged on the dancefloor. He sighed. Alice and his editor echoed in his ears. It was time for him to do something other than watch CNN or fall asleep to a late movie on a Saturday night. Daniel made up his mind and headed out on the town.

Night Island was one of the most popular clubs in the city and Saturday night was its most popular night. Daniel finally made it through the ridiculously long line to the bouncer. True to Armand’s word, there were few entry restrictions, and Daniel immediately stepped into the club. There were people covered from head to toe in clothing and others with their asses almost completely exposed. Glow sticks waved in the air. There was a bar to Daniel’s left and a DJ to his right, a crowd of dancers packing the floor between them. Tables spread across a glass floor above him. The club seemed incredibly dark but colorful lights beat to the music, illuminating everything with each flash. Daniel stuck to the edges of the dancefloor, observing what he could. The music was so different from the last time he went to a club in the 70’s and charged forward as if a torrent sand could just swallow everyone whole.

Daniel saw glowing orange eyes in the crowd. He stopped in his tracks. The eyes drew near and Armand seemingly materialized as a vision of white with only the middle button of his shirt still fastened. Gel tamed his dark waves that hung in his eyes at the school. His neon gaze pierced through the darkness that tried to swallow him between pulses of light. Daniel did not realize he stopped breathing until he found himself coughing for air. He closed his eyes and caught his breath. A hand rested on his back.

“Do you like the contacts?” Armand asked. “They glow in the dark.”

Daniel said, “Yeah,” before he could think better of it.

Armand stepped back and held out his hand when Daniel recovered. “Come with me, Daniel.”

Daniel’s heart beat a little faster. He took Armand’s hand without hesitance and Armand pulled him into the dancing mob. Music pulsed. Bodies shook and undulated all around them. Sweat dripped. Lights flashed. Daniel and Armand never let go of one another, their hands roaming, preventing the crowd from swelling between them. The music drove them even closer. Daniel leaned upwards, his lips just centimeters from Armand’s lips and then abruptly pulled away.

Armand grasped Daniel’s hand before the crowd could swallow Daniel. The music changed to a staccato beat as a soft voice crooned about loneliness. Daniel did not move. Armand moved closer and closer until their lips almost touched. He took Daniel’s bottom lip between his teeth and bit down teasingly before pulling back and releasing Daniel’s hand.

The crowd filled the space between them. Daniel lost sight of Armand’s orange gaze. Others pulled him into dancing with them as he slowly wove his way to the outskirts of the dance floor. He caught his breath and got a drink. He could still feel Armand’s body in his hands and Armand’s hands on his body. He could not stop thinking about Armand’s teeth. He almost returned to the dancefloor, but he decided to go home instead.

It was a new millennium but unfortunately still like the previous one. Armand sat through the staff meeting with his face completely blank, his eyes barely blinking as the new headmistress, Akasha, explained her vision. He heard her reasoning so many times from so many mouths. To make a better school, anything deemed a subversion had no place as if a snap of the finger could make a person disappear in flame. Armand had no patience for people who believed everyone had a little switch in their brain that could erase their true natures.

His mind wandered. He could still fell Daniel’s hands on his body. He could still feel Daniel’s lip between his teeth. Armand’s gaze shifted to Louis beside him. Louis’ could not hide his frown or the furrow between his eyebrows. Armand’s gaze shifted to Lestat across from them at the other end of the long table. Lestat sat perfectly straight. His nostrils seemed flared. It was a change from Lestat’s typical meeting posture where Armand could practically hear lyrics from operas and classic musicals projecting from Lestat’s mind as he drowned in boredom.

The headmistress finished her proclamation and dismissed them. Louis and Lestat left separately as they always did, though the staff knew they were roommates together with Louis’ youngest sister Claudia. Armand, however, knew the truth that Louis and Lestat were partners and Claudia was an orphan they took in when they found her living on the street soon after moving in together. Armand followed Louis out of the building since neither of them had anything to retrieve from their classrooms. Louis lived near the community theater. They met long ago when Louis came to one of their shows after moving to New York.

“This truly is the age of the paranoid,” Louis said, his accent thick with annoyance and rage as his hands became fists. “They want the government out of their lives and ass deep in ours. All it took was someone seeing Fareed and Seth at Pride over the summer when school wasn’t even in session and now Fareed’s gone. It’s not their fault some homophobic asshole took their kid to their counter-protest. If you don’t want your kids to see Pride, don’t take them to Pride. Jesus.”

Armand said nothing.

“I moved here to get away from this bullshit. I only ever took Claudia to New Orleans once because of this kind of bullshit.” Louis’ fists began to relax. His gaze turned to Armand and sighed. “What are you going to do? Aren’t you still trying to fuck that journalist?”

A cool breeze ruffled Armand’s hair. “Trying implies I’m not going to do it. I have every intention of doing that and more.”

Louis laughed despite the gravity of their situation. “Well, your determination worked on me.”

“Until Lestat returned,” Armand said.

“You broke up with me and Lestat was the right person at the right time.” Louis stepped aside to head to his apartment. “I’ve got stuff to grade. See you tomorrow.”

Armand held up his hand in a small wave and headed on his way to the community theater for rehearsal.

It was Wednesday, but Daniel’s mind was still back on Saturday as he left Alice’s apartment. Conflicting thoughts swirled within him. He should have tried to find Armand again after his drink, but that did not mean Armand might have danced with him again. He should have kissed Armand after Armand bit him, but this could be some big joke at Daniel’s expense. Armand was an actor. His troupe was part of the New York community theater scene for over a decade now. Armand must be good at it.

Daniel sighed and noticed Armand walking jus up ahead. Armand’s jacket was white and accentuated his little dark curls resting against the edge of the collar. Daniel followed the lines of the jacket downward as if following guidelines pointing directly at Armand’s ass in jeans that seemed to cling to every curve. Daniel licked his lips and shook his head to clear it.

The crosswalk lights changed and traffic surged at the intersection. Daniel stopped at Armand’s side. It was not intentional but he did not want to avoid Armand either.

Armand looked over at him. His eyes were dark and just as alluring as the way his contacts glowed at the club. Armand moved almost imperceptibly closer as if he could not help but be in Daniel’s personal space. “Are you going to Night Island this weekend?”

Daniel frowned a little. “I’ve got this book I’ve got to work on. I can’t just run off to the club every weekend.”

Armand nodded. He barely rested his arm against Daniel’s arm. “The best night at Night Island is the Saturday before Halloween. Everyone arrives in costume. You shouldn’t miss that one.”

It was not the first time Armand mentioned the Halloween night at the club. Daniel tried to imagine what costume he could possibly find that would not make him look like a school chaperone. He suspected Armand’s costume would be something to behold and well worth the entrance free. “I’ll think about it.”

The light changed and they continued walking together. “You won’t be disappointed,” Armand said. He leaned closer and whispered, “No matter what you wear, I won’t be disappointed either.” Then he headed to his apartment complex nearby.

Daniel sighed long and low before continuing on his way home. He should not go to Night Island again. He wanted to go to Night Island again. He still had time to decide.

It was Sunday a week after Armand saw Daniel at the club. Armand browsed through the local library branch’s shelves, picking plays in the public domain. His theater troupe enjoyed taking familiar tales and twisting them, filling them with more horror, blood, and gore than their creators ever intended there to be. As Armand emerged from the non-fiction section, he spied Daniel sitting at a table surrounded by newspapers, magazines, and books. Daniel scribbled in a yellow notepad, his attention completely focused on his task.

Armand could still feel Daniel’s hands across his body. He could still remember Daniel’s shiver when Armand grabbed his ass. Armand’s stomach tightened. He wanted to do more than teasingly bite Daniel’s lip, but unfortunately, they were at the library and not Night Island. Armand glanced around him. There was no one in the immediate area. He could hear a reference librarian around a corner typing away on their computer.

Armand walked over to the table, set his books in an empty spot, and sat down in the seat diagonally across from Daniel as if there were not three empty study tables in view. Armand plucked the first book off his stack and began to speed read. He was completely through Oedipus Rex and half way through Antigone when he heard a surprised noise from the other side of the table. Armand paused and looked over the book at Daniel.

“What are you doing here?” Daniel whispered.

“Reading,” Armand whispered.

“I can see that. I mean,” Daniel paused. “I’m trying to work here. I’ve got an article due mid-week.”

“Am I disturbing your work?” Armand did not lower his book or look away from Daniel.

Daniel opened his mouth and closed it. His mind seemed to spin in internal debate. “No.” It was an obvious lie.

Armand smiled slightly, the way he might onstage as a vampire to allow the audience a glimpse of his fangs. “Then it shouldn’t be a problem.”

Daniel ran his tongue along his teeth. “It shouldn’t,” he murmured unconvincingly and after a while, returned to his reading. Slowly his leg rested against Armand’s leg as Daniel kept making notes and his stack of things to read grew shorter than the stack of things he read.

Armand moved his leg so the side of his leg pressed firmly against the side of Daniel’s leg and continued reading his plays. Armand almost finished his stack of books when Daniel stood up and gathered his materials. “I’ve got to look at some microfiche. I’ll see you around.”

Armand nodded and watched Daniel disappear towards the research section of the library. His leg still felt warm where Daniel’s leg once rested against it, but also seemed to chill in Daniel’s absence. Armand ran his fingers along the cover of the book in his hand. He needed to get Daniel back to Night Island. He needed to get Daniel alone.

The nights grew colder. Pumpkins, witches, and ghosts decorated the city. Daniel listened at the dining table to Jess talk excitedly about Halloween next week while Mandy was less enthusiastic. The girls would have some friends over for a party and a horror movie mini-marathon. Jess already had an entire costume assembled, but Mandy would just wear a headband with cat ears on it. When Daniel left that night, all the talk of Halloween stayed with him and he found himself taking a detour. He stepped into a local shop that boasted a large costume selection. Daniel ignored the full body costumes and found the accessory section. After scanning it, his eyes settled on vampire fangs. There were so many to choose from in all kinds of sizes and styles. He gravitated to the ones that were more like caps than retainers. The caps came with a solution that would help set them in place temporarily for the night. He could wear them next week at the party for a laugh. He could also wear them on Saturday if he went to Night Island again.

Daniel paid for his purchase and left the store. It was a few weeks since his first foray to the club. He still thought he should not go back. He should probably find somewhere other older people went to regroup after divorce, but Armand would not be there. Somehow, that seemed like a loss.

As if summoned, Armand easily fell into step beside Daniel. Daniel glanced at him. “You’re here again.”

Armand did not seem to blink. “It’s a small borough.”

“And a giant city.” Daniel looked at the people they passed. He breathed the night air deeply and could no longer deny the words he should have said at the library if not possibly in the classroom well before Night Island. “I’m turning fifty this year. I’m probably twice your age. You should focus on someone else.”

“I’m thirty,” Armand said, “and your age doesn’t bother me.”

“I’m still old enough to be your dad,” Daniel said.

“My father would be sixty-seven this year. People your age don’t read as fathers to me.” Armand paused. “Do you feel fatherly towards me?”

“No,” Daniel answered despite himself, but it was the truth. “Definitely not.”

“Then it’s not a problem,” Armand said as if everything was just that simple.

Daniel doubted it was.

Before Daniel could say anything, Armand led them to the entrance to his apartment so they could continue talking out of the way of the sidewalk traffic. “Come to Night Island again this Saturday. Join our Halloween reverie. See what you really want.”

Daniel studied Armand a long moment. They stood so close to each other. Maybe too close. Daniel did not move away. “What makes you think I don’t already know what I want?”

“Come and see,” Armand said. He disappeared into his building without actually answering the question.

Daniel pressed his lips together and shook his head. He returned to his apartment. The fangs in his shopping bag were proof enough he already intended to go no matter what he told himself.

The community theater was always hot no matter the time of year. Sweat dripped from Armand’s face as he took his bows and surveyed the first row of seats. The audience applauded and hollered about the troupe’s latest play full of blood and horror. Again, Armand did not see Daniel sitting in any of the seats. He did not expect to, but he always looked. The troupe took a final bow and made their way backstage where they cleaned up, exchanged stage costumes for Halloween costumes, and left for Night Island.

Club goers filled Night Island in their Halloween best and laziest. There were several mummies with their wrappings unraveled in a provocative manner. Neon, silver, and gold sparkled across aliens. Armand saw almost every single anime character some of his students drew in their sketchbooks after finishing their tests. The DJ spoke into the mic in an intense, excited call, “It’s time for a r – r – retro rewind!” Cheers and groans passed through the crowd. Trumpets began to play and the singer rejoiced at coming out in a song from twenty years ago. Familiar curls caught Armand’s gaze as he found Daniel standing just out of reach of the dancefloor.

Daniel wore a shirt the same indigo as his eyes and his curls were out of place. When he spotted Armand, his gaze traversed Armand’s body, taking in his slicked hair, velvet outfit, and tights before lingering on the fake blood splattered across Armand’s face and the stage fangs in Armand’s mouth. Daniel laughed, exposing his own, cheaper fangs once Armand was close enough to hear him. “Great minds, huh?”

Careful of the long fake nails on his fingertips, Armand adjusted Daniel’s curls so they accentuated the curves of his face. “You look like a new vampire. Eager for blood.”

Daniel froze under Armand’s touch and only spoke when Armand withdrew his hand. “You look like a painting.”

“Botticelli?” Armand asked. It was one of the most common compliments from his youth especially when he was still a doe eyed teenager.

“Goya,” Daniel said. “That guy with all the creepy paintings in his estate. You look like you’re going to bite someone, like some giant vampire insect.”

Armand flashed his fangs again. They were custom made for his mouth so the retainer would rest comfortably for long plays. “I could bite you.”

Daniel swallowed and ran a tongue along his teeth, his eyes still fixed on Armand’s fangs. “You…could.”

Armand pulled Daniel onto the dancefloor. The song changed, its beat driving, yearning. The crowd sang with the lyrics. Armand and Daniel grabbed onto each other. The songs kept changing. The lights kept flashed. The crowd roared. Armand and Daniel kept dancing. The next song slowed it all down. Some on the dance floor left to get drinks and take breaks. Armand pulled Daniel closer. The beat seemed to pulse throughout the room. The backs of Armand’s fake nails slid down Daniel’s face. Daniel did not pull away. Their eyes lowered.They kissed. Their bodies pressed against one another. Armand’s hands slid down Daniel’s back. Daniel’s fingers tangled in Armand’s hair. Their lips parted. Their tongues slid against one another. Armand’s hands slipped under Daniel’s shirt and his fake nails left marks. Their hips ground against each other.

The song shifted. The crowd shifted. People bumped into them. A careless elbow knocked into Armand’s back. Daniel stepped back. The crowd surged and separated them.

Armand frowned and maneuvered through the bodies. No matter how he searched or where he looked, he did not see Daniel. He slipped away from the dance floor and found his theater troupe gathered at one of the tables on the floor above. Santiago passed him a glass. Armand let the cold liquid slide down his throat. He could not see Daniel anywhere from their perch. He slowly let his body calm and his tights stopped feeling so tight. He gazed at the dancers under the glass floor. He had been seconds from dragging Daniel off the dancefloor. He did not know when the opportunity would arrive again.

When the crowd swept Daniel away, he moved through them like a small boat out to sea. He escaped out a side exit and breathed the cold night air deeply. He stared up at the sky. The city lights choked out any stars. There was no moon. Daniel was hard. He was both hot and cold. He was sweaty. His entire mouth would never be the same again. He no longer had one of his fangs. He wanted Armand. He wanted all of him. Every thought just made his pants feel even tighter and his heart thump stronger in his chest. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” He took a few deep breaths and tried to focus on the cold and the noise from the club and the city around him. He should go back in there. He should go home. He wanted to kiss Armand again. He wanted a drink. He wanted to fuck Armand. He wanted to calm down.

Someone barreled out the door and threw up on the trash bags near Daniel. The smell and sight were more than enough to dispel Daniel’s thoughts and cause him to soften. He grabbed the door before it closed and stepped back into the club to grab his coat. He decided to head home and take a long shower where he could stroke off his desires as the spray muffled his moans.

It was a week after Halloween at the club. Armand stepped out of his apartment to head to the community theater. It was barely into November and already Christmas assaulted Armand’s senses. Luckily, he no longer had to listen to the same songs for hours a day almost every day for two months anymore. He had not seen Daniel since Night Island. He could still remember how close he was to pulling Daniel away from the dancefloor, how close he was to doing something about the energy coursing through them. He tried not to think about swallowing a fake vampire cap at one point so it would not ruin the moment.

Armand cleared his mind and it soon filled with lines and blocking only to completely empty moments later.

Daniel approached on the other side of the sidewalk. He wore a dark suit, white shirt, and a blue tie that matched his eyes. His curls fluttered as he rushed, his mind on the small cellphone in his hand rather than the people around him. “I just got back from my interview with CNN. I know she’s being an ass. She’s eighteen. You’re dating her mom. Think about it.”

Armand slowly turned and followed Daniel at enough distance to hear but not close enough for Daniel to notice.

“I’m almost home. Yes, I know I owe you,” Daniel said goodbye and ended the call. He slipped the phone into the pocket of his coat and hurried into his apartment complex without a spare thought to anyone around him let alone Armand.

Armand lingered a moment and then headed to the community theater. He had no cable access at his apartment. He was not sure who might be able to tape Daniel’s appearance let alone if Daniel’s appearance already aired. He sighed and let his lines and blocking return to his mind. It would be show time before he knew it.

It was two weeks before Thanksgiving break. Daniel still was not sure what he was doing for it. The tentative plan was for the girls, Alice, Alice’s girlfriend, and Daniel to take the meal together at some point, but Alice and her girlfriend did not know what they were doing that week yet either. Most of the time their practice worked through the entire break except the holiday, but on occasion there were things to do then too. Daniel put his hands in his pockets as he walked through the borough to clear his mind from his work. He had not seen Armand since just before Halloween. Daniel wondered if Armand was avoiding him. It would be within Armand’s right after Daniel intentionally avoided him for a week after Halloween at the club so he could clear his head.

Daniel sighed and his breath made clouds around him. He wanted to get as much work done on his book before the girls went on winter break next month, but there was only so much writing he could do before his brain had too much of it.

Loud singing approaching from a nearby street drew Daniel’s attention. A group of people dressed in various shades of black, red, and white appeared. They quieted a moment and then Armand’s voice rose above the rest, leading his troupe in the final bars of the song.

Daniel’s stomach tightened. He found himself following the troupe instead of turning down the street that would send him back to his apartment. The troupe did not notice him at all. Daniel was now just one of several people heading in the direction of Night Island.

Armand had gel in his hair again and he wore the white jacket that showed off his ass. The troupe headed to the line forming nearby. Daniel looked down the line at the familiar neon trees welcoming everyone to Night Island. He bit his lip and hesitated. He wore a sweater that was likely older than the troupe members. His jeans had a few holes in them. His hair was a mess and he really did need to return to his book.

His gaze lingered on Armand. He licked his lips. The line to Night Island continued to grow. Daniel could join it. He could find Armand on the dancefloor. Maybe stay for just one song. For what? To make out? To make a fool of himself? To end up half-naked in the club restroom?

Daniel sighed and watched his breath appear and disappear around him. He headed back to his apartment.

It was almost the end of November and Armand had not spoken to Daniel since Halloween at Night Island. He suspected Daniel was avoiding him, but Armand was so busy with the school musical now that he could no longer be certain Daniel would still be at it.

The school musical this year was Phantom of the Opera. Armand chose the stage crew while Lestat ran the actual show and chose the entire cast. The girl playing Christine had a slightly shrill voice and every time she sang, Lestat’s nose wrinkled in horrible disfigurement. Armand watched the musical from the wings. The stage manager scurried around like a rodent. The crew did their best with each assigned job. The cast managed to do the best job a group of high schoolers could manage with the material. A few of them stood out above the rest. It was not the worst nor the best high school musical Armand witnessed. Armand could already see lecture for the students before tomorrow night’s performance forming on Lestat’s face.

Tonight was the premiere and it would run for three more nights. Then everyone would go on Thanksgiving break. When the night’s performance ended, the backstage area burst forth in a flurry of activity. No one wanted to spend more time at school than necessary. Once all the students and audience left, Armand and Lestat swept the auditorium for stragglers and then locked up for the night.

The air was cold and flurries spit from the sky. Lestat wrapped his scarf about him as if he were in a Calvin Klein ad. His breath made clouds in the air. “I want them to focus. They’re capable of more than they gave tonight.” He said as if he was not working with a group of mostly freshmen and sophomores this year. This is my last musical here. I want perfection.”

Armand blinked and followed Lestat rather than heading on his normal route home. “I didn’t know it was your final musical.” He had not spoken to Louis since the musical overtook his life. Lestat spoke little about anything other than his musical grievances for the last two months.

Lestat sighed. “Headmistress Akasha forced my resignation. Louis’ too.” He looked at Armand. “It didn’t matter that we restrain ourselves in public and don’t speak of our private lives. There are too many circumstances for her liking. We live together. We never married. I treat Claudia as my own rather than as my ‘friend’s’ sister. Our family is too obvious for the headmistress’ liking.” Snow began to fall more earnestly, gathering in Lestat’s hair. “She said we either live separately or resign. The choice was obvious. None of us will return in January.”

Armand stared at him a long moment. Anger gripped his stomach.

Lestat pulled on his gloves. “You deserve the truth. We’re moving to California. I have connections to place us somewhere more accepting. I look forward to defeating this choir in the national competition in the spring if they can make it that far in my absence.” Lestat bid Armand goodbye and headed home.

Armand watched him leave, the snow clinging to him the longer he stood. His mind swirled with the occasional gust. He could barely think. He could barely breathe. His anger continued to course through his body. He headed home as the snow continued to gather.

December arrived. With it came the school’s winter music recital on Daniel’s birthday. He celebrated briefly with the girls before they had to get ready to return to the school. They gave him a card that declared him older than the pyramids and some new ties. Daniel sat in the back row of the auditorium and fiddled with the digital camera Alice gave him to record the girls’ concerts. One orchestra, two bands, and five choirs would take turns onstage tonight. The orchestra and the concert band already finished. The jazz band currently rocked around the Christmas tree. Once the jazz band finished, it would be time for Jess’ choir.

Armand settled onto the empty seat beside Daniel. There were many people in the auditorium but not enough to fill the seats. They were relatively alone but not completely alone on the back row. “Having trouble?” Armand whispered.

“There’s no sound,” Daniel whispered. He recorded portions of the other concerts to get used to the equipment. He had an earbud in his ear and it was absolutely silent as the orchestra moved on the camera’s digital display.

Armand held out his hand. Daniel handed over the camera. Armand opened up the menu and started pressing buttons and spinning wheels. “You had the audio disabled.” He returned the camera.

The jazz band continued to play. Neither of them spoke. Their knees rested near each other without actually touching and Daniel felt every centimeter of distance acutely. Memories from Night Island flashed through his mind. Daniel tried to chase them away and focus on remembering the Spanish lyrics to the next song to calm the blood rushing places it should not go in a school auditorium.

The jazz band left the stage. The freshmen girls’ choir replaced them. Daniel stood up and started to film. He zoomed in until Jess was clearly visible but not the only student in the shot. He managed to keep the camera steady throughout the performance. When the choir left the stage, Daniel sat again and turned off the camera. Mandy would not take the stage until the final concert of the night.

After a long silence, Daniel murmured, “I…can’t stop thinking about it.”

“You don’t have to,” Armand barely whispered.

“I’m fifty,” Daniel murmured. “I’m older than the pyramids.”

Armand’s knee rested against Daniel’s knee. Daniel did not move. “If you’re older than the pyramids, then that makes me older than Tintoretto.”

“Who?” Daniel glanced at him.

“Doesn’t matter.” Armand’s knee moved away. Daniel licked his lips, far too aware of its absence. Armand let the tips of his fingers barely touch the side of Daniel’s hand resting on the armrest between them. “You should get your camera ready.”

Daniel blinked. He looked to the stage. Mandy’s group was already taking their places. “Shit,” he whispered and hurriedly stood. He managed to hit record before her group began to sing. He filmed the entire performance and shut the camera down once the concert finished. He looked down at Armand.

Armand’s dark eyes shown in the dim light. His lips parted and he did not look away from Daniel.

Daniel held his breath. He shifted his weight and then put the camera in his pocket. “See you around.” He left to gather the girls and take them home.

The following Saturday, Armand’s troupe preformed their annual Christmas show complete with machete-wielding Santa Claus. He scanned the first row of seats, but Daniel still was not there. After cleaning up and changing, Armand followed the troupe to Night Island. The DJ spun songs that deliberately evoked feelings of summer and the beach much to the crowd’s delight. Armand danced in the center of the floor. He sang along with the others. He let the music carry the adrenaline from the stage. Armand closed his eyes and only opened them when a hand grasped his. He met Daniel’s gaze.

Daniel wore all black again. He spoke but his words melted into the music. He kept a firm grip on Armand’s hand. Armand nodded and led them through the crowd and up the stairs. They found a small table in a corner away from the other club goers.

“You can always read my mind,” Daniel said quietly.

“Your body is loud,” Armand said. The bass line below them drummed against the soles of his shoes.

Daniel licked his lips. His feet rested against Armand’s under the table. His mind moved behind his eyes. “I can’t stop thinking about you. I keep playing the last time we were here in my head.”

“So what are you going to do about it?” Armand let his foot slide along Daniel’s leg once.

Daniel shivered. He bit his tongue and then took a deep breath. “I need time.”

“The destination is the same no matter the distance,” Armand said.

Daniel held Armand’s gaze. “Are we going to the same destination?”

Armand grinned, imagining all the things they would do when this game evolved. He leaned closer. “I think you know the answer.”

Daniel did not move away or look away. He swallowed.

“Is this confession the only reason you came here?” Armand asked, still leaning incredibly close.

“No,” Daniel said. “I’m taking the girls to San Francisco for Christmas. I thought you should know that I won’t be around.” He rose from the table and ran his fingers through Armand’s hair. “I’ve got a morning flight tomorrow. I’ll see you in January.”

Armand caught Daniel’s hand before he could leave. Daniel watched him curiously. “January then,” Armand said and let Daniel’s hand go. After Daniel left, Armand sighed. Some of his troupe joined him at the table. The game continued.

When Daniel arrived to pick up the girls on Sunday morning, the sun was barely in the sky. Alice pulled him into the kitchen while the girls finished getting ready for the trip.

“You look exhausted,” Alice said and offered him coffee.

“I went to Night Island last night,” Daniel said. “That music always keeps me awake whether I dance or not.” It was more than just the music. He could not remember the last time someone affected him so thoroughly like Armand.

“Night Island? I’m surprised you picked that place.” Alice sipped her own coffee. “I thought you’d end up at that gay bookstore around the corner.”

Daniel let the mug warm his hands and sipped his coffee slowly, then he admitted, “It’s because Armand’s there.”

“Jess’ teacher?” Alice asked. She studied Daniel a long moment and then she snorted and started to laugh. “I should have known when I met him at the open house. He stares at people like a lion sometimes. Of course you’d be into to that.”

Daniel rolled his eyes. “You could pretend to be shocked.” He sipped more coffee.

“Daniel, we met in a gay bar. I know your type. They’re always dark and a little fucked up.” Alice snorted again and then sighed. “At least the girls like him.”

“I don’t know if it’s going to go that far,” Daniel said. “He’s almost half my age.”

Alice set her mug down. “You’re fifty. Don’t make yourself wait until you’re sixty. If you want that little weirdo who’s on those theater posters covered in blood, go get him.”

Daniel eyed her and finished his coffee. Before he could say anything else, the girls appeared with their suitcases ready to go. He could think about this later. The girls hugged Alice goodbye and then Daniel took them to the airport. They arrived at the terminal just as their flight arrived at the gate.

The phone rang at seven in the morning on the first Monday of winter break. Armand knew immediately who it was and what would happen. No one called at such an hour on such a day unless they had a mission. The headmistress knew too much about Armand’s private life, and it was time for him to find another job. Armand would not be able to retrieve his belongings from the school. Armand gripped the neck of the phone so tightly it slipped from his fingers and fell to the kitchen counter. He did not bother to pick it up and simply pressed the phone hook to hang up before disappearing into his room and throwing one of his pillows at the wall.

When Armand put his phone back on the hook, it rang. This time it was Marius, the art teacher at the school. Marius was younger than Armand’s parents would be but older than Daniel was. Armand met him when Armand ran away from a children’s home as a teenager. Marius taught Armand how to pain and replicate many styles of art. They lost contact when Armand started to university. Last year Marius joined the faculty at the school. In absence of Louis and even Lestat, Marius was the only teacher left at the school who would care that Armand lost his job. Marius said he found some of Armand’s things and wanted to give them to Armand. Armand did not want to take Marius up on his offer of help, but he wanted his things.

An hour later, Armand stood just outside of the school campus and stared up at the white clouds in the winter sky. It was still frigid despite the sun shining on him. When footsteps approached, his looked at Marius.

Marius had a paper sack with the local art store logo across its front in his hands. “Amadeo, you must be more careful. People are always watching, always listening. We are never truly alone anymore.”

Amadeo was the name Marius gave Armand under the pretense of Armand starting a new life free from the tragedies that led him to the children’s home and occurred there. The name grated on Armand now. Armand was the name Santiago bestowed upon him when Armand escaped to university. It was the only name Armand wished to be for the rest of his life.

Armand took the bag and peeked inside. His photos were there still in their frames along with a few of his paperbacks from his classroom library. His offices supplies were absent as well as his posters, the rest of his books, and his calendar. The photos were the only things he truly wanted back. “Were they in the trash?”

“I think the janitor put these in a bin for someone to find. Where the rest went, I never saw.” Marius studied Armand in the sunlight. “What will you do now?”

“I have some things in mind,” Armand said. He was already planning which strings to pull to get a job as fast as possible before his next rent check. He folded the top of the bag down and tucked it under his arm.

“Tell me, Amadeo,” Marius said, “was he worth it?”

Armand knew the answer immediately. Daniel set him on fire and Armand never wanted to let that go. Instead of saying that, he asked, “Does it matter?” and then bid Marius goodbye. He headed to the community theater so he could dissolve into the atmosphere and not come up for breath until it was time for rehearsal.

Daniel grew up in San Francisco. His parents kicked him out of their home when he began using drugs and sneaking away to the local gay bar. His parents would not speak to him again until they found out about his wife and children. Returning home every Christmas was weird, but the girls loved their grandparents and his parents loved the girls, so it was worth it to skip needless drama.

Tonight Daniel was on his own since his parents wanted to spend some time alone with the girls. He wandered the streets until his feet brought him to Polynesian Mary’s, now renamed Mary’s Café. He stepped inside and the barista called out his name in a threatening, gruff voice. Daniel froze and then the barista laughed. The barista was the same bartender who used to chase him out of the bar when he was too young to drink over thirty years ago. The barista gave up alcohol ten years ago and converted the bar. He was glad to see Daniel doing well. Daniel ordered Irish coffee and pastry. He took his food to a back corner.

After a while, Louis and Lestat entered the café. They approached the counter and placed their orders. Daniel tried not to stare, but his attention kept returning to them. Lestat still carried himself like a model. Louis seemed more relaxed and wore bright colorful fashionable clothing. They stood closer than Daniel ever saw them stand together at the school. Lestat huffed and Louis snorted. They received their orders and were about to leave when Louis saw Daniel and diverted to Daniel’s table.

“Evening,” Louis greeted.

“Hey,” Daniel said. “Do you guys want a seat?”

“We have places to be,” Lestat said.

“I just wondered if you heard from Armand lately,” Louis said.

“Something up?” Daniel asked.

“His phone’s been off the hook,” Louis said. “I haven’t spoken to him all break.”

Lestat sighed quietly.

“Maybe he’s busy with the theater,” Daniel said. “I’ll let you get back to your vacation.”

“Oh, we live here now,” Louis said. “The headmistress is cleaning house.” He looked at Lestat. “Ready?”

They bid Daniel goodbye and left. Daniel stared off at a mural on the far wall a long moment. He thought about the reality of the situation with Armand from his perspective but he had not considered it from Armand’s perspective. Daniel finished his coffee and pastry. He still had a few days until he returned to New York. He wanted to talk to Armand again. He was not sure what he would find.

It was New Year’s Eve. It was freezing and fog gathered in the distance. Armand made his way to Santiago’s apartment. He secured a job before the holidays but he would not begin until Monday. Just as he passed a bodega, Daniel stepped out of it.

“Hey,” Daniel said. “Happy New Year.” He paused. “Eve.”

“Happy New Year’s Eve,” Armand said. “Are you busy?”

Before Daniel could answer, the bodega door opened again. “Well, it could happen!” Jess declared.

“In your wildest dreams,” Mandy murmured. She handed one of the bags in her hands to her sister. “Oh. Hey, Mr. Armand.”

“Happy early new year,” Jess said.

Armand returned the greetings.

“We just had to get some stuff we forgot.” Daniel paused and then asked. “Are you busy? You could come back with us.”

Mandy glanced between Daniel and Armand curiously. Jess checked to see what was in the bag Mandy gave her.

The offer was tempting, but Armand wanted Daniel all to himself the first time either of them set foot in each other’s apartments. “I have plans with the troupe. Maybe another time.”

“I saw Louis and Lestat in San Francisco. Louis said he was trying to get in contact with you,” Daniel said. “He asked me if you were okay.”

Armand nodded. “I’m fine. I’ll call him. I’ve had my phone off its hook.” He held Daniel’s gaze and then continued on his way. “Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year,” came three separate responses.

After several steps, Armand looked back over his shoulder. Daniel and the girls continued on their way. His gaze lingered on Daniel until Daniel disappeared from sight. Armand turned away and continued to Santiago’s apartment.

January arrived and with it the new semester and the return to routine. Daniel sat at the dining table in Alice’s apartment and looked over the top of his laptop. Jess sat nearby twirling her pencil in her fingers. She seemed to be back to square one with ignoring her homework after making progress throughout the previous semester. Daniel sighted. “You’re supposed to be working.”

Jess frowned. “Remember Mr. Armand?”

“Of course I do. I’m fifty not eighty,” Daniel said.

“He wasn’t at school today,” Jess said. “Mr. Talbot said he’s not coming back.”

Daniel’s fingers hovered over his keyboard.

“It sucks so much!” Jess sighed. “I wanted to take Drama and Theater with Mr. Armand. I wanted to do the school play this semester. We were going to do Dracula and now we’re doing Our Town. It’s not fair!”

“Monsieur de Pointe du Lac and Mr. de Lioncourt are gone too,” Mandy said as she entered the kitchen nearby. She poured a glass of juice from the fridge. “Claudia said they got fired for being gay. I thought the students could wear rainbow wrist bands in protest, but everyone’s too scared or homophobic to join me.”

Daniel’s fingers stopped hovering over his keyboard. Louis said the headmistress was cleaning house. Armand did not indicate anything was wrong when they ran into him on New Year’s Eve, although Armand was always private despite his provocative nature. It only made Daniel want to speak with Armand alone even more than he already did after returning from San Francisco.

“You okay, Dad? You’re not saying anything,” Mandy said.

Daniel took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He put his glasses back on and looked at his daughters. “I’m not going to stop you.”

The apartment door opened and Alice called out that she was home. The girls went to greet her. Daniel put his laptop away. He was not going to get any more work done tonight.

January began the troupe’s annual Valentine’s Day play, always a bastardization of a public domain romance with more blood and gore than the creator likely ever imagined or intended. This year the play was a take on Love’s Labor’s Lost. A king and his noblemen took a vow of chastity to cleanse their minds and bodies. Witches arrive one night looking for a man worthy of siring an heir to their coven. Through a series of grotesque games, the noblemen succumbed to the witches’ charms. The play ended with the announcement of an heir and the death of the noblemen in a macabre play within the play.

When the play ended, Armand rose from the stage floor to join hands with the troupe and take their bows to the applause of the audience. He scanned the first row of seats and found Daniel in the center seat. Daniel mouthed the words, “Out back.” Armand closed his eyes slowly twice and then righted himself with everyone. The cast left the stage and the curtains closed.

Once backstage, Armand sped through his duties with precision and speed. He stripped off his costume and placed it where it belonged. He wiped the makeup from his face and the fake blood from his hands. He ran his fingers through his hair to detangle it and then slipped back into his street clothes. “I’m not going to Night Island,” he said. He laced his boots and checked himself in the mirror. He pulled his coat on and left it open to show the plunging neckline of his shirt that he left mostly unbuttoned.

Armand stepped out the backstage door effortlessly. Daniel immediately unfolded his arms and stepped away from the alley wall. His eyes traversed Armand. They were alone amidst the frozen slush and trash containers. Armand led them out of the alley in the direction of his apartment.

Daniel followed without hesitation. “I heard you weren’t at school on Monday.”

“I had to switch jobs,” Armand said. “I’ve been doing art restoration the museum.”

“If I –”

“I chose you knowing this could happen.” Armand did not want to dwell on it since it happened weeks ago.

Daniel put his hands in his pockets. His breath billowed around him. “So when I saw you at New Year’s Eve….”

“I had everything taken care of,” Armand said. “I always know what buttons to push to get what I want.”

Daniel held his gaze a moment. Armand grabbed his arm and pulled Daniel close before Daniel could walk into a newspaper vending machine. Daniel did not move out of Armand’s grasp and Armand did not let him go.

“Where does this end, Daniel?” Armand asked. “Do you know what you want?”

“I want you,” Daniel said. “I don’t want this to end.”

They arrived at the entryway to Armand’s building. Armand let go of Daniel’s arm. “I want this to end.” He grasped Daniel’s hand, his grip tight and tethering before Daniel could turn away. “I want you. All of you. I want a new game.”

Cars sped past. People talked in an endless hum along the sidewalk. Somewhere in the distance music played obnoxiously loudly from a car.

“Then make one,” Daniel said. “I’ll follow you anywhere.”

Armand pulled him into the building and up the stairs to his apartment.

Armand’s apartment was on the top floor and looked out at the city. Warm colors spread across the walls and carpeting. Framed Renaissance paintings shone in the lamplight. Daniel peered at one of them curiously. “It doesn’t look like a poster.”

“It’s canvas and oil,” Armand said. He took the phone off its hook and rested it on the counter in-between second-hand kitchen gadgets.

Daniel straightened his posture and gazed at all of the paintings. He could not imagine what they might cost or how much time it would take to paint them if they were reproductions. “Are they…real?”

“They exist.” Armand moved to the center of the room. The light shimmered in his hair and provided definition to his collarbone and cleavage. His gaze fixed on Daniel.

Daniel moved closer as if drawn by an invisible hand. The sound from the city and surrounding apartments seemed to fade. Daniel’s hands rested on Armand’s shoulders. Daniel rose up on his toes at the same moment Armand leaned down and they kissed. Armand’s hands found their way under Daniel’s sweater and t-shirt. Daniel undid the button on Armand’s shirt so his hands could slide along Armand’s skin. The kiss broke apart just long enough for Daniel’s sweater to fall to the floor. A second kiss became a third so Daniel could free Armand’s arms from his sleeves and Armand could cast Daniel’s t-shirt to the growing pile. Jeans fell to the floor next, socks and underwear following. Only then did they step back to admire one another.

Lamplight illuminated Armand’s skin. Dark hair trailed down his torso. His chest barely moved with each breath. His stomach was lean and his body was firm and muscular. Scars appeared at random, remnants of teeth, nails, and life.

Armand’s gaze traversed Daniel’s body. He ran his fingers along a scar at Daniel’s abdomen. Daniel moved away at first, the touch too feather light. Armand’s fingers returned, firmer this time, tracing the scar in its entirety.

“Never seen an appendectomy scar before?” Daniel asked.

“I have,” Armand said and his fingers spread upwards, exploring the inconsistent textures in the dark and gray hair across Daniel’s stomach and chest. “Each scar is unique.” His fingers found their way to a scar across Daniel’s left breast that was flat, pale, and jagged.

“Fishing lure,” Daniel said. “I ripped it out. It made everything worse. I screamed. My parents screamed. I think half the county came to gawk.”

Armand moved closer and his hands continued to explore. “I want to give you a scar.”

Daniel’s hands rested on Armand’s hips. His thumbs rubbed small circles. He held Armand’s gaze and squirmed when Armand’s fingers toyed with a nipple. “As many as you want.”

Armand ran his tongue down Daniel’s neck and along the flesh between his neck and shoulder. He nipped at the skin and then grasped it in his teeth, biting with all his strength.

Daniel sucked in a breath. His short nails dug into Armand’s flesh in turn. Armand bit and bit until blood almost trickled from the wound.

“Fuck.” Daniel did not realized the small steps they took during the bite until his ass hit the wall. Armand pinned Daniel’s wrists with his hands and kissed Daniel with abandon, the kisses soon turning into nipping and sucking at Daniel’s neck. Their bodies pressed together. Daniel tried to wriggle, desperate for friction, but Armand’s body kept him pinned in place.

Finally, Armand released Daniel’s wrists and reached into the drawer of a bureau at Daniel’s hip. He set a bottle of lube on top of the bureau before leaning close, his breath tickling Daniel’s ear. He whispered in a language Daniel barely recognized and squirted the lube into his hands. His fingers ghosted up Daniel’s shaft as Daniel shuddered. Daniel’s hands sought out Armand’s skin. His nails pressed into Armand’s back.

Armand’s voice continued to rumble, low and rhythmic, always matching the rhythm of his movements as he continued to stroke and tease Daniel as his other hand kept tracing patterns into Daniel’s skin, encouraging Daniel to stay against the wall.

Daniel closed his eyes and moved into Armand’s hand. Daniel’s heart beat faster. His breaths became shorter. He drew closer. He tried to swallow his moans but cried out when Armand bit him again in a different spot. Daniel came soon after. Armand’s hand did not leave him until Daniel was nothing more than a panting mess.

Armand nipped at Daniel’s ear and wiped his hands on Daniel’s skin. He stepped back to admire his work.

Daniel shivered and leaned his head back against the wall. His body glistened in the lamplight. His chest rose and fell with every breath. His shoulders relaxed. He groaned quietly in satisfaction and then slowly stepped away from the wall. He picked up the bottle of lube and squinted at it.

“It’s edible,” Armand said.

Daniel nodded and his gaze turned to Armand. “You should tell me what you want.”

Something deep within Armand’s stomach beat as Daniel approached, a shiver running the length of Armand’s spine at all the things they could do. Armand licked his lips and led Daniel to another part of the room, kicking clothing out of their way. He grabbed a long rectangular throw pillow from a chair and cast it to the ground in front of him. “I want you on your knees.”

Daniel knelt on the pillow and set the lube on the floor. He grasped Armand legs and adjusted his balance until he found the correct way to kneel without sliding off the pillow. He let go and gazed up at Armand. “Ready?”

“Always,” Armand breathed.

Daniel squirted lube into his hand and rubbed his hands together. He ghosted his fingers up Armand’s inner thigh, toying with all he could touch before sliding his fingers along Armand’s length. He twisted and rubbed as his mouth began to explore Armand’s hips and thighs, littering bites, nips, and marks.

Armand shivered again. His legs trembled in anticipation. His fingers threaded into Daniel’s curls. He closed his eyes and let out a small noise as Daniel’s tongue finally slid along his base.

Daniel adjusted his position and explored Armand’s tip with his mouth while his fingers moved along his base. His eyes found Armand’s gaze again. His hand and mouth moved in tandem as Daniel took more of Armand into his mouth with each bob of his head.

Armand shivered and shuddered. He did not withhold any moans or cries. Daniel’s speed varied, always a response to Armand’s voice or body. Armand drew closer to the edge. He tried to watch as much as he could but he closed his eyes when he came, his fingers gripping Daniel’s curls tightly.

Daniel did not remove his mouth until Armand finished. Daniel fell back onto the floor and closed his eyes as his chest rose and fell with every breath.

Armand breathed deeply and gazed at Daniel. He reached down and grasped Daniel’s hand, pulling him to his feet. “Come with me.”

“I just did,” Daniel said.

Armand pulled Daniel to the shower where he claimed Daniel again under the spray.

Daniel woke to a television playing loudly on the other side of the wall. He was naked with only a sheet across his pelvis. The bed was firmer than the one in his apartment. There was a drafty window over his head. He gazed out the open door, down a short hallway, and peered at a sunlit living room. Armand’s shirt laid haphazardly in view along with Daniel’s sweater. Daniel let out a long, low groan. He knew where he was. What started in the living room continued to the shower and continued to the bedroom before they finally wore each other out last night. Daniel kept up with Armand through every bite, scratch, suck, and fuck. Even now, desire stirred deep within him like it did every morning, but he was much too sore and drained to consider it yet.

Daniel’s gaze shifted to the other side of the bed. Armand laid on his side, his spine on full display, the sheet pooling at his hips. His shoulders barely moved with each silent breath.

Daniel reached out, finger hovering just at Armand’s vertebrae before he pulled his hand back and sat up slowly, his feet hitting a cold rug. The longer he was awake, the colder the room seemed. He could not remember the last time he woke first after such a night let alone the last time he went several rounds with such abandon.

The bed creaked. Armand sat up and leaned against Daniel’s back. His hair tickled Daniel’s skin.

“Just go back to sleep,” Daniel murmured. “It’s Sunday.”

“Museum needs me.” Armand wrapped his arms around Daniel and let his fingers lazily slide along Daniel’s stomach as he kissed the back of Daniel’s neck.

Daniel squirmed a little. He slid off the bed and stood.

Armand looked up at Daniel wide-awake, his sleepiness a clear ruse. He licked his lips. “Join me in the shower before we leave.”

“Insatiable,” Daniel said. He tossed a pillow from the floor at Armand.

Armand caught the pillow and got out of bed. Daniel followed him down the small hallway to the bathroom, grateful for the warmth of the water and the company.

The sunset spread across a mostly cloudy sky. The smell of slush and pollution filled the air. Armand exited the museum and started walking home. His mind returned to last night and that morning. When he parted from Daniel, they made no definite plans, but he doubted that they could stay away from each other for long. Fantasies filled Armand’s mind. He would make them reality. There would be so much to explore.

Someone fell in step at Armand’s side. He sped up his pace and the person matched it. Armand slowed and laughed when Daniel kept walking at the previous speed. Daniel rolled his eyes and let their arms knock together when they stood side by side again. “Ass. You knew it was me.”

“Were you waiting?” Armand asked.

“I was just out for a walk,” Daniel said as if his cheeks and nose were not red from waiting in the cold.

They followed the flow of movement on the sidewalk. Armand kept close to Daniel. Daniel put his hands in his pockets and said, “I thought you could come home with me tonight.”

“Can I bring some things?” Armand asked.

“Yeah,” Daniel said. “I’ve got room.”

So do I,” Armand said, “the next time you spend the night.” Armand’s apartment appeared up ahead. He touched Daniel’s arm. “Go get warm. I’ll get a bag and join you.”

“I’ll wait in the lobby,” Daniel said. His hand touched Armand’s and then he disappeared down the street.

Armand watched him go. He licked his lips and disappeared into his building. It was the start of a new game, a long game. He would relish every moment of it for the rest of his life.

The End

#my fanfics #my fanfics 2023 #my iwtv fanfics #iwtv fanfics

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missusplum · 2 years ago

Note

Why are you so hopeful when these writers might bait and play us again?

What were you’re thoughts on the finale and what stories would you like to see next season?

Here’s hoping for one of your long essays

lmao i completely get the frustration, but the way i really see it, i don’t think the takeaway from this season is that armony will never be a focus; it’s that this show chooses to be chaotic just for the sake of being ~shocking~ and ~unexpected~ so really by that benchmark anything is possible lol

for those reasons i think going into the business of trying to predict anything on this show is generally a bad idea and a recipe to setting yourself up for disappointment. so i have no thoughts on what might go down in s3, just that i hope we get one loool. because despite all my yapping and complaining i really do want to see more of this show, and i think there are lots of stories still to tell. i started watching for elodie and i’m gonna stay for her too 😌

i’ll share my thoughts on s2 behind the cut:

my general sentiment on this season is a big meh lol. like all the criticism and worries i had about where the season was headed and about kamdar being nothing more than a lightning rod all stumbled into fruition. my biggest criticism is that the writing seems intent on delivering shocking moments and stressful situations at the sacrifice of interesting stories and actual character development. the biggest example of this is the show choosing to drop chris’ story, the far superior and more emotionally-compelling storyline, halfway into the season and choosing to fully focus on kamdar instead. i really think it was a gigantic misstep to veer into this direction and a misread of what drew people to this show in the first place. to me, the real strength of tcl was always, always, the chemistry between arman and thony, and between thony and fiona. people watched because of the actors’ chemistry; even in s1 the mob drama was always less interesting and draggingly melodramatic at times. but people put up with it because it was the vehicle to showcase the chemistry and relationships that intrigued everyone. s2 literally went full throttle into mob territory and sacrificed the emotional side and the relationships that made us care in the first place. and that is the true fumble here.

i do get frustrated reading some of the postmortem interviews with the EPs because i really want to know what progress they think this season made at all. almost all the new characters that they brought on have died (shoutout to JD for living to see another day!), the triangle of death is still in tact, thony is still single-mindedly focused on her family, luca is still sick, the de la rosas are still undocumented, arman still has no power, etc. and everyone is so miserable 🥴 something something about a clinic and helping out the community was completely overshadowed by this kamdar storyline which ended exactly how we all knew it would end, with him dead. oh i guess g*rrett miller died too. overdue imo but i’m sorry to his fans for your loss lol

one thing i will say is while i think it was very deliberate to have thony do unlikable things and behave antagonistically, i still think a lot of the fandom is being unfair with how much hate she’s getting and letting recency bias cloud their judgment. this is the same character that agreed in a second to sell street drugs because arman looked sad and then immediately incriminated herself when they got caught, literally only to protect arman. it’s a complete disservice to the character and franking oversimplifying just to write her off as selfish. she is anything but selfish imo. i do believe, and the EPs have said as much, that she has a tendency to be arrogant and to think she knows better, and this stems from her career as a surgeon. but to say she hasn’t paid for her mistakes is crazy lol, the entire two finale hours was basically nothing working out the way she wanted, and everyone telling her off and giving her shit for what she’s done. which for the record i liked; thony has often acted purely on instinct, but i like that this time that she had to lose and that the same instinct led her to make bad decisions. makes for a more compelling character vs. one who is always doing the right thing. i will say that i think reverting to anchoring all of thony’s actions to be about saving luca’s life was a narrative mistake. not only because it only underscores what we already learned about her in s1, but because atp (and i hate to say it) luca is nothing but a plot device imo. like people get frustrated when luca is thrust into the forefront again because aside from being a cute kid who is unfairly ill, there’s nothing else to the character. is he not literally only there to be sick and to cause thony to act irrationally? instead of investing time into actually making luca a well-rounded character with a personality, we wasted scenes on the likes of kamdar and maya, none of whom ended up having any staying power on the show anyway, and the stakes ended up feeling repetitive. i cannot understand why there was a need to bring on so many new (and temporary!?) characters in a short season when you already have existing shallowly-written core characters that the audience actually wants and needs to know more about.

i’ve already made my opinions on love triangles very clear lol and it still stands. like if you’re a fan of any of the characters of arman, thony, or nadia, i cannot for the life of me imagine why anyone would want this triangle to continue. it’s horrible for all of them; it’s unattractive to see arman continue to divide his heart between two women; it’s depressing to see thony reduce herself to an emotionless robot because she has to shut arman out; and it’s ridiculously unrealistic to think that nadia would still put up with arman after all the arguments they’ve had about thony already. if you’ve read any of the postseason interviews with melissa carter and miranda kwok they seem pretty intent on continuing to ride this out. i’m flummoxed because like what more is there to explore???

in one of the interviews, they said that they had to slow down armony because they went too fast in s1 which is wild to me when that’s one of the few reasons why people tuned in in the first place lol. the philosophy behind thinking that when a couple gets together it becomes boring is flawed and imo more of an indictment on the writing if interesting stories can’t be told with your leads in a relationship. miranda kwok said that the bond between arman and thony will be strengthened after surviving what they went through in s2, but literally none of that was communicated to the audience lol. melissa carter said there was an opportunity for more romance in s3 because there was none in s2 but like y’all literally wrote it that way 🥴🥴 i really do think the writing massively overestimated everyone’s patience and tolerance for nothingness and crumbs. it might have been more tolerable if the rest of the show was just as compelling, but imo it just isn’t so s2 was really just watching this show shoot itself in the foot repeatedly lol. fwiw i think a push and pull between these two could have worked but s2 was literally all pull lmao; like if you have guaranteed five seasons to arc out a molasses-paced relationship then sure but we’re barely scraping by here lol 🤧

anyhoo, all in all i hope the writers actually do get a chance to read some of the criticism of this season and it’s not just written off as shippers throwing a tantrum lol. s2 was a bit of a drag to get through but if nothing else, and for better or for worse, i feel like i have a better grasp of what this show is trying to be now so that’s something. all my criticism aside, at the core of it i do love that this is a show with southeast asians at the forefront, with elodie yung at the forefront, and for those facts alone i’ll happily keep rooting for it to succeed and keep contributing my views and ratings. the rest i’ll just keep hoping for the best.

#the cleaning lady #tcl #tcl rants #i think this counts as my s2 review!

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dollsbite · 3 years ago

Text

☆. . . before the storm

ft. antón castillo + fem! reader, diego castillo and reader (platonic)

warning: hints of a toxic relationship, canon-typical violence, antón basically comes with his own warning lmao

despite the golden warmth of the setting sun peeking through the windows of the capitol building, a storm was slowly brewing.

you and your son sat in your husband's office. he was having a meeting with his most valued general in the conference room across from you, discussing their approach to combat the rioters in esperanza. it was a normal routine for you to gaze outside of the windows once the sun began to set, however, the crown city was in utter chaos: the demonstrators were anything but peaceful as they clashed with antón's forces, fighting tooth and nail. how could you enjoy the beauty of the sky as esperanza burned? the smoke tainted the scenery you loved so much. maybe this served as a morbid reminder that the man you'd married was at the center of this destruction.

"it looks amazing, mijo. you're so talented," you watched contently as diego applied the finishing touches to the model car he built - a blue 1956 beaumont valentina. though he wasn't your biological son (the tabloids pointed in the direction of the minister of culture), you cherished diego like he was your own, something that surprised you as your bond strengthened: the idea of being a mother never crossed your mind, you hadn't even thought of marriage.

diego tore his attention from his car to focus on you, pulling one earphone out as he smiled, "thank you, mamá."

"no need to thank me, i'm just telling you the truth," you grinned.

you allowed the boy to return to his project, turning your attention towards the book in your hand. you weren't enjoying the story, however; you had a hard time grasping the storyline as you were more worried about the violent protests occurring outside of the torre de león. a part of you was glad that diego was preoccupied, that he didn't have to hear the horrors happening outside. the other wished he'd listen to the screams, realizing how truly awful his father was.

the grand doors opened and your husband walked in. his presence was heavy, much to the point that you didn't even need to look up to know who it was. perfectly shined shoes stopped behind your son's chair.

"it's beautiful, mijo," antón's voice drew diego away from placing the mirrors on the car. diego stopped tapping his foot to the rhythm of his music, taking off both of his headphones to talk to his father,

"perfect," antón continued his praise, "but useless."

you frowned at his unnecessary comment, placing the book aside. you wished antón would just compliment diego instead of always having to shoot him down, to tear down his self-esteem only to build it back up. you wanted nothing more than for antón to stay in that meeting for a few more hours, allowing diego to just be a kid.

antón didn't acknowledge you as he sat down in the empty chair beside his son, "i have something for you, diego. give me your hands."

diego curiously held out his two hands, his father placing his own larger hands into his son's. antón dropped a heavy object into the palms of diego's hands, pulling away to reveal a grenade.

"papa - " diego retracted, noticeably tense at the sight of the explosive.

"antón, no. diego's gonna hurt himself," your protests went unheard as your husband continued,

"now, there is four basic parts: the shell, which contains the explosive. the fuze, the handle," antón pointed to each part, "and of course, the pin."

antón lingered on the pin before he pulled it out. the metallic ring rattled in your ears as you stood up in horror.

"what are you doing?" diego panicked as his father wrapped his hands around the startled boy's.

"breathe, diego. breathe. the pin simply holds the handle in place; it is only when you let go that this grenade goes boom," antón explained, too calmly for someone with an active grenade in front of him as he gestured his hands in the motion of an explosion.

"what the hell is wrong with you?" your furious voice cut through the tense air as you watched the sweat practically drip from your son's forehead.

"nothing is wrong, mi amor," his voice was cold and authoritative, devoid of any tenderness as he gazed at you with a deep frown. those sharp eyes lingered on you as if waiting for your response; almost urging you to speak up against him again.

you held your tongue, choosing to glare at your husband in disapproval.

antón stood up from his seat, "follow me,"

diego gulped, staring down at the grenade.

"now," your husband ordered.

with no other choice, you and diego followed in antón's footsteps. the journey to the top of the torre de león was short, however, it felt like an eternity. you could easily hear diego's heavy breathing as he trailed behind his father, clutching the grenade tightly. in an attempt to soothe him, you placed a hand on his shoulder, to let him know that you were right behind him and you weren't leaving anytime soon.

"i am el presidente, which means that someday, you will be el presidente and our people, they do not know how to be happy," your husband rambled, "they are torn apart by opinions, noise, indecision; strangled by their own freedoms."

you offered one of the guards a painful smile as you strutted past. your son still held the grenade firmly in his hands as he moped, the sweat forming on his forehead noticeably dampening his hair. he grimaced once he placed his feet on the first step of the staircase. your own hands were growing clammy, nails digging uncomfortably into your palms.

"and even if you have love in your heart, even if you want what's best for them, if you only want to save them from themselves," the masked, heavily armed guards saluted you when you made it up the entrance to the roof. antón opened the door to the roof, the sudden harsh light blinding.

"they will hate you, diego. whatever you say, do, believe, will be wrong," your husband explained bluntly.

with his attention fixed on the explosive in his hands, diego's foot became caught in a stray wire, causing the horrified boy to stumble. you quickly reached out to steady him, arms wrapped around his waist as you stared at him with widened, frightened eyes. your son nodded stiffly in appreciation, throat dry.

your husband, still not meeting your eye once, retrieved a cigar from his crisp, white suit. he pulled the roll of tobacco to his lips, lighting it and inhaling a long drag of smoke. a cloud of grey drifted from his lips.

"they will answer your screams," antón held a hand out to diego to join him at the edge of the roof. you reached out briefly to keep him close to you but to no avail, "call you evil. a monster."

with nothing more to do, you wrapped your arms around yourself, staring over the ledge to witness the demolition below. your efforts proved fruitless because they always did: you knew, deep down, that you were nothing more than a doll to stand at your husband's side, to smile and look pretty as he tainted yara's very core and poisoned your impressionable son with his measly propaganda. you were a helpless rabbit trapped in a wolf's den, doomed to perish under his rule.

there were a few protestors that were surrendering, their arms folded behind their head as they gave into yara's special forces, most likely succumbing to exhaustion.

"they will give you this," antón pulled the grenade closer to diego's eyes, revealing a crudely written message on its back:

muerte a castillo.

"so you tell me," antón's voice become grave, "are you, mijo? are you. . . a monster?" diego shook his head at his father's words just as a protestor tossed a firey molotov cocktail into the window of a vacant car.

"because our country is like this grenade except it has two basic parts: our people," antón motioned to the unruly crowd, "and you," he placed a hand on the boy's chest. diego closed his eyes and breathed in deeply at his father's words, "and you must clutch them nice and tight or we all go boom."

"do you understand now? prove it." antón urged the boy forwards, the grenade held high.

no, you couldn't let this happen. you couldn't let your son become a cold-hearted monster, driven by antón's own sick, twisted delusions of paradise. yet, you cowered behind him, not daring to stop him. maybe you were just as pathetic as your husband.

the shrill screams of your people echoed in your mind and your heart sunk, knowing that diego had dropped the grenade. some scrambled to their feet but you knew their efforts were in vain. you quickly averted your eyes just seconds before the blast went off. it was an action that you felt great shame for, the savage voice in your head hissing at you, reprimanding you for not saving them.

you knew their blood was on your hands. your mind raced but just as own blood trickled from your cut palms, you realized what you had to do:

get the hell of yara and never look back.

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missdawnandherdusk · 4 years ago

Text

Together In Paris

Auror!Draco X Auror!Reader

Summary: Cliche mini-series: There was only one bed/fake dating

A/n: I have no idea where this came from but it’s beautiful and so soft and cute and ugh. I love you guys so much so let me know what you think as always!! Also this is 8k words because I have no self control at all.

“There has to be some mistake,” I gasped. “Harry, you can’t be serious!”

“I need this case in the hands of my two best Aurors, and that’s you and Malfoy,” Harry leaned against his desk, arms crossed.

Draco was very quiet and very still beside me. Where my anger was loud and biting, I could tell that his was cold and unforgiving.

“Okay, and I’m flattered, but Harry,” I dismayed. “This is a weekend in Paris for a couples retreat. What the bloody hell do you expect us to do there?”

“Act like a couple,” Harry said, as if it were obvious. And I wished that it wasn’t. “And bring in this potions smuggler,”

I huffed and stormed off, heading to my desk to gather what I needed for this god forsaken case. Stupid Harry. Stupid Malfoy. Stupid shiny shoes that were in my line of vision.

“Bloody hell, Malfoy,” I looked up, abandoning my spare anti-hex potions in their bottom drawer. “What do you want?”

“You act like I’m happy about this,” He snapped coldly. “I’d rather spend a weekend in Paris doing something enjoyable with just about anyone else.”

Fury burned in my heart as his words pierced it. I couldn’t deny that they stung a bit. Truthfully, Draco wasn’t the worst person to get stuck on a case with. Instead I was angry because Harry just assumed that I’d be okay with pretending to date someone, even for a case.

“Just what every girl wants to hear,” I snarled. “What do you want Malfoy?” I sighed, continuing to pack my bag.

“What time would you like me to pick you up tonight?” His tone was so polite that it had me reeling, abandoning my task of packing.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“The case, it starts tomorrow evening. I assume that you’d like to get there early and see what we’re dealing with? You have with cases before,” He gave in tidbit of knowledge so offhandedly that I almost missed how Draco had somehow managed to pick up on my habits.

“I... uh. Yeah,” I zipped my bag and slung it over my shoulder. “Is seven alright with you? I have a few things that I need to get in order before we head out.”

“I’ll pick you up at seven then,”

Deciding that the interaction with Draco was one of the weirder moments of my life, I prepared myself for a weekend filled with... coupling—ugh. I spent about an hour ranting to my empty flat as I packed a suitcase and garment bag, my more expensive dresses safely inside. I paused in the mirror and sighed wistfully. Coupled with Draco Malfoy. Yeah right. We weren’t even in the same spheres of influence. Our spheres didn’t even touch remotely.

Promptly at seven, my doorbell rang, and I could tell that Draco was eyeing my jeans and sweater skeptically. I seemed like a teenager standing next to his immaculate, no doubt tailored- to-him suit. Lost. Lost was a good word that fit. I seemed lost when I stood beside Draco.

“Are you ready?” He asked.

“As I’ll ever be,” I sighed, letting him in so that we could apparate together.

I should have looked over the case notes a bit more. I would have dressed better if I had known Draco and I would be staying at the Ritz. I understood Draco’s look of contempt for my wardrobe earlier.

“Are you ready?” He asked again, softly.

“Yeah, sure.” I smiled settling into a fake persona that was desperately in love with Draco Malfoy. With the smile he returned, I could tell that Draco had done the same as he wrapped his arm around my waist. I tried not to gawk at the lavish lobby as Draco checked us in and I tried to also ignore the disapproving looks I got from the staff about my wardrobe. I stuck closer to Draco after one to many nasty stares.

French fell elegantly from his lips as he spoke to the receptionist. It escaped my mind that he could speak the language—it was probably one of the leading reasons that he was placed on this case: he could thrive without a translation spell. The small French woman made a remark that seemed to upset Draco, his words becoming harsh, his lip curling in anger. The woman started to stammer her words in what I assumed was apologies as she smiled nervously at me before pressing a key into Draco’s hands. A bellhop followed behind us with our luggage.

“What was that all about?” I asked Draco when we were alone in a imperial suite—either the Ministry had given Harry way too much power over funds or this had Malfoy written all over it.

“What was what?” Draco asked, drawing the curtains.

“The receptionist,” I gave, running my fingers over a marble statue of the Venus De Milo.

“Yes? What about her?” He raised an eyebrow at me, shrugging off his blazer and undoing his cufflinks.

“You snapped at her,”

“Ah,” Draco’s lips drew into a thin smile. “Well, I could hardly stand for her to be insulting the love of my life, now could I?” Sarcasm dripped in his tone as his smile became wicked.

“Oh, you stuffy people and your stuffy rules!” I dismayed. “Jeans are comfortable! So are sweaters!” I folded my arms childishly.

“I’m not arguing there, but Y/n, come on, at the Ritz?” Draco piqued an eyebrow.

“I didn’t know it would be here! Bloody hell, I would have dressed better if I knew!” It’s what I had been wanting to scream for the past hour that it felt nice to let the words finally leave my lips.

A chuckle fell from his lips as he sat at in a plush armchair, gesturing for me to join him. I sighed and sat in the adjacent chair, pulling my legs up onto the seat with me. If Draco disapproved, he didn’t voice his opinion.

“Now, before we begin,” His voice dropped into a formal tone, and I knew he was speaking about the case. “I need to know boundaries for you. Yes, we have to be a couple, but I don’t want to do anything that will make you uncomfortable or throw you off guard. I need you sharp and focused for us to do this case successfully,”

“That was... almost sweet,” I chuckled darkly.

My tongue darted between my lips as memories that I tried hard to keep locked down came resurfacing. It was another reason for my fury about the case. Harry knew that I had just gotten out of a toxic long-term relationship and I doubted he thought twice about my approval on the matter of this case. My eyes dropped to my lap; my eyebrows drawn together.

“Y/n,” He called softly, drawing my attention from my spiraling thoughts.

“Just...” I started. “I’m fine. Hug me, kiss me, hold me close, call me whatever, I don’t care,” The words were sharper than I meant them to be as I stormed out of the room and slammed whatever door was between us.

Leaning against the same door, fighting tears and the urge to apparate back home, my eyes settled on one large, silk draped, pillow lined, king sized bed.

“No,” I gasped. “No, no, no!” I screamed. “There is no way in hell!”

“Y/n?” A soft knock was on the door behind me.

I yanked it open and met an anxious looking Draco.

“What the hell!?” I gestured wildly to the bed.

“Are you alright?” Draco neared me cautiously. “Are you sure you’re up for this case?”

“Oh, don’t patronize me!” I snapped. “I’m just fine!”

“Then what in the world are you on about?” He folded his arms defiantly.

“The bed,” I hissed.

“Yes, what about it?” Oh, I wanted to punch him.

“There’s only one.”

“Oh, she can count, the day is saved,” Draco rolled his eyes. “Yes, there’s one bed, do you think a couple would be sleeping in separate beds? We have a cover to keep,”

My face scrunched up in anger as I sighed and scrubbed my face, my resolve falling flat.

“Right, the case.” I nodded, putting on a false calm smile. “Any boundaries of yours I need to know about?”

Draco eyed me warily, and whatever he wanted to say died on his tongue as he regained composure.

“Just be polite. Formal. We’re... how did you put it? Stuffy people, not teenagers,” There was a small smile on his lips.

“Right,” I nodded and sighed. “I’m sorry I yelled at you,”

“It’s my fault, I should have warned you.” His tone was soft. “And I also should have mentioned that I fully planned on sleeping on the floor, or perhaps a couch. I’d never impose on your privacy like that.”

I thawed a little more and my smile became a bit more real. “Thank you, Draco,”

“I’ll... leave you alone. If you’d like to change, we can explore a bit, though it’s all about the same here,”

“You say that like you come to Paris for lunch,” I drawled. “Not all of us have been out of the country, Malfoy,”

“You’ve—” He backtracked. “You’ve never been to Paris?”

“No?”

“Get changed,” He ordered. “Never been to Paris,” He scoffed, closing the door behind him.

__________________________

........................

“Harry,” Draco hissed, his eyes darting away from your retreating form.

“Can it, Malfoy,” Harry pushed off his desk and rounded it. “I don’t want to hear how you don’t want the case either,”

“Forget about me.” Draco nearly roared. “Don’t you understand how bad this is going to be for Y/n? How much this is going to hurt her?”

Harry looked dumbfounded. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, you are so blind!” Draco distressed. “She just got out of a very unhealthy relationship not a month ago and you want her to pretend to be in love with someone else? Are you bloody mad?”

“It’s just one weekend,” Harry insisted.

“Oh, I pity the girl you take home,” Draco sneered. “I’ll do the case. For her sake.”

...................

Of course, Draco knew about your breakup. He worked with you for Merlin’s sake. He noticed when you were too quiet or skipped out on meals. Not that he ever meant to, but he liked his routine, and every other person in their rightful place as well. He noticed when a pattern was broken.

You were still a brilliant Auror despite it all. You smiled more. You actual made conversation with him now. He was happy for you. You seemed... free. Reanimated. He feared that this case would be the mental breakdown that everyone around you seemed to be waiting for. And Draco didn’t know if he was ready for that. He didn’t know if you were ready for that.

So, he’d be civil. He’d be a jerk if it meant sparing your feelings. He’d make this as easy as he could for you. He knew what it was like to need to break but terrified of the act itself. To hold his head high despite wanting to lash out at everyone and everything. And he had grown from it. Learned how to break in a healthy way. And how to pick himself back up.

It was about fifteen minutes before the bedroom door opened and you stepped out. Draco’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of you. Switching your jeans and sweater for an A-line black skirt that draped down your frame, paired with a white button up blouse, sheer thigh highs and a pair of heels in one hand and a Prada bag in the other.

“Is this okay?” You asked timidly. “I... I don’t really do this sort of thing,”

Your hair draped effortlessly down your shoulders, and light makeup that gave you an airbrushed look. An inviting look. Whatever made you think that you shouldn’t do this sort of thing needed to be stopped immediately because you looked wonderful.

“Draco?” You pulled him from his thoughts. He blinked a few times, recovering.

“Uh. Yes, that’s perfect,” He rushed out, your cheeks flushing pink. “Shall we?” He offered his arm.

Slipping on your heels, they clicked on the floor, a melody to the sharp sounds of his dress shoes harmonizing on the marble floors.

“So, you’ve never been to Paris?” He mused.

“No,” You looked down. “I’ve always wanted to travel but...” A sharp breath entered your glossy lips. “I guess I can now. Huh,” You smiled at the thought, holding your head high and Draco wondered if your ex-lover had prevented you from travelling. “So, this is Paris?” Your eyes flitted to the towering antique buildings, the smile remaining on your face.

“A small part of it,” Draco chuckled. “The night is coming soon, but if we have tomorrow, I’ll take you around the city,”

A laugh bubbled from your lips, a pretty sound that went with the flowers in the window boxes. The sun was setting and the streetlamps hanging their heads began to illuminate the Parisian streets. It gave the scene around them a softer look, painting you in a golden light.

“You know you don’t actually have to take me on a date,” You mused. “It’s just a case, Draco,”

“Case or not, I won’t have you in my city and not see some of it.” Draco decided.

“Your city?”

“You understand that I do have a summer home here, right?” He raised an eyebrow. “And this is where my family used to come on holiday? And that one of my best friends lives here?”

“Really?” Surprise flickered across your face. “Who?”

“Pansy,” Draco smiled. “She moved here after...”

You nodded and your eyes traced to a small café and a couple sharing a soufflé on the patio. Your eyes dropped to the sidewalk under your heels, your smile falling.

“Would you like to get some dinner?” He asked softly.

“I... no thank you,” Your voice was quiet. “I already ate.”

“Dessert then perhaps?” Draco tried. “Ever had crème brulee?”

“Can’t say that I have,”

Your hand dropped from the crook of his shoulder as you wrapped your arms around yourself. He could see you shutting down at the thought and he wasn’t sure if he should keep pushing you or let you close yourself off.

“Don’t you think you deserve one? You’ve always wanted to come here, you’re here now. Don’t let him ruin it,” Scared he had overstepped his bounds as your silence dragged on, Draco began to grow more worried with each quiet second.

“You’re right,” You finally spoke. “I’m here now. I’m free to do as I please. And I really want to try a crème brulee,” There was a childlike smile on your face.

Draco led you across the cobblestone street to the small café that you had been eyeing earlier and swiftly ordered for the both of you in French as you got lost in the sights and smells around you.

Despite the later hour, the café was far from closing down. The waiter came with the assortment of bakery sweets that he had ordered, and you gaped at them.

“I thought we were getting one crème brulee,” You protested.

“Well, I figured you’d want to try a few other things as well. I know that you enjoy sweet things,”

Draco pushed the small dishes your way and watched you nibble your way through the pastries and desserts, hoarding the ones you enjoyed and passing to him the ones you didn’t prefer. You were lost in your own little world as you marveled at the Parisian pastries, particularly enjoying macarons—as well as your crème brulee.

“Thank you,” You looked down, a soft smile on your lips. “This was... really nice.” The dishes had been long cleared from the table and it left the pair staring that the stars through the shop window.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Draco offered his arm again and led you back towards the hotel.

There was only one bathroom in the suite, so Draco allowed you to use it first. In the meantime, he stood out on the balcony of the suite, overlooking the Paris skyline. It hadn’t changed much since he was a small child. The only thing that seemed to change massively was the one looking out. Draco didn’t know how long he stood there, pondering the stars, but your small voice pulled him from those thoughts.

He turned and you were back into your normal favored attire: cotton sweats and a sweater, thick socks on your feet and your hair in a messy ponytail. A smile touched his lips, because you looked just as wonderful like this.

__________________________

The girl in the mirror looked confused, but happy all the same.

“We’re just friends,” I told her. “That’s all I need. This is a case. This is a job, and Draco’s a friend.” She smiled back at me and nodded.

“Draco?”

He was on the balcony, lost in thought I supposed. He turned all the same, a soft smile on his face.

“I... I can take the couch if you want,” I offered. “I’m shorter than you... it’ll probably be a nightmare for you to sleep on the couch,” My gaze dropped as I shifted from foot to foot.

“Don’t worry about it,” Draco smiled, closing the French doors to the balcony and drawing the curtains. “I’ve done it before, I can do it again,”

“Oh,” I wasn’t exactly sure what he meant by that but brushed off the intrusive thoughts that threatened.

Since the bathroom was connected to the master bedroom, I perched on the bed, the bedside lamps on allowing me to continue my book. It was an old muggle classic that I found myself lost in. The bathroom door opened, and my eyes darted over to see Draco with damp hair in an old pair of Slytherin sweats and a V-neck. A small laugh escaped my lips at the sight.

“What?” He demanded.

“Nothing just didn’t expect to see you in Slytherin sweats, that’s all,” I closed my book, resting it on my lap.

“Oh, well.” He flushed slightly. “Goodnight,”

“Goodnight,”

He closed the door behind him, and I stared at the ornate doors for longer than I cared to admit. Sighing, I pulled out the case file and began to comb through the details. Harry wanted us to find potions smugglers who sold to high-brow cliental. From Polyjuice potion to Death Draught. The next sale was supposed to go down this weekend here at the Ritz during a couples ball. There were no names given for the criminals, but a description: male, two meters tall, brown cropped hair, and green eyes.

There was something almost familiar about the description, but I couldn’t place it. Sighing, I set down the file and turned off the lights, settling in for a long day tomorrow. The oversized pillows and expensive sheets offered me no comfort. They were too cold, to silky. I craved my quilt from home and my cotton sheets.

Giving up on the notion of sleep, I threw off the covers and went to the closet. There I found a knitted blanket that was heavenly soft to the touch. Stripping the bed of the top sheet and duvet as well as most of the pillows, I curled up with the blanket and a couple pillows and chased sleep.

“What in Merlin’s name?” The voice was confused and loud for this early in the morning. “What did the pillows ever do to you?”

I blinked out of the warmth of my dream and into the crisp morning, face to face with a disheveled sleepy Draco Malfoy.

“What?” I sat up, scrubbing my eyes.

“The bed? Hell, if I knew you were going to demolish it, I would have said take the couch,” There was a slight smile on his face.

“Didn’t feel right...” I mumbled, hugging my knees. “I’ll... I’ll clean it all up.”

“Don’t bother, we’re paying enough, housekeeping can take care of it. I’ll ask if they can switch the sheets to cotton for you,”

“Oh, no. Please don’t cause any trouble on my behalf.” I stammered quickly.

“It’s not trouble,” Draco smiled. “It’s their job, darling,”

“Doesn’t mean we have to make it harder.” I stumbled out of bed and grabbed my wand, casting a spell so that the bed remade itself. “Why are you up so early anyway? The sun is barely up.”

“Old habit,” he gave a tight smile. “Fancy some breakfast?”

“It’s too early to eat,” I grumbled. “Coffee however is necessary so lead the way, darling,” I drawled sarcastically, draping one of the hotel house coats around me to mirror Draco’s silk green one that he no doubt owned already.

Draco paused at the door.

“If you need an out. Or a break. At any time. Let me know and I’ll get you out.” His voice was careful and serious.

“I’m not going to break,” I refuted defiantly. “If that’s what you’re waiting for.” I pushed past him and out the door, down the hall and to the elevator. The ride was quiet and tense.

“I never meant to imply—”

“Just leave it.” I cut him off. “I haven’t had enough caffeine to deal with this yet.”

“I’m sorry,” Draco whispered as we exited the elevator and I wasn’t quite sure what he was apologizing for, but it thawed me out a bit.

Breakfast was tense and quiet as we ate in silence. Draco read the Daily Prophet and I continued on my book. We made polite conversation with passersby and smiled like we were in love.

And I was in love. With the China teacups and their gold leaf accents. With the rich foods served and the beautiful decor. I was in love with the lavish tablecloths and the fancy napkins. I adored the chandeliers and sconces and fresh flowers that were on every table. It was beautiful and I was in love with it.

It wasn’t fair that Draco looked at home among the beautiful things. As if he came with them. “Are you still wanting to see the city?” He asked cautiously when we were back up in the suite.

“If you’re willing to put up with me for the day,” a smile touched my lips. “I... I know I can be a handful.”

“All things considered,” he mused softly. “I think you’re doing wonderfully.”

I smiled and lingered a moment longer than necessary before heading to the master bedroom to change. Favoring for a pair of high waisted black slim pants and a cold shoulder emerald top, I decided I could have looked worse. Lacing up my boots I headed out to Draco who was laying down his collar. His eyes swept over my figure, leaving me slightly self-conscious as I braided my hair loosely.

“Here,” Draco reached into the nearest drawer and pulled out a black ribbon and passed it to me before reaching back into the drawer. “These are my mother’s, but I don’t think she’ll mind you borrowing them,”

He offered me a black velvet box and inside were nestled a pair of diamond earrings.

“Draco, I can’t—”

“You can and you will,” he smiled. “You deserve it,”

I looked at the earring and my resolves crumbled as I put them on.

“Is this your suite then?” I mused.

“Took you long enough to figure that one out,” he chuckled.

“Should have known from all the green,” I teased back.

“It’s a regal color,” Draco insisted.

“Sure thing darling,” a chuckle left my lips as we headed out the door.

“It is!” He tried again, causing me to laugh.

_________________________________

Draco had been to Paris just about as many times as he had been to London. Perhaps the city lost some of its shine over the years. Maybe after the war the Paris lights didn’t look the same to him. Perchance he had lost his childlike awe of the historical envied city.

But you... you had never been to Paris. You have never walked along the Seine. You had never seen the Eiffel Tower, never browsed the art of the Louvre. You’d never stood under the light filtered through the stain glass of the Notre Dame. Your fingers never ran over the rough stone of the Arc de Triomphe.

Now you had.

“This was a very nice not date,” You smiled, sitting beside him on a bench watching the people of Paris below you from the top of the Eiffel Tower. “I can see why you keep coming back,”

“I haven’t been since the... since I became an Auror,” Draco’s eyes were trained on the horizon.

“Well... I’m glad you came.” There was a gentle smile on your face as he caught your warm eyes. “On the case, I mean.” You recovered and looked down at your hands. “I know this probably isn’t easy for you either,”

“It could have been worse,” Draco teased lightly. “I could have been stuck with Greengrass,” His words seemed to pull you from your moping thoughts as your smile returned.

“She’s a sweet girl, I’m sure you would have been fine.” You went back to fidgeting with your hands, your eyes dropping to them, “Besides who wouldn’t want to go undercover as Draco Malfoy’s significant other,” It was a sad sort of humor.

“You?” Draco pressed softly.

You gnawed on your lip, lost in thought as your eyes became glassy with unshed tears. “We should go,�� You barely whispered, standing. “We have a banquet tonight at the hotel.”

“Y/n,” Draco followed you to the elevators.

“What?” It was a bit more defensive now.

“I didn’t mean—”

“You don’t mean a lot of things, I know,” Your arms folded tightly across your chest, your head ducked down. “It’s fine, we have a case to do and a criminal to catch. You said it yourself, I need to be sharp and focused to do this successfully,” Your tone was clipped, and Draco was taken aback at your sudden change of attitude on a drop of a dime as his words came back to haunt him. “So, if you don’t mean any of it, then neither do I,”

Draco opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came. Your abrasive words sent him reeling. What had happened to the girl who was wonderstruck by the city? The girl who was amused at the street performers and the girl who smiled something carefree? Just when he thought the real you was free beside him, you caged her back again and locked him out, and he shouldn’t care, but he did. Because you were hurting. The same way that he used to.

But he had to admit that you were right, he had a case to accomplish. And if he wasn’t focused you could get hurt, he could get hurt, or the felon could slip through your fingers.

In his well tailor suit and his hair coiffed back precisely, he was ready to do everything and mean nothing. A cold mask that you mirrored as he met you in a deep navy draped silk gown, your heels in hand again. His heart didn’t mean to skip a beat.

Tucked against his side, smiling like you didn’t have a care in the world, he was quite glad that the other guests and staff didn’t expect much animation from him. It gave him time to keep an eye on you. He could schmooze with ease and little effort, and he soon learned that so could you. From the outside, you two looked perfectly smitten with another. Despite his many shortcomings, Harry was right, you two were perfect with this case.

But that’s not what held Draco’s main focus. Instead, it was the constant reminder that this meant nothing. Every gentle touch of your hand, every smile, every pet name, every laugh, every praise of him, every declaration of love, every concerned and caring word—they all meant nothing. It meant nothing to you. It was an act. A job. A case.

And he was losing focus.

Because though you had stumbled into his affluent world in jeans and a sweater, you were now at home among the wealthy wizards you now rubbed elbows with, possessing the grace and poise of someone who was brought up like he was. You knew how to use the silverware set before you. You knew proper etiquette.

“Miss Y/n,”

Amelia Bones, the former head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was sat at the banquet table along with you and Draco. You rose your head politely, nodding a hello.

“I’m surprised to see you so cozy with Mr. Malfoy, was it not a month ago you were engaged to another?” Her words seemed harmless, but Draco watched your smile become more forced as the breaths passed.

“My apologies,” Draco cut in coldly. “But I don’t see how that is any of your business,”

“Oh, forgive me dearie, I meant no offense at all,” Mrs. Bones flutter her hand.

“Of course,” You smiled widely, “And yes, you’re correct, but well, since working with Draco it deemed nearly impossible not to fall for him,” The look you gave him made him lose focus completely. “And it was an arranged marriage, my parents offered me the option at the beginning of the war, and well, I had no reason to refuse,” Your hand slipped into his. “Until I met Draco that was,”

“Oh, isn’t that just lovely,” Mrs. Bones fawned to her husband beside her. “A real fairytale ending you have yourself Y/n, I’m sure others are just dying to be in your shoes,”

“I’m sure,” Your smile became forced again, but you held your composure.

But that didn’t mean that Draco didn’t commandeer the conversation to keep the attention off of you for the remainder of the banquet. You excused yourself slightly early, though it was a polite time to leave, nonetheless. Draco bid the folks he was talking to and followed you out.

He found you on the balcony, barefoot, your hair out of the tight bun it had been in, your dress still on. The stars stretched out before you over the rooftops of Paris, the Eiffel Tower illuminated in the distance.

“I told you, I’m fine,” Your words were barely audible.

“I didn’t say anything,” Draco retorted, slipping off his blazer and tie.

“You were thinking it,”

He smiled as he came beside you, leaning against the railing.

“Maybe I was,” He sighed softly. “Regardless, you’re my partner on this case, and I dare say you’re a friend of mine. I’d like to know if you’re okay. It’s what friends do,”

A sigh escaped your lips as your eyes lifted from your hands back to the skyline blinking back tears.

“Friends,” You muttered weakly. Not that he liked the word much either, but he’d take it to keep you close.

“I... I know that we—I haven’t had much luck at this, but if... if you need someone to...” Draco trailed off, shaking his head. He knew it was a lost cause. He knew that you didn’t mean anything.

Again, you were quiet. He turned to leave, but you spoke up.

“He was supposed to be my happily ever after,” The words were soft and sad. “My prince charming come to save me.” Draco paused and turned back to you; his brows furrowed. “All this time I thought he’d save me... but I ended up saving myself, and him.” You went from facing the city to facing him, “And he refused to save himself. And made me feel terrible for saving myself... for becoming someone new... someone stronger.”

“You... seemed happier after...” Draco spoke carefully.

You nodded. “Everyone was waiting for me to break. To cry... go off the wall... and sometimes I wonder why I don’t. Why I can’t.” You turned your head to the side. “Sure, I get snappy... and the nights haunt me... but to cry? To miss someone who drained me?” A shrug fell from your shoulders. “I can’t do it...” A pause. “Maybe I am broken. I can’t even break properly.”

“No one said you had to break,” Draco took a careful step forward. “No one said you had to cry.”

“But shouldn’t I?” There were tears in your eyes now.

“No,” Draco shook his head softly. “Breaking hurts, and it seems like you already have. Now you’re just picking up the pieces where you can,”

You mulled over the thought and nodded, facing the city once more.

“They always talk about the one who got away, but they never ask her why she left, do they?” The question was gentle from your lips as Draco left you alone to think. He was sure that he wasn’t meant to hear it, but he did.

____________________________

The cotton sheets of the king-sized bed that night welcomed me. The bedding had changed drastically, from silks and down feathers to cotton and quilted blankets. They were still green and gold, but it was an improvement as I stared at the paintings on the walls and ceiling. Despite the change in sheets, sleep still eluded me. Frustrated this time, I slipped on the housecoat and quietly opened the bedroom doors.

Only to find Draco awake with the light on, reading. I almost wanted to smile at how he was draped over the couch in sweats and nothing else, looking at home among the lavish furnishings. He looked up from his book.

“Can’t sleep,” I confessed, leaning against the door jam. “Thanks for the sheets and stuff though...”

“Is there something I can do?” He asked softly, setting down his book, sitting up.

“Got any Sleeping Draught on you?” I asked hopefully.

“Afraid not,” He pursed his lips.

Moving to the adjacent chaise lounge, I curled up under the throw blanket, running the golden fringe through my fingers.

I wasn’t aware of when I had fallen asleep. I was barely aware being carried to the lavish bed and tucked in. I was aware that I had moved when I awoke to the sun shining in through the curtains.

“Good morning,” Draco greeted as I exited the bedroom, dressed for the day.

The day was a quiet affair. Breakfast mimicked yesterday and lunch mirrored dinner last night. There was no time to go out on the city today, not with the masquerade ball tonight. This was the entire reason for this weekend in Paris. To get into this ball and catch the convict. It took the two hours that it took to get ready to remind myself that this was a case, and not a fairytale ending. I didn’t get those.

Draco escorted me down to the ballroom, commenting on how beautiful I was. I let the compliment roll off my shoulders though I desperately wanted to cling to his words. Words that he didn’t mean.

It didn’t seem fair that the entire Ritz hotel was something out of a fairytale and tonight I was required to pose as the perfect princess, though I felt far from it. My only relief was that my eyes were hidden behind a mask. No one would see accidental tears. I had told Draco that I didn’t need to break, but this might just break me.

An hour slipped by of talking and schmoozing other guests before Draco led me to an adjacent standing table, offering me a haven from the prying eyes and whispers.

“Would you care to dance?” Draco offered his hand, smiling, as the next waltz began from the live quartet.

“We don’t have time to dance,” I retorted. “We’re on a case here,”

“It’s just one dance,” He rolled his eyes, his hand sliding to my waist, ready to escort me.

“You need to focus on this case Draco,” I snapped. “We need to catch this guy in case you’ve forgotten.” I didn’t mean for the words to be so harsh.

“Of course,” His hand dropped from my waist, “If you’ll excuse me,” Draco said quietly.

“Dray, wait, I didn’t mean—”

“I’d know those lips anywhere,” A familiar voice purred from behind me.

“Dean,” My breath caught in my throat as I turned, wishing I hadn’t just sent Draco off.

“And I thought he’d never leave.” Dean grinned. “I gotta say, didn’t think you’d move onto some stiff like Malfoy, and so soon. Does he know he’s a rebound?”

“Oh, fuck off,” I muttered, taking my clutch and walking away from him, scanning the crowd for Draco to no avail.

Dean grabbed my arm and spun me back, a dangerous look in his eyes. He pulled me to a quiet corner of the ballroom.

“Let go of me,” I shook him off, drawing my wand.

“Now, now, wouldn’t want to cause a scene, now would we?” His smile became predatory. “There are quite a few important Muggles in the crowd tonight,”

“You’re a bastard, you know that?” I hissed.

“Such naughty language in front of such high paying cliental.”

My eyes widened in surprise. “It’s you,” I breathed out. “You’re the seller,”

“In the flesh, sweetheart,” His green eyes held danger. “What, didn’t expect me to move onto something better? Like you went off and did anything valuable with your life after me, not that Malfoy is much of an improvement.”

I hid my surprise well: he didn’t know that I was an Auror. He didn’t know about the case. Now all I had to do was get him away from harming anyone and pray that Draco would find me to help detain Dean. But to get Dean away from these people, I was going to have to break. Hard.

A perfect masquerade to be someone that I wasn’t. Someone that Dean wanted me to be. Someone who would break my heart.

“Tell me about,” I smiled sweetly, “Maybe I’ll ditch the stiff.” My eyes scanned over Dean in false want.

“So, you realize that leaving me was a mistake,” Dean tilted his chin back.

“Since the moment I walked away,” The lie weighed heavy on my tongue. “Please De,” My hand trailed up his arm.

I could feel my heart splintering.

_______________________________

“Not to alarm you Mr. Malfoy, but it seems that your lady is being entertained by another young man,” Mrs. Bones spoke softly. “They just left out the side door,”

Draco snapped out of his self-pity party as he scanned the crowd for you, his anxiety and adrenaline spiking. You had found the convict.

“Thank you,” Draco gave curtly, untying the mask from around his head and as soon as the door closed behind him, he took off running, wand out, desperate to find you.

He heard soft voices in coming from an adjacent sitting room and cautiously hovered outside the door.

“Remember this?” The voice was low and husky, and one he didn’t recognize.

“Yes,” Your breathy voice came in response.

A thousand thoughts ran through Draco’s mind and for a moment he thought that you really had run off with someone else. That you hadn’t found the felon, but rather someone to... He didn’t want to finish the thought.

“Say it,” The first voice demanded.

“I’m s-sorry,” Your voice whimpered. “I’m sorry I ever left you. Draco... he—he’s nothing compared to you,” Fear and tears were mixed with your voice and Draco had a very good idea of who was in there with you.

Call it jealousy, or his job, Draco burst into the room, finding you pinned against the wall, hands above your head held there by a young man whose lips were pressed to your neck, making you whimper and squeeze your eyes shut. A man with green eyes and brown cropped hair. Their target. And you had found him. And he seemed to know you. Very well.

Then it clicked. The criminal was your ex-lover. Of course, it was. When Draco saw Harry again, he was going to sock him a-la-muggle.

You look absolutely terrified when Draco caught your eyes. Your mask was gone, and you looked disheveled and defeated.

“I was hoping you’d show Malfoy,” An amused smile curled on the target’s lips as he let you go. You fell to the floor, caught off balance.

“Don’t hurt him,” You pleaded, picking yourself up, and Draco didn’t know if you were talking to him or the target.

“You’re not in a place to bargain, sweetheart,” The target snapped. “Auror Malfoy. Here to turn me in I suppose?”

“After I beat the hell out of you, yeah, it’s on my list of things to do,” Draco snarled.

“What? For taking your girl from you?” The target laughed. “She was never yours.”

“She might not be mine, but she sure as hell doesn’t belong to you either,”

“I’m afraid she does,” The target grabbed your arm and jerked you in front of him, creating a shield between he and Draco with you. “And you obviously care for her, so here’s what’s going to happen.” The man drew his wand and held it to your throat. “You’re going to let me make the deal I need to, and then I’m going to take Miss Y/l/n here and leave,”

Draco glowered, his mind racing to figure out how to get you safely out of this. He could see you trembling, your eyes refusing to meet his.

“Dean, please,” You whimpered, curling yourself into his arms.

Your arms draped around the target’s—Dean’s shoulders as you whispered soft things into his ear that made Dean grin and Draco’s blood boil. How could Dean not see how uncomfortable you were? How you shied away from him? Draco’s grip on his wand tightened.

He watched as your lips pressed to Dean’s neck, your hands trailing down his ill-fitting polyester suit as you slinked your way around the felon, distracting Dean long enough that Draco was able to throw a Full Body Bind at him.

“You bitch!” Dean roared.

“You’re the bitch here,” You snarled. “How in a million years could you think that I would want you?” Seething you rounded your frozen ex, wand drawn. “I did do something with my life you asshole! I’m an Auror! And a damn good one!”

“You never had the guts,” Dean barked a laugh.

“On the contrary,” Draco grinned. “She’s the best one we’ve got,”

“You two set me up!”

“Duh,” You laughed, tucking away your wand.

Draco wanted to warn you about the dangers of the deed, but you surprised him and drew back your fist, landing it squarely on Dean’s nose.

“That’s for assaulting me!” Another to his jaw, “That’s for using me!” One more to his cheek, “And that’s for coming back into my life,”

You turned and walked away from Dean, leaving him bleeding, still petrified. Draco caught your hand before you stormed out of the room.

“I’m fine,” You shrugged him off.

“No, you’re not,” Draco refuted.

“Awe, trying to play hero, now?” Dean jeered.

You froze under Draco’s touch, squeezing your eyes shut, your jaw clenching.

“She doesn’t need a hero,” Draco let you go and faced Dean. “She picked herself back up and walked away from a lowlife like you. You were so wrong to ever assume that she needed to be saved.”

There was a knock on the door.

______________________________

I was still trembling. It had been about two hours since Dean first touched me. First shoved me against a wall and forced his lips on mine. From when I had first started to shatter.

In that time, Mrs. Bones had intervened and called backup to detain and court away Dean to Azkaban, the room had been cleaned of any trace of our battle, and Draco and I were alone in the suite, for one last night before we left.

We hadn’t spoken a word since the fight and the tension between us was tangible. Curled up in a deck chair, I desperately tried to rid my mind from Dean and the feeling of his hands on me, his lips on my skin, his whispered words. I shouldn’t be afraid. Not like this. I was an Auror. I was independent and strong.

But hell, I was breaking. Fast and hard.

Draco knocked on the balcony door, drawing my attention. I looked to him, hopeless and terrified. He offered his hand, an invitation, a call. I rose, my resolve fading as I ran into his arms, breaking down in tears. His arms wrapped around me, cradling me to his chest. I frantically grasped at his white button up, trying to ground myself.

Draco gently tugged me to the floor, still cradling me in his arms.

“I—I’m sorry,” I cried out. “I... he... I thought I...”

He shushed me softly and rubbed my back softly. “You don’t owe me an explanation.”

“I didn’t mean it,” I gasped out through tears.

“I know,” His tone was somber.

But though the night dragged relentlessly, it was not the worst night of my life. I took comfort from that. And I was not alone. There was a great deal of comfort in that, too.

My hindsight seemed unbearably clear tonight. I could see every mistake I’d made, every bit of harm I’d done, the small things and the big things. Each pain I’d caused Draco, each wound I’d given myself, stacked up into neat piles that I could not ignore or deny.

And I realized that I’d been wrong all along about wanting to be alone. It had not been Draco and I that I’d been trying to force apart, it was the two parts of myself, the one who craved a companion and the one who was independent and free. But they didn’t know how to exist together, and I should have tried harder to figure it out.

I’d done so much damage.

Draco said little; he just held me on the floor and let me ruin his shirt, staining it with saltwater. At some point a blanket was draped around my shoulders and I was too miserable to figure out where it came from.

It took longer than I thought it would for that smaller, broken part of me to cry herself out. It happened, though, and I was eventually exhausted enough to sleep. While I slept, I felt warm, protected, comforted. I didn’t feel alone.

In the morning, I saw the reason why. It was one of the reasons that had me terrified in the beginning of this entire case:

There was only one bed.

And I wasn’t alone.

Epilogue:

“I did apologize right?” I asked again sheepishly.

“And I told you, you have nothing to apologize for,” Draco smiled. “It’s what friends are for Y/n,”

I smiled at the word. Friends. It was the solution to my dilemma. The part of myself that craved a companion but satisfied the girl with dreams and freedom. It was in front of me the entire time. I wished I had realized sooner, and maybe this weekend would have been different, but friends... more than friends, whatever we were or weren’t, Draco had decided to stand by me regardless, and I was grateful.

“Y/l/n, Malfoy, how was Paris?” Harry asked offhandedly as we reported to him Monday morning.

What I wasn’t expecting however, was Draco grabbing Harry’s collar and decking him.

I covered my mouth, trying to conceal a laugh but failed miserably.

“What the hell Malfoy?” Harry sputtered, holding his bleeding nose.

“You wanna know who was dealing those illegal potions?” Malfoy snarled. “Her ex. And you sent her into this weekend blind,”

Harry’s eyes widened in shock as he stammered out apologies.

I rolled my eyes and left the office, a warm smile on my face. Draco walked beside me.

“You didn’t have to do that you know,” I muttered. “Is your hand alright?”

“I know how to throw a punch and not injure myself,” Draco rolled his eyes at me. “And I’ll take any chance I can get to punch Potter in the face,”

I laughed as we apparated to Paris for lunch.

Tags: @coffee-addicti @msmcsmutt @ravn-87 @artemismohr18@whygz @crazywritingbug @fuzzy-panda @bitemebro522@zombiesnips-blog @savingdraco@welcometomyworldwithoutrules @akari180 @slytherin-emerald@memalfoy-spidey @queenfeatherwings @fanficflaneuse @go-whovian-universe @spicyshenanigans @darling-im-not-okay-i-promise @dietkiwi @katsukink @takemetothekingdom @strangerr-things @tmnt-queen @hxneybgb @justsomerandomgur@belcvayelena @moviesbooksandfandoms @howdycharlie@xtrashmouthxtozierx @cocochanelthepupper @ninacotte@braelynn-j @jiggllyy @honeymarvel @darcypotter-blog@atomicpunkrock @thiccheerioss @lottie289 @boredashaeck@beautiful-pegasus @tceedlmao @deadlynyghtshayde@iconjuresnapeingrandmaclothes @anonymous034 @bi-andready-tocry @lunna-does-real-doodle @dragonsandbread @okaydraco@the-queen-of-hell-things @cmxreader @alienmotel @oh-itsnothing @sunflowerxsadnessw @fattycooter @angelotakunerd08@thisisahugemistake @fanficsigottaread @gweaslvy@strawberriesonsummer @gaysludge @cleopatera @ray-of-sunrise@artist-bby @shadowsingeraxolotl @peters-legos@quillsareforwriting @ghostlytoadalmondhairdo @wollymalfoy @lilpieceoftoast @paper-cats @floweryjh @sdicapriox @slothgirl22 @peachesandpinks @hufflautia @livize75 @annie-mcl @riathearora @live-like-luna @justathoughtfulangel @coconutdawn @skteaiy @wannabeskinny-thinspo @naughtygranger @queenofmankind @dragonsandbread @abundantxadorations @moony-artnstuff @myforeveryoungblog @and-then-a-girl-with-luv @1-800-luvsick @pandas-rice-field @strawberriesonsummer @jjustsomerandomgirl @mrvlfangirl3190 @in-slytherin-we-trust @emmaa-t @introvertedrae @infinity1o1 @stoleurmomsvan @echpr @sunkissed-hufflepuff @dekulover @marshmallowtraver @cereuselle @lonely-skywalker @xlosttdreamss @sleepysnapesnake @hoeforthefictional @coldlilheart @helen-paris @romance-geek @rosie-starlit-sky @californiaa-babyy @vulture-withafile @hogstupefy @littlepanda-love @eveft @iraniq

742 notes · View notes

gingeraleluke · 3 years ago

Note

Hi! I was wondering if I could get a marvel and/or spn ship?

I’m bisexual, and roughly 6’2 with medium-long brown hair. I have freckles, blue eyes, and am on the lower end of plus size.

my interests include reading, writing, art, and history. my favourite weather is rain, I really like old architecture, and my favourite colour is purple.

personality-wise I’m definitely one of those people who will be super quiet and reserved around people they don’t know, but if I’m close with someone I will talk a lot and like to consider myself at least decently funny. I’m also usually the responsible mom friend.

also a random fun fact about me is that I can’t drive.

𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝘼𝙑𝙀𝙉𝙂𝙀𝙍 𝙄 𝙎𝙃𝙄𝙋 𝙔𝙊𝙐 𝙒𝙄𝙏𝙃 𝙄𝙎..

*✧･ﾟ:*𝗗𝗢𝗖𝗧𝗢𝗥 𝗦𝗧𝗥𝗔𝗡𝗚𝗘*:･ﾟ✧*

basic info:

✿ 𝗻𝗮𝗺𝗲: 𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗽𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗻𝗴𝗲

✿ 𝗵𝗲𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁: 𝟲’𝟭

✿ 𝘇𝗼𝗱𝗶𝗮𝗰 𝘀𝗶𝗴𝗻: 𝘀𝗰𝗼𝗿𝗽𝗶𝗼

✿ 𝗼𝗰𝗰𝘂𝗽𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻: 𝗻𝗲𝘂𝗿𝗼𝘀𝘂𝗿𝗴𝗲𝗻

✿ 𝗽𝗼𝘄𝗲𝗿𝘀: 𝗺𝗮𝗴𝗶𝗰, 𝘀𝗸𝗶𝗹𝗹𝗲𝗱 𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘁𝗶𝗮𝗹 𝗮𝗿𝘁𝗶𝘀𝘁

✿ 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗶𝘁𝘀: 𝘀𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘁, 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗼𝘂𝗿𝗰𝗲𝗳𝘂𝗹, 𝗱𝗲𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗲𝗱

｡ₓ ू ₒ ु ˚ ू ₒ ु ₓ｡｡ₓ ू ₒ ु ˚ ू ₒ ु ₓ｡｡ₓ ू ₒ ु ˚ ू ₒ ु ₓ｡

headcannons ༄

you were an avenger and one day was introduced to stephen

you were immediately drawn to him

and he was to you

everyone saw it so they would try and get you two together

a little seven minutes and heaven was what started your romance

and despite being mad at everyone at the time, you were grateful now

you were intimidated by how smart and powerful he was

but as time went on, you two grew closer and you became more comfortable with him

you guys literally never argue

it annoys everyone how in love you two are

the only problem with your relationship is that stephen has a hard time opening up to you

sometimes you can’t figure out what he’s thinking and it drives you crazy

after confronting him, he admitted that he was in love with you

it was scary how much he loved you

he’s constantly worried about you and just wants you safe

you love snuggling with him

falling asleep on his arm

“can i wear your cape?”

staying up late at night talking about random things

“if you could be one animal for a day, what would you be?”

“why do you think thanos is purple?”

“do you know any bird calls?”

reading books together

a glimpse at your relationship:

｡ₓ ू ₒ ु ˚ ू ₒ ु ₓ｡｡ₓ ू ₒ ु ˚ ू ₒ ु ₓ｡｡ₓ ू ₒ ु ˚ ू ₒ ु ₓ｡

𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙓-𝙈𝙀𝙉 𝙄 𝙎𝙃𝙄𝙋 𝙔𝙊𝙐 𝙒𝙄𝙏𝙃 𝙄𝙎..

*✧･ﾟ:*𝗖𝗢𝗣𝗬𝗖𝗔𝗧*:･ﾟ✧*

basic info:

✿ 𝗻𝗮𝗺𝗲: 𝘃𝗮𝗻𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗮 𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗹𝘆𝘀𝗹𝗲

✿ 𝗵𝗲𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁: 𝟲’

✿ 𝗼𝗰𝗰𝘂𝗽𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻: 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗺𝗲𝗿 𝗲𝘅𝗼𝘁𝗶𝗰 𝗱𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲𝗿, 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗽𝗿𝗶𝗮𝘁𝘆 𝗼𝗳 𝗮𝗻 𝗼𝗿𝗽𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗮𝗴𝗲

✿ 𝗽𝗼𝘄𝗲𝗿𝘀: 𝘀𝗵𝗮𝗽𝗲𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗳𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗺𝘂𝘁𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻

✿ 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗶𝘁𝘀: 𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗱, 𝗳𝗶𝗲𝘀𝘁𝘆, 𝘀𝗲𝗱𝘂𝗰𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗲

｡ₓ ू ₒ ु ˚ ू ₒ ु ₓ｡｡ₓ ू ₒ ु ˚ ू ₒ ु ₓ｡｡ₓ ू ₒ ु ˚ ू ₒ ु ₓ｡

headcannons ༄

you both met at a club which was totally out of character for you

you were super out of place and reserved which drew vanessa towards you

you are polar opposites on the surface

but get along so well

your friend ditched you and you can’t drive so vanessa gave you a ride home

which well….. lead to a hookup

i mean… have you seen her?

and have you seen you?

it was bound to happen

you both caught feelings and became kind of friends with benefits

she brought out a really fun and bright side of you that you loved

when she told you about her powers, you were nervous

you weren’t gonna lie

you had seen so much about mutants on tv and how controversial they were

you never imagined yourself dating one- forget falling in love with one!

but there you were

head over heels

not only was the sex good

but the conversations?

she had you seeing the world in an entirely different way

she told you when she ran into her old friend wade

whom you met as deadpool

he likes you a lot more than he would like to admit, considering he’s in love with your girlfriend

him begging for a threesome

“wade, shut the fuck up”

you guys love watching movies together

sometimes deadpool will join

and sometimes he will bring colossus

you yelling at colossus to get out of your chair because he broke the last one

TRAVELING!! you guys bring home souvenirs

going on plane rides with vanessa and her holding your hand

her shifting into a celebrity to get you both first class seats

her eyes get all bright when she looks at you 🥺

｡ₓ ू ₒ ु ˚ ू ₒ ु ₓ｡｡ₓ ू ₒ ु ˚ ू ₒ ु ₓ｡｡ₓ ू ₒ ु ˚ ू ₒ ु ₓ｡

a glimpse at your relationship:

｡ₓ ू ₒ ु ˚ ू ₒ ु ₓ｡｡ₓ ू ₒ ु ˚ ू ₒ ु ₓ｡｡ₓ ू ₒ ु ˚ ू ₒ ु ₓ｡

𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙎𝙐𝙋𝙀𝙍𝙉𝘼𝙏𝙐𝙍𝘼𝙇 𝘾𝙃𝘼𝙍𝘼𝘾𝙏𝙀𝙍 𝙄 𝙎𝙃𝙄𝙋 𝙔𝙊𝙐 𝙒𝙄𝙏𝙃 𝙄𝙎..

*✧･ﾟ:*𝗦𝗔𝗠 𝗪𝗜𝗡𝗖𝗛𝗘𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥*:･ﾟ✧*

basic info:

✿ 𝗵𝗲𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁: 𝟲’𝟮

✿ 𝗼𝗰𝗰𝘂𝗽𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻: 𝗵𝘂𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗿

✿ 𝘇𝗼𝗱𝗶𝗮𝗰 𝘀𝗶𝗴𝗻: 𝘁𝗮𝘂𝗿𝘂𝘀

✿ 𝗵𝗼𝗯𝗯𝗶𝗲𝘀: 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴, 𝗹𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴, 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗼𝘂𝘁

✿ 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗶𝘁𝘀: 𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗱, 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗶𝗴𝗲𝗻𝘁, 𝗲𝗺𝗽𝗮𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘁𝗶𝗰

｡ₓ ू ₒ ु ˚ ू ₒ ु ₓ｡｡ₓ ू ₒ ु ˚ ू ₒ ु ₓ｡｡ₓ ू ₒ ु ˚ ू ₒ ु ₓ｡

headcannons ༄

you bumped in to sam at a gas station and as stupid as it sounds, you exchange numbers and hit it off

dean kept pressing sam to reach out to you

“dude, it’s obvious you like the chick. just call her and take her out! you haven’t gotten laid in a while, it’d be good for you!”

he finally called you and you guys made plans to meet at a coffee shop

he took you to the beach and you both had a cute picnic

he wasn’t planning on telling you about the whole monster hunter thing

but when sam told you to grab the blanket in the back of the car, you assumed he meant the trunk

so when you opened it and found numerous symbols and weapons, you panicked

he got you to calm down and explained everything

when you didn’t believe him, he got cas to teleport to show you

then you believed him

you wanted to hunt so bad

but sam would never let you

dean ended up sneaking you out to hunt with him

sam found out and freaked

but eventually gave in

he’s still not in love with the idea of you in such a dangerous situation

you and dean became really close friends

you hate ruby with a passion and when sam told you about what she did to him, your blood was fucking boiling

putting sams hair up in a bun

you love sitting on his lap whenever he’s working

grinding down on him to get his attention

“fuck, please stop.”

playing board games with him and dean

trying to teach cas, but he just gets frustrated and leaves

always beating sam

“okay, there’s no way- you are definitely cheating!”

｡ₓ ू ₒ ु ˚ ू ₒ ु ₓ｡｡ₓ ू ₒ ु ˚ ू ₒ ु ₓ｡｡ₓ ू ₒ ु ˚ ू ₒ ु ₓ｡

a glimpse at your relationship:

#marvel x reader #marvel #x men x reader #x men #supernatural x reader #supernatural #ships

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preciouslittletoonette · 3 years ago

Text

So since it’s already considered pretty accepted that Cuthbert Coot is the father of Kildare Coot, I had gone onto my ponderings about who Kildare’s mother is.

One of the wikias said her name was Luna Loon but besides that, I found nothing on her. So I did the next best thing:

I made a mother for Kildare:

Meet Petronella Paperella, everyone!

Born in 1963 to a family of fishermen, Petronella is a spirited young woman hailing from the small sea side town of Cefalu in Sicily, Italy. Out of 5 siblings, she is the second youngest of her brood.

In 1982, while making her way to town, by chance she meets Cuthbert Coot, who was staying with his uncle Clarence Coot up in Palermo for the year and decided to check out Cefalu for the day while his aunt Rosabella shopped and visited friends. The two, quite literally, bumped into each other (both their bikes crashed into each other, it was a nastly bump and fall). Petronella, quickly panicked and fretted over the person she crashed into, apologising frantically in Italian before the other could get a word in.

Cuthbert, however, was quickly besotted with the speckled beauty before him.

And that moment was what could be explained as the start of a wonderful relationship.

Cuthbert and Petronella spent a good amount of their free time together, Cuthbert mainly coming to Cefalu on weekends to spend time with her. Rarely did Petronella ever go to Palermo unless her family had business there and dropped her off at the Coot-de Paperone residence, where Cuthbert stayed. When not being able to visit each other, they sent each other letters. The letters initially started out quite friendly before showing subtle hints of flirting from mostly Cuthbert’s side (ending usually with a blushing mess on Petronella’s end. Safe to say, the flirting was well received). The flirting eventually bled through to their actual face-to-face talks (and hoo boy it’s amazing how red one’s face can become under the right circumstances) and soon their friendship turned to romance.

Cuthbert stayed in Sicily for another year due to the new development in their relationship and quickly went to work on not only his relationship with Petronella, but also to work on further impressing her family and showing/proving that he is capable of taking care of her.

Eventually the time for Cuthbert to leave was drawing closer and time seemed to be moving much faster for the both of them as time drew quicker. Petronella was deeply in love with Cuthbert and vice versa and wasn’t willing to leave him for so long. She had even fancied the idea of running to America with him, buying a ranch and raising cattle, having their own family and watching her children play in the fields without much worries.

So imagine her surprise and delight, when Cuthbert asks her to go with him to Duckburg ala marriage proposal (with her family’s approval and acceptance of course).

After 6 months of friendship and 1 and 1/2 years of romance, Petronella Paperella became Petronella Coot and with tearful goodbyes to her family, left Sicily, Italy for Calisota, USA and from there her life would get much better as Cuthbert had promised to both her and her family.

To say meeting the in-laws was overwhelming was an understatement. The Coot-Duck family had her surrounded the moment she stepped foot on Coot Kin land soil. Gretchen Coot (nee Grebe) had her daughter-in-law in her arms in seconds, happily and enthusiastically welcoming her to the family while Casey merely smiled and shook her hand, offering to take her bags inside for her. Elvira had even baked a special pie for the occasion (which Humperdink kept trying and failing to coax his wife into giving him a slice much to everyone’s amusement). Fanny, Cuthbert’s sister, welcomed her warmly as well and the two came quickly to accept each other sisters. The Coots were quite a lively bunch.

But Her beloved husband’s cousins were an even livelier group. Meeting Quackmore, Daphne and Eider would forever be one of Petronella’s favourite memories. The absolute chaos that followed the trio wherever they went was hilarious to witness and getting involved in their misadventures was even moreso. The misadventures she had ended up in led to her striking a lovely friendship with Daphne and Lulubelle, Eider’s wife and Hortense, Quackmore’s wife.

And when she was not out and about with the cousins and siblings, she was helping Cuthbert out with the ranch. It was thrilling compared to fishing to her. Getting to ride a horse and guiding cattle to and from the large open green fields was an absolute pleasure to her compared to fishing.

However, one little family disagreed with her.

6-year old, Donald Duck vehemently disagreed with her notion. His adoration with the sea and sailing was the most adorable sight she had ever witnessed. Really to her, all of the kids were adorable. She’d often babysit them all when things were too hectic at the farm for Elvira to take care of them.

All-in-all, Petronella’s relationship with the Coots and Ducks were as great as she had hoped it would be.

Then there were the McDucks.

Hortense’s family was... strange to say the least. Learning they too had immigrated to America from Europe made her feel a little more at ease with them when she’d first met them. But she noted the relationship between the siblings wasn’t as.... like the Ducks.

And while interacting with one of the members of the McDuck family, Douglas McDuck, the Ducks and the Coots (minus Cuthbert) see that, despite being a sweet and demure lady, there was a lot vitriolic rage hidden under that sweetness (which honestly just strengthened the friendship she had with Hortense).

Long story short, for his own safety, Douglas and Petronella were no longer allowed in the same room together unless

But life was good for Petronella.

Then it became great, because by 1988, she was greeted by what she considered her and Cuthbert’s greatest treasure.

Her eyes, beak and- from what she could tell just by his size- her small body. Cuthbert’s hair and feather colours.

Little Kildare Coot, or Sgrizzo as she lovingly called him.

Kildare was simply the light of Petronella’s life. Her first child, her baby boy who’d she sing sweet soft lullabies to like her own mother once did. While the family and his birth certificate say his name is Kildare, Petronella (and Cuthbert at times) call him Sgrizzo. She also spoke mostly Italian to him as a baby and would mix in English as he grew older.

By 1991, Petronella felt like she was truly at the height of her life, despite all the exhaustion and aches she felt from taking care of Kildare and helping Cuthbert and the rest of the family. She’d gone from Petronella Paperella, to Petronella Coot to now known as “dear Aunt Nellie Coot” as her nephews and nieces called her. Her marriage was great, she was to have another child soon, the family was at peace despite certain bumps in the road. Her life was great....

Until it wasn’t.

UGH, this took way too long to write out. I’ve been thinking about Petronella and her story for a while now, since she does have a bit of a role, albeit a minor one, in The Obscure Family members of Coot-Duck-McDuck so I decided to introduce her.

I have no other reason for giving her speckled feathers other than for the fact that it looked nice on her and I am very much attached to her right now.

Feel free to ask any questions about her or the story!!

#ducktales #duckverse #the obscure family members of coot-duck-mcduck #dt17 #dt17 oc #kildare coot #donald duck #donaldism

19 notes · View notes

aurora077 · 3 years ago

Text

Intervention

Summary: Lan Xichen’s seclusion had gone on long enough, in Jiang Cheng’s opinion. It was time for an intervention. Fem!JC

Author's Note: This work is set in jiucengta ‘s haunting legacies au (https://archiveofourown.org/series/1716682)which I suggest you check out. Jiang Cheng is female and was married to Wei Wuxian before shit hit the fan. The relationships are not explicitly stated here, it's very background. I just had this idea and wanted to get it out there. I may or may not do another fic very similar to this one but not set in an AU, just post-canon instead.

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

Two years had gone by since the fateful Guanyin Temple incident that rocked the cultivation world. Two years (a little more really) since Jiang Cheng’s erstwhile husband had returned from the dead. Two years (a little less actually but who’s counting) since she lost her widowed status and gained an extra love to boot somewhere in the middle. And two years since Sect Leader Lan had gone into seclusion, punishing himself for his blindness and mourning the loss of both his sworn brothers.

Normally Jiang Cheng would not stick her nose in other sects’ business. But Gusu Lan had become more than just another sect to her; it was important to those she loved and so, it was also important to her. And even if things hadn’t turned out the way they did in her personal life, Lan Xichen is someone she would have wanted to help anyway. During the thirteen years her husband had been dead he had been one of the few to show any open support for her.

She would never forget that fateful discussion conference-- the one where she’d been dubbed Wife of the Yiling Demon after she rebuffed Jin Guangshan’s attempt to pressure her into marriage (brokered by him no less-- undoubtedly trying to get her to wed one of his own relatives...control over the Jiang could only work in his favour). Loudmouthed Sect Leader Yao would have turned things even uglier for her had it not been for Lan Xichen’s timely intervention on her behalf. His steady support had helped her in more ways than one over the years despite the fact that they were not ever particularly close. With Gusu Lan seemingly in her corner, the voices that would (and initially, did) loudly decry a young female Sect Leader were forced to whisper instead.

That was why she found herself sitting opposite the man, sipping on a cup of tea as he gazed inquisitively at her.

“Sect Leader Jiang,” he greeted, sounding weary, voice containing only a trace of his former warmth, “What brings you here? As you know I am still in seclusion, technically, I should not be having visitors. Is there something urgent that you need my help with?”

“Yes,” she said, and continued bluntly as was her way, “I’m here to convince you to leave it.”

His eyes widened slightly. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

It spoke to the measure of self control the Lan’s had that he didn’t simply kick her out of the hanshi.

“I beg your pardon but I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

She cleared her throat and tried to measure her words more carefully; she didn’t want to be asked to leave before she had made her arguments and she tried to remember that this Lan Xichen had been hurt too deeply to retain his former magnanimity.

“You may not know it Lan Xichen, but outside these walls you are sorely missed.”

His lips twitched, as if he wanted to smile but couldn’t quite make it.

“I’m aware my family may miss me, Sect Leader Jiang, but I had no idea that you harbored such strong feelings towards me that you now miss my presence.”

She sputtered slightly, not expecting him to joke about it when he looked like he could keel over if she spoke too loudly. “I…” her face turned red, “That wasn’t what…”

Taking pity on her he waved her protests away, voice becoming more solemn, “Why don’t you tell me why you think I should leave my seclusion. You of all people should understand why I need to do this. It was your family hurt the most by my ignorance.”

She drew in a breath to steady herself, “Did you hold me responsible when Wei Wuxian did all the crap that he did?”

“That’s different, he was manipulated,” he frowned.

“Nobody knew that until recently Zewu-Jun. And manipulation or not he still made choices that led to a lot of harm. So I ask you again, was I to blame? Should I not have been able to stop my husband? Is it not, therefore also my fault? Maybe I should join you in seclusion since his demonic cultivation was partly because he gave me his core and had no options left.”

He looked pained, “I have never blamed you for his choices. You couldn’t help what you didn’t know. None of us knew he didn’t have a core.”

“And none of us knew Jin Guangyao was a megalomaniac either. So how can you be blamed for his choices? If you are to shoulder the blame then so should all the rest of us.”

“The rest of you weren’t his sworn brothers!” he almost shouted.

“Mingjue knew. He warned me not to trust him so many times. I dismissed him. I thought he was paranoid and misjudging A-Yao like so many others. If he could see it, why didn’t I? I wronged Da-ge in the worst way because I thought I knew better than him,” His breathing was coming out ragged, “I thought A-Yao was the one who knew me best. Who I knew best.”

It spoke to his state of mind that he even let all of that out in front of her.

“Sect Leader Jiang, the man I considered my closest companion is the man most hated by the cultivation world and reviled as a monster. How do you think I must look in comparison? I am sure there are those out there wondering if I had known and if I even helped him with all of his plans. There are people who will speculate as to the bounds of our relationship. If I did not go into seclusion they would say I had no shame, look what his sworn brother did and he’s out and about like normal. Then there are those who look at my decision to seclude myself as an indicator of guilt and may accuse me of complicity. Or they will look at my mourning and see someone who mourns a monster and who does that? Why mourn a monster? Sect Leader Yao even openly criticised your young nephew for crying at the coffin of his uncle who also helped raise him. A parentless child who saw one of his only remaining close family members die brutally after being exposed as a serious criminal, who even threatened him with bodily harm, could not grieve him without censure. What of a grown man, and a Sect Leader at that!”

“With all due respect, so what?”

“E..excuse me?” Lan Xichen was torn between being confused and insulted.

“You heard me. So. What?” she started, “So what if they think these things? Does that make it true? If Sect Leader Yao thinks that you’re an incestuous troll would that make it true? If Sect Leader Ouyang says ‘hey did you know that Sect Leader Lan likes to visit brothels in secret’ would that make it true? Just because people think something does not make it a reality. Your sect certainly does not believe you are responsible for the actions of Jin Guangyao and would stand by you if anyone insinuates otherwise. You have your brother and your uncle who love you and are worried about you. Your sect has thrived under your leadership and undoubtedly they all miss you too.”

That Lan Jingyi kid couldn’t shut up about how much he missed Zewu-Jun. And she knew Lan Zhan missed his brother and lamented that he could not do more for him. He and Lan Qiren were working themselves ragged trying to pick up the pieces. He’d hardly had time to come back to Lotus Pier and she and Wei Ying missed him dearly. They’d had to make up so many ‘official’ reasons to find themselves in the Cloud Recesses so that they could spend some time together. So yes on the one hand it would be good for them if Zewu-Jun were to leave seclusion but she wasn’t simply doing it for that reason. It was because if anyone could understand what Zewu-Jun was going through, it would be her. And she didn’t think that seclusion was going to help anything. All it would do is make him ruminate on his mistakes over and over again until he likely went mad himself.

“You said that the man you considered your closest companion turned out to be a monster. Gee, I wonder what that feels like? You said that people will wonder if you helped him with his plans, oh gee, I wonder what that feels like?” Zewu-Jun had the grace to look abashed at that.

She continued, softer, “You said people will talk about what kind of person mourns a monster. But you’re not mourning a monster, are you? When A-Ling cried over his coffin, did you blame him for it? Did you think ‘why is this child mourning when he should celebrate the end of the one who fractured his family?’ like Sect Leader Yao did?” Zewu-Jun shook his head but didn’t say anything, letting her continue.

“A-Ling was mourning the loss of the uncle he knew. And you are mourning the loss of the companion he had been to you. The world will only ever view him as a monster because the world never knew him. But you did. Maybe you didn’t know everything about him, but not everything about him was fake. I hate Jin Guangyao, I will not pretend otherwise. But I was there, Zewu-Jun. I was there, and I could see that he truly did care for you and value you. Not everything he showed you would have been fake. You of all people probably got more sincerity out of him than anyone else. And so you, of all people, have a right to mourn the man he was, the same way A-Ling still mourns the loss of the man who gifted a lonely child a dog. Not everything had an ulterior motive. Even monsters can love can’t they? Even monsters had people who loved them. I would know. So if you need to mourn him… then just mourn him.

Who gives a damn what people will say about it? People will always talk, Zewu-Jun. It doesn’t matter what you do or don’t do, people will believe what they want to believe. So why let their opinions force you into repenting for something you didn’t even do? Let them think what they want to think. It is not a crime to be deceived. We all were. Why take the world on your shoulders when you don’t actually have to? And again, with all due respect Sect Leader Lan, if I, a family-less, alliance-less woman whose husband was the most reviled personage in the jianghu, who suffered the scorn of the cultivation world for over a decade, could raise my nephew on my own and build my sect back from literal ashes into one of the strongest and most respected once again, then you, who have a strong sect and people who love you, who believe in you and will support you no matter what… you can manage to live too.”

“Sect Leader Jiang…” Zewu-Jun was at a loss for words. What could he say? It only sounded selfish and petty to claim that he suffered more than she did, because he truly didn’t. She was right after all. Sect Leader Jiang was a remarkable woman. Life had not been kind to her. And...her words struck something within him. He felt ashamed. He hadn’t even thought about what it was like for her before this. He’d never offered her any support, but here she was trying to get him to live his life again without guilt. She, whose family most assuredly suffered because of his inaction, was here telling him to let it go, to not take responsibility. But how could he do that so easily?

“How did you do it? Sect Leader Jiang...” his voice cracked, “Can you ever forgive me, for the harm that my inaction caused you and your family?” Maybe if he heard it from her, maybe he could begin to forgive himself.

She sighed. “On my part, there is nothing to forgive Zewu-Jun. And so I can’t grant you forgiveness because you haven’t done me any wrong. But there are a few people who do deserve an apology from you. And your seclusion is a self-imposed punishment that you feel you deserve but at the end of the day, it does not actually do anything tangible when it comes to making amends to those who have been hurt.”

He was silent for a moment, stunned by her words. He hadn’t considered that his seclusion might have been causing others even more harm than he’d already done to them. Sect Leader Jiang was wise (she would disagree...she’d just learned from bitter experience in her opinion). He felt like he’d done her a great disservice all of these years, by not making an effort to reach out to her.

“Please, tell me. I.. I confess I no longer trust my judgement. I thought I knew A-Yao. I thought I was a good judge of character. I no longer know how to tell what is up from down. All I know is that I was so, so wrong about A-Yao. If you say that I have not harmed you then I am glad. I would hate to be the cause of more pain. You said that I am not responsible for A-Yao’s actions, and though it isn’t easy to believe that just yet, if there are those who I have truly wronged then please...please tell me. I still don’t know if I am ready to leave seclusion, if I even know how to, but I need to atone for my actions.”

Jiang Cheng nodded, “That’s the right attitude at least. So to start with I’d say you need to have a chat with Huaisang.”

His eyes widened, “I… I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, Sect Leader Jiang.” His face darkened slightly. He wasn’t pleased with Huaisang at the moment. It felt like he never even knew him.

“And why not? Out of everyone, it’s Huaisang that you unintentionally hurt. And I don’t mean because of not listening to Nie Mingjue. His death was not your fault.” He was about to protest but she cut him off. “It wasn’t. I told you, stop taking responsibility for what isn’t your fault and own up to what is.”

He sighed heavily, “If it’s not about Da-ge then how did I wrong Huaisang?”

“Well for one, you’re still his Er-ge. Yet you seem to have forgotten that in lieu of what happened in the temple. Huaisang… has lost everyone. He may have been acting like a shady shit for the past however many years but… do you know what it’s like to be the last one of your family, Zewu-Jun? To have nobody beside you except subordinates?” He inhaled sharply. “I.. I hadn’t thought of that,” he said mournfully. How much did he just not consider? What kind of a person was he that he resented Huaisang for his deceit but yet did not consider for one moment that Huaisang may have done those things because he thought he was all alone and could not come to him for help? What kind of brother was he that his little brother could not confide in him? He should have been there for Huaisang, instead he had thought so highly of Jin Guangyao, even dismissing da-ge’s claims, that Huaisang had not dared to approach him with his suspicions.

Sect Leader Jiang was being very understanding however, “Zewu-Jun, I know you’re not pleased with Huaisang. I know there are many things that he’s done that are not right. I know there’s a possibility that he lied and forced your hand at the end. Believe me, I know the feeling...more than anyone, I know what it feels like to be deceived by someone you love...to kill someone you love. I know what it feels like when everyone praises you for it. Like you did such a great thing and you should be happy and celebrating with everyone else, except you can’t because your heart has shattered…has been ripped to shreds.

As someone who once loved a so-called monster...as someone who as good as killed that person with their own hands, I understand better than anyone what you’re going through. What Huaisang did was cruel, even though I’m glad Jin Guangyao is dead. It was cruel to have you be the one to end him. Huaisang likely knew that Jin Guangyao valued you. He knew it would be the worst end for him to be killed by your hand. I can’t speak for Huaisang, but I don’t believe he did it to hurt you, even though that’s inevitably what happened anyway. He did it to hurt Jin Guangyao. But even though it was not kind of him to have you be the arbiter of justice, he still deserves to have his Er-ge in his life.

She paused remembering the pain of losing her husband and sister all in one night.

She didn't have to imagine how Huaisang would have felt at losing the last member of his family at the hands of someone he cared about.“You and I aren’t the only ones who were deceived by someone we loved. Huaisang loved Jin Guangyao too, didn’t he? He loved and trusted him. When Nie Mingjue was getting worse, didn’t Huaisang trust and rely on both you and Jin Guangyao? It wasn’t a front. You were both dear to him. He loved him. He loved him and was betrayed by him in the worst way. And then yes, he orchestrated a whole convoluted plan to have him exposed and killed.

But you and I can both attest that justice, and even revenge, doesn’t stop the pain does it? Huaisang avenged his brother, but he lost another in the process, the same way you did. Don’t let him lose you too. You said you wronged Nie Mingjue by not listening to him. I think you’d wrong him even more if you left his little brother alone, without anyone to call family. You don’t have to forgive Huaisang right away, or at all if you don’t want to, but eventually you should at least try and reconcile with him. You’re his big brother... the only one left. And you know, Huaisang would have had the realisation that he was fooled by Jin Guangyao all on his own. But you don’t have to be alone.

Huaisang and you share the experience of being blinded by him. It would be much easier to talk to someone who has gone through the same things, no? Huaisang is there. And I am here. You don’t have to endure this on your own. We may not be very close Zewu-Jun, but we can understand each other, not so? So I’m here if you need someone to confide in. And Huaisang...Huaisang must be waiting too. For his Er-ge. You both owe each other apologies.”

By the time she was done speaking there were tears rolling down his face. She didn’t think it was quite appropriate given their positions, (though she was sort of his secret sister-in-law so really, he counted as family) but she moved over to his side and embraced him. If he was surprised he didn’t show it, only moving to cling to her more tightly and sob with a ferocity that had her a bit surprised. She wondered if this was the first time since the temple that he’d allowed himself to fully grieve what he had lost, without the guilt of letting his sworn brother die, killing the other one, and feeling bad for mourning for someone who he should hate.

Everyone praised him for killing Jin Guangyao however, it was something he didn’t want to be praised for. But what could he say? That he hated the fact that he killed him? He was right about one thing, if he ever said something like that people would most assuredly say he was complicit and probably want to implicate him. Jiang Cheng of all people knew how hard it was to listen to people praising you for a deed you were not proud of. And so she was the only person who would understand. The only person who would, who could, acknowledge the hurt it would have caused him to do what he did, especially if he was tricked into it.

His feelings about Huaisang would be complicated, but it wasn’t too late to reconcile as long as they were both alive.

She rubbed his back consolingly and just let him cry. It must have been no more than 15 minutes, but it felt much longer, before his tears slowed. When his sobs petered out he tried to compose himself. She let go of him and he embarrassedly turned away, sipping his tea. He cleared his throat, “I’m sorry Sect Leader Jiang, that was unbecoming of me.”

“Don’t mention it,” she waved off. She was there to help after all.

“I will give your words due consideration. It was remiss of me to forget that I was not the only one affected by A-Yao’s schemes. I truly regret not thinking of how Huaisang would have felt when he first found out. You are right. I have done my little brother a disservice,” he said, voice croaky from his bout of sobbing.

“You said that there were people I needed to apologise to. Who else have I wronged?” he continued. His respect and admiration for Sect Leader Jiang had grown exponentially since the start of this visit. He would take her words under advisement if he could.

“Oh Zewu-Jun,” she sighed, “What you’re doing with this seclusion, doesn’t it remind you of someone? Because it sure reminds your uncle.”

Zewu-Jun looked as if she had slapped him.

“Nobody would begrudge you needing time to grieve and to come to terms with what happened, it is human nature. It’s understandable. We were all blindsided. And I understand the wish to seclude yourself because I wish I could have as well, though I didn’t have the luxury,” she said, not unkindly but it made him wince anyway, “But it’s been too long. A few months would be okay, though grief will last longer than that, but more than that is just being unfair to others. You are the Sect Leader. Your uncle has already had to watch his brother shirk his duties and seclude himself from the world for the rest of his life.

Your uncle has had to pick up the slack. He raised you and your brother like a father would, while taking care of sect matters. None of those things were his responsibility yet he did it. And now… now he has to go through it all over again. Master Lan is elderly though and he cannot keep up with all of the duties required of an elder, teacher and now Sect Leader once more. And so that leads me to the last person that you have wronged.

Lan Zhan is Chief Cultivator now, did you know? His duties are myriad and yet he has to come back here and help Master Lan run the sect. It pains Master Lan to see history repeating itself. A younger brother once again has to take the reins from his older brother and he does it without complaint, because he loves you. But it is unfair to A-Zhan. He can’t live his own life because he’s too busy living yours. He’s barely managing to keep up with both sets of duties, but he’s doing it for you. It has been two years, Zewu-Jun. He worries so much about you, as does your uncle. It pains them to see you this way. And so Sect Leader Lan,” she pointedly used his rank, “I beg of you to consider leaving your seclusion. You have people who love you waiting for you. Your family needs you.”

His eyes were glittering once more, but no tears were shed this time. He swallowed thickly. The past few months it had seemed as if he was living in a fog. He’d barely managed to keep his routine up, it was only through decades of strict routine that he’d gotten himself off the bed and eaten his food and meditated everyday on his shortcomings. But it seemed that while he was doing that he’d missed quite a few. Because she was right wasn’t she? He hid himself away like a coward and didn’t even think about how it would affect Wangji and Uncle. He hadn’t even considered how hurt his uncle would feel to see him go down the same route as his father.

Her words were like a splash of cold water. It seemed to wake him up; it got him out of the daze he was in. If this woman before him could raise a child and a sect from the ashes all alone after going through more tragedy than a hundred people in one lifetime would...he could get himself in gear and do what he had to do. He felt ashamed in front of her. She was right that she didn’t have the luxury to seclude herself. But he did. He did, and he took advantage of the support system that he had to take time for himself. More time than he should have.

She said it was understandable, and maybe it was, but she was also right that it should not have been going on for this long. He had no desire to be Qingheng-Jun the second. But if she hadn’t come here today… if she hadn’t said all that she had said… He would not have even thought of those things. He was too busy thinking of himself. It was likely that he would have stayed for years in his seclusion, just ruminating on what went wrong and what he could have changed. It was all too easy to get caught up in could-have-beens.

“Sect Leader Jiang,” he said, devastated at the thought of his uncle, the man who raised him when he didn’t have to, who did his best to prevent them from turning out like their father, thinking that he had failed when it was Lan Xichen who failed, “I’ve heard you loud and clear. But…”

“But?”

“But I don’t know if I even know how to go about being Sect Leader anymore. I feel like the decisions I make would be questionable now. How can I trust that I will do what’s best for the sect? I have already failed in so many ways. Now I have failed Wangji and Uncle too.”

“What did I tell you? You’re not alone Zewu-Jun. You don’t have to leave seclusion immediately. You don’t even have to start doing everything right away. Ease back into it. Your family will be there to help you. I’m offering to help you. If you need to talk about things that you can’t with them, you can write to me. Master Qiren should not have to be taking on these responsibilities any longer and A-Zhan needs to have time to breathe...his own position is challenging enough. Besides you haven’t failed, you’ve just had some setbacks is all. Failure would be wallowing in self-pity forever and leaving everyone else to do your duties indefinitely,” she looked at him pointedly. He got the hint.

“Okay Sect Leader Jiang. I shall take you up on that then. But I do have a question if you’ll indulge me,” he said.

“Shoot.”

“I mean no offense at all, in fact I’m actually extremely grateful for your concern, but I am curious….why do you even care? You didn’t have to do any of this. I’m well aware that you have your own duties and worries. Why bother about mine?”

She smiled for the first time since she walked into the Hanshi. He was struck by it. It had been a long time since he’d seen her smile... truly smile. In fact, the last time he’d seen a smile as bright as that on her face was probably right here in the Cloud Recesses when she was a student.

“You may not remember it, Zewu-Jun, but there was a time Jin Guangshan sought to marry me off. It was your words of support for me, against that awful Sect Leader Yao, that saved my skin, though they still called me Wife of the Yiling Demon after that. But at least I was only his wife. I will be eternally grateful to you for that. It was thanks to your words that nobody else tried to make me marry. I was able to focus on my sect in relative peace. It was a kindness that I have never been able to repay until now, though you shouldn’t think that it is only because of repayment.”

She got up and dusted off her clothes perfunctorily.

“I shall take my leave now, Zewu-Jun.”

“Please, call me Xichen,” he said, thinking that after all of the things that were said that day, she might as well.

“Well then, Xichen you may call me Wanyin. Thank you for hearing me out and please forgive me for barging in unexpectedly. I have intruded upon your hospitality long enough.”

“It is no matter,” he said, and for the first time in a long while he was able to manage a weak smile, “I was honored by your company. If you did not give me so much to think about, I would offer you some more tea.”

She laughed, “Thank you Xichen, but I will be missed soon anyway. I do not need to cause an uproar in Cloud Recesses if they can’t find a Sect Leader. Plus the scandal that would happen if someone other than A-Zhan or A-Yuan finds me in here will not be pleasant.”

“A-Zhan?” he raised an eyebrow, “Is there something I should know about, Wanyin?”

She snorted and threw him a cheeky smirk, “If you want to find out you’ll have to come to Lotus Pier.” And with that she saw herself out, leaving nothing but the scent of lotuses behind her.

Huh. Well then. How curious. He’d thought that Wangji had gone off with Wei Wuxian, who he’d been in love with since he met him. How did Sect Leader Jiang factor into this? As far as he knew they didn’t even particularly like each other. It seemed like he missed quite a lot while he was in seclusion. Was his little brother in a love triangle? It would explain why Wanyin said that he shouldn’t only think of her visit as repayment to him. It wasn’t the purest motivation but huh maybe he would leave seclusion after all. His brother might need support in more ways than one. Sect Leader Lan leaving seclusion because he was too invested in his brother’s love life was a hilarious thought, and for the first time in two years, he chuckled mirthfully to himself. Maybe he would be okay after all.

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prurientpuddlejumper · 4 years ago

Text

Out Tonight (Part 2)

K!nktober 2020 Kink Bingo!: Papi

<- Part 1 | Part 3 ->

Summary: After a night of karaoke, Barba teaches you some Spanish, gives you some slightly patronizing advice, and follows you up to your hotel room. (Lo siento por mi español. Por favor dime si cometí algún error!)

Rafael Barba x female reader

Warning: NSFW/18+, Dub-con!! Everyone is enthusiastically willing, but also super drunk.

For @thatesqcrush’s kink bingo!

6,089 words

“So… Rafael Barba,” you changed the subject away from today’s trial. His failure to get a conviction had sent him into such a steep emotional spiral he cried in your arms at the bar, despite having just met you an hour ago. “That’s Spanish, right?”

The vulnerability in his eyes flattened. “Cuban,” he said, already bracing for the “but you don’t look Latino” comments, or worse, something about rafts or cigars. Instead your eyes got wide like he just ripped off a mask and revealed himself to be David Bowie.

“Cool!”

“I… guess?” There were eighty thousand Cuban-Americans living in New York, but sure.

“Hablar… I mean, hablas español?”

“Sí, lo hablo,” he answered with wry amusement, pinching the bridge of his nose.

You chewed your lip in thought before slowly saying, “Aprendí un poco de español en la escuela, y lo me gusta mucho.”

His brow raised. You actually knew more than he expected, which is to say, you could string more than two words together. “Not bad. Toda mi familia es de Cuba, así que el español es mi lengua materna. Soy el primer estadounidense.”

He spoke faster, at a natural pace, expecting you to follow, but when your eyes glazed over and you awkwardly squeaked out, “...Qué?” it became clear you did not, in fact, speak Spanish.

“Let’s stick to English,” he grimaced.

You whined in disappointment. “But that was so hot! Please? Un poco más. Dime algo en español!”

“Algo.”

An unflattering snort erupted from your nostrils, and you started giggling like a manic school girl. Barba shook his head with second-hand embarrassment, though a smile crept over his lips as you continued struggling to contain yourself, pleased at how well his bad joke had gone over.

“Come on, teach me something,” you pouted, leaning towards him, pushing your chest out. “Por favor… papi?”

He choked on his drink so hard burning whisky shot up his nose. “Ay, dios!” He pounded his chest and ordered a water. “OK, OK, bueno,” he put up his hands in defeat. “Hablaré en español. Solo para ti, mamita. Te gusta?”

“Mucho, papi.” You were taking advantage of calling him that now that you’d seen his reaction. He didn’t nearly die this time, but a red blush was sweeping up his neck under his shirt collar. Emboldened, he leaned toward you, eyes heavily lidded as he flirtatiously held your gaze.

“Tienes novio?”

“A husband? Do I look married?” you flipped your ringless left hand back and front and worried about your age.

He laughed, raising a hand to his forehead with his palm shading his eyes. “That would be esposo.”

“Oh. Right.” Your face darkened. “No, yo soy… single.”

“Estás soltera,” he prompted.

“Ah, gracias. Estoy soltera. Y tú?” you tilted your face down shyly and looked up at him through your lashes. “Tienes esposo? O novia?”

“Nope,” he popped the p, staring into the empty bottom of his scotch glass and wishing he hadn’t decided to cut himself off. The sip of water he took was boring and not numbly soothing at all. He had been single for a depressingly long time, in fact.

“Muy bien,” you smiled with delight, and he suddenly realized his years of failure at relationships were, tonight, a positive. It was the answer a very beautiful woman was hoping for. He may have been suffering from a string of humiliating losses, but winning you over reawakened his cocky self-assurance.

“Acércate.” He curled his finger to beckon you closer, and you swung onto his lap. God, you were so close. Your body fit so perfectly in his arms and you smelled like strawberry lemonade from that cocktail. Before he could help it, he was kissing you again. Softer and a little less desperate this time. A little more… something else. He just met you, but the way you made him feel cared about was stronger than he had ever felt, depressing as that was to admit. The one time he had put his whole heart into a relationship, he’d had it shattered so badly he was still picking up the pieces. Since then, he chose relationships that were mutually guarded, partners he knew he would never connect with, and who didn’t expect anything back. Barba did not open up to people. He’d never let himself cry on anyone before, except his abuelita. He must have been extremely drunk to let his guard down so much, but he pushed the realization out of mind as your fingers curled through his hair around the back of his head and pulled him deeper, your strawberry tongue slipping between his bitter lips. He wanted this. He needed it. He felt so close to you, so right—that was all that mattered.

He started whispering to you in Spanish between kisses, phrases you couldn’t understand, some that you got the gist of. He cringed a little at your attempts to reply in his first language, but kissed you more softly each time. You were trying, at least. You were trying very hard to understand a piece of him. The phrases he murmured against your lips grew progressively more filthy, which your keen ears picked up on even if you weren’t entirely sure what they meant.

“Como se dice, ‘fuck me harder’?” you asked in a low voice full of lust, fingers tightening against his scalp.

“...damelo más duro,” he said with a shudder. His cock twitched and he wondered if you’d noticed the growing erection pressed against your thigh as you sat in his lap. What you would think. But you must have noticed, and you weren’t moving to get away from him.

“Damelo duro, papi,” you purred, leaning to say it into his ear, your breath warm and tickling.

He swallowed, heart hammering in his chest. Barba, always so eloquent under pressure in court, could barely form words to express a coherent thought. You were just joking. You must have been. To you it was a foreign language, and it didn’t sound like a real request to your ears. This was just a flirty game, teaching you naughty Spanish. “Y-you are… getting into dangerous territory here,” he tried to laugh jokingly, but his throat was dry. He swallowed again.

You lowered your voice and your eyelids. “I mean it,” you whispered against the shell of his ear. To punctuate your point, you rolled your hips, deliberately grinding your inner thigh against his forming erection. He was so wildly aroused with alcohol he thought he would come right there, but its effects were also preventing him from getting completely hard yet, something he should probably have been concerned about, but wasn’t.

“Would you like to go somewhere?” he said, voice strained with urgency. “I would very much like to go somewhere immediately and fuck your brains out, please. If that’s… alright with you.”

***

The streets of Midtown were as bright and crowded as they were during the day, just a little less hurried—except for two people. You held Barba’s large hand, long elegant fingers laced with yours, laughing giddily in the warm summer air as you raced toward your hotel, stopping only to desperately kiss each other, fingers in each other’s hair, reigniting the flames that pulled you together.

Barba broke away panting, his lips wet with your saliva. The fresh air had a sobering effect, and something serious occurred to him. He had been animated and outgoing all night at the bar, but he suddenly very much resembled the shrewd lawyer whose picture you had seen in a news article. You felt like you’d been called to the principal’s office under the severity of his gaze, waiting for whatever it was he had to say.

“Did you take any pictures of us together?”

“I… might have taken a few selfies,” you admitted, terrified you’d committed a heinous faux pas.

“Good,” he said. “Do you have location data enabled? You should send those to someone you trust, along with the time you left the bar, and where we’re going.”

Gears in your head turned slowly to put together an intelligible response. You opened your mouth and declared, “...whuh?”

“You’re out drinking alone, taking a stranger home!” he gripped your shoulders as if to shake you. “Do you know how many cases never get off the ground because there’s no ID, no proof the victim and assailant were ever in the same room? Those photos would establish a timeline and a suspect, and would be enough for a warrant. Do you know what I would give to have evidence like that in every case? A lot more rapists would go to jail.”

“Are you… saying you’re a rapist?” you said slowly, cocking your head.

He stiffened, mentally replaying his own words. His eyes darted to the side, up, down, and three other directions in rapid succession. “N-no… But you have no way of knowing that. You’re too trusting. No matter how charming someone seems, it’s better to be paranoid and take precautions.”

“Uh-huh. Real charming. You know, it’s creepy telling someone that right before you’re going to sleep with them. How do you say that in Spanish?”

He groaned and looked so crestfallen it impressed upon you how much horror he must deal with every day, prosecuting special victims cases in the big city. How much that weighed on him and made him see nothing but worst-case scenarios around every corner. It didn’t seem so strange now that he was single—it must be impossible to connect with anyone when you live like that.

“I just… want you to be safe,” he said quietly, eyes down. A swelling of sympathy flooded your heart, and formed a lump in your throat. Before you could think twice, you’d pulled him into your arms.

“I feel very safe with you, Rafael.” Your words drew a tiny, strangled noise from his chest, and his grip around you tightened.

The mood had shifted catastrophically, to the point that it seemed unlikely a one-night stand was in your future any longer. Barba walked slowly by your side, lost in reflective silence. Sex or no, you invited him up to your hotel room. You would never get enough of being around him, and couldn’t bear to say goodbye, even if you were only sitting up talking of somber issues late into the night.

But by the time the elevator doors closed, leaving you completely alone together for the first time, your libidos overpowered the gloom and his hands were all over your body, his mouth hot and fervent against your throat. You moaned wantonly, confident in the privacy the elevator afforded as it whisked you upward toward the eleventh floor. You slipped your hands inside his jacket, feeling his solid pectoral muscles stretching his shirt, and he cupped a hand between your legs, kneading the crotch of your pants. Even through your jeans, it sparked a fire that sizzled through your whole body. You pulled at his back, drawing more of his weight against you.

The elevator chimed and the doors slid open. Several cleaning ladies stared unimpressed as you and Barba quickly unhanded each other, stood straighter, and tried to pretend you were dignified professionals just riding an elevator together and definitely not almost having sex in there.

They were far more used to seeing this sort of thing than you were, judging by their almost bored eye rolls, but as you passed them on your way into the hall, one of them muttered something in rapid Spanish that made the other women giggle and Barba trip over his feet, face neon red, and look down at the front of his pants which were sporting a very conspicuous tent.

“Madre de Dios,” he groaned.

Shoulders convulsing with laughter, you took his arm and led him to room, uh… You fumbled in your purse for your room key with the number written on it.

“This is my first time doing this,” you confessed as the magnetic lock clicked and the light on the door changed from red to green.

“Having sex?”

“With someone I just met. In a bar!” you teased, turning the handle.

Part of you wondered when both of you were going to wake up and realize you were acting like horny teenagers—that you shouldn’t be doing this. But you hoped you wouldn’t, at least not until morning. You weren’t nervous. If you had been introspective that night, that would have surprised you the most. The whole confident, sexy Mimi Márquez, Out Tonight act was just a character you put on for karaoke to get psyched up and out of your shell. If you had been questioning yourself, you would have wondered how a shy good girl was having a one-night stand with a handsome Manhattan lawyer wearing a suit that cost more than your mortgage and not having an anxiety attack. But you weren’t questioning yourself, and you weren’t nervous. You looked in his intelligent eyes that were as pale as the underside of a silver maple leaf or dark as a dense hemlock grove depending on the lighting, and you simply wanted him.

***

He followed you into the dark hotel room, which was disappointingly small and shoddy for how expensive it was, so you left the lights off to preserve some mystery. The city glowed through the window brighter than a full moon, anyway. Barba pulled off his suit jacket, tossing it recklessly aside as he prowled toward you. Almost immediately, he thought better of this and found the heap of designer fabric on the floor next to the sandals you had kicked off, picked it up, smoothed it out, and carefully folded it over the back of an office chair at the little desk. He removed his tie and did the same.

You grinned behind your hand. Changing tunes so quickly from ravenously horny to prim—it didn’t surprise you that a guy who dressed as sharply as he did would have his priorities on wrinkle-avoidance even in the heat of the moment. It might have rubbed you as snobbish if it wasn’t so funny.

When he returned to you, his back was to the window, so you couldn’t make out the expression on his shadowed face, but the silhouettes of his shoulders were tense and his voice sheepish as if expecting a rebuke. “Sorry. I couldn’t leave it there. It’s a Brioni and—”

You slid your fingers under the pink-striped suspenders at both shoulders, closed your fists around them, and tugged. He lurched forward, and you caught his lips with yours. Letting out a surprised moan, he closed his eyes, and wrapped his arms around you, grateful you weren’t accusing him of vanity. You held firm to the elastic bands like a leash on him, pulling him closer when you wanted to deepen the contact until he was so enraptured he needed no extra encouragement to shove his tongue between your lips as they parted, his hands roaming your sides, your hair, and over the swell of your bottom, grabbing a handful.

“You really do… have the best ass… below 14th street,” he said devilishly, in between crushing his hungry mouth against yours.

Running down the length of his suspenders, your hands took a tour of his entire torso, enjoying the firm bulk of his chest, and the softness of his belly. You liked that there was something to love there. Gym rats with nothing but hard muscle were painfully dull. His stomach twitched ticklishly at your probing touch and he broke away from your lips to protest, so you continued your suspender tour all the way to the bottom, where the leather straps attached the elastic bands to his pants. His hips rocked forward, and his clothed cock pressed into your thigh. You let out a sultry breath and pushed your own hips back against him, lining him up against your clit to ignite a burning, tempting pressure between you. You couldn’t even kiss him. Your mouth hung slack, and all you could focus on was the friction of his hard cock against your aching cunt. You had to get out of these clothes.

“Bed. Now,” you huffed.

“Yeah.”

As he toed off his leather shoes, you slipped his suspenders off his shoulders and were slightly disappointed this did not immediately make his pants fall off. He climbed on top of the blanket, and you climbed onto his lap, throwing a leg over his hips.

An impressively sized hand with a vein meandering across it curled around that tempting leg, palming the tight denim stretched over your thighs. The hand rode up, found the bottom hem of your blouse and dove under it. You shivered as warm fingertips crested over your jeans and found your waiting skin.

“Are you okay with this?” he rasped, eyes flicking across your face.

“Keep going,” you nodded, the prickles of your skin screaming in protest at the thought that he might stop. His hand worked up your side, exploring new territory under your shirt. Every point of contact sent warm waves vibrating out to your most intimate parts. You lowered your mouth to his and your lips melted against his, pussy soaking through your underwear as you felt his body respond beneath you. His clever fingers found the band of your bra and inched over the fabric.

“Is this alright?” he paused his advance to check in again.

You leaned close and whispered, “I want you to touch me, papi,” darting your tongue just below his ear, and rolling your hips over his cock again. “Touch me everywhere.”

He growled, deep and throaty and thick with lust, his own hips bucking up to grind himself against yours. With your carte blanche permission given, a switch flipped inside him and he dove in, roughly palming your breasts with both hands, rolling the fat and finding your hardened nipples through your bra cups. Even through the thicker fabric, his thumbs circled and pinched the sensitive peaks hard enough that you whimpered with every sensation. Your hips were moving without your leave, desperately driving against his cock while your hands quickly worked to unbutton the front of your shirt. He had become an animal, his eyes unfocused, breathing heavy, lost in voracious need.

“S-slow down,” you tried asking, wondering if he would—if he could at this point, despite all his earlier talk of consent.

His hands were off you in an instant, and he was apologizing and asking if you were OK.

“Just testing your off switch,” you smirked as you finished the final button, and your blouse opened up. Marveling at the man beneath your legs, you unhooked the front clasp of your bra and felt his cock stir at the naked sight of you. Any lingering uncertainty was gone—you managed to score the most principled lay in all of New York sitting by himself in a karaoke bar, and you trusted him completely. “Since I already know your on switch, don’t I papi?”

He swore in Spanish, some excitingly lusty expressions you would have to take note of later.

“What was it again? Cómo se dice...” you teased, tapping your index finger against your lips in thought. You watched his pupils widen as you pinched your finger between your teeth. “Oh yeah. Damelo, papi. Damelo duro.”

Hearing those words from your perfect sensuous lips drove him wild. Grabbing your hips, he rolled you onto your back, swapping positions. His fevered mouth pressed wet kisses all over your exposed skin, heated breath dancing over your neck as his tongue flicked out to taste you. You reached down to curl your fingers into his thick, dark hair. He pushed your breasts, which had fallen to the sides, back together and ran his tongue through the cleavage. You drew in a sharp breath. “Just like that, papi,” you moaned. He took a nipple in his mouth, sucking and circling his tongue over it until your cunt was pulsating and your breath coming out in hard, ragged whimpers, then pinched it between his teeth, drawing a yelp of pleasure mixed with pain. You yanked at his hair and your hips bucked jerkily. Your core ached with emptiness, longing to be filled by his cock. You wrapped your legs around his lower back and pulled his hips down against you to feel more of him. The strangled noises in his throat were practically feral as his clothed sex rutted up against you, valiantly striving to be inside you through your pants. His mouth sloppily devoured your breasts until they were burned raw from his stubble.

He released your nipple with a wet noise and sat up to free his straining erection from his pants. The latching mechanism didn’t seem particularly hard, but after nearly a minute of fumbling he had made very little progress, and you held up a hand and told him to stop.

He whined and gave you puppy dog eyes, but did as you asked. “Is this another test?”

“No. It’s just… those pants are not that complicated.”

His head tipped in confusion.

“You’re really drunk, aren’t you?” You were tipsy yourself, but considering you could at least manage buttons, you had a sudden, sinking realization that he was far more incapacitated than you. He was so well-spoken and thoughtful you hadn’t noticed, but he was a lawyer—staying controlled and eloquent was his job. You might have been drunk, but he was drunk drunk. “If we have sex right now I think that would make me a predator.”

He frowned, cock still straining against the binds of his pants. “Technically, in New York state, being intoxicated does not invalidate sexual consent.”

“Don’t you lawyer this! I don’t care what’s technically legal—you are way too drunk. And I don’t want you waking up with regrets.”

His shoulders fell, because he knew you were right. It was a law he considered a glaring loophole, and he admired you for doing the right thing, but ¡maldita sea! he wished you were just a little less ethical. Deep down he knew he wouldn’t be doing this if he were in full command of himself tonight. But that was why he was so desperate to do it now. He would never let himself go again, not for a long time, and he would miss out on experiencing an intense—if ultimately not real—connection with someone. He would miss out on getting to be with you.

“Well...” you hesitated, watching the disappointment in his eyes displace what had moments ago been confidence and excitement, and tormented by your own unsatisfied ache. “I mean, we can still fool around, right?”

He laid his body down alongside you, his breath still coming in hot, shallow pants. His comforting weight settling beside you on the soft hotel mattress stirred up the coiling insistent heat between your legs. “Is this OK?” he whispered, voice heavy with lust. Blood pounded in your ears as his hand slipped under your waistband.

“Y-yeah, that’s OK,” you nodded. A compromise. It wasn’t sex. Technically.

Trapped tightly between your skin and your jeans, his fingers reached your slit, spreading it with surprising deftness to find your clit. Waves of pleasure exploded through your body as he pressed an irresistible finger to it, making your thighs spasm and lift off the mattress as you bit back a sinful cry. You were almost screaming from just one touch. The sound of throbbing blood in your ears was deafening, and your cunt throbbed in time with it to an unbearable tempo. God, you wanted him to fuck you with his cock.

He drew in a shaking breath as he observed your response, his lust-clouded eyes boring into you with a hint of the keen perceptiveness he used in court. He risked probing deeper, pushing a long digit farther into your panties, dragging it through your pussylips as you squirmed beneath him, then drew it back, dripping, to circle your clit, and smiled as you clamped a hand over your mouth to keep a neighbor-waking vocalization in check. You were soaking wet for him, and it made his erection strain jealously against the closure of his slacks. It had been too long, since he’d allowed himself time for anything other than work. It was almost unbearable having someone moan for him and not be able to fuck them. But you said no, so he focused on what you would allow him to do—on giving you the most earthshaking orgasm you’d ever experienced.

The tightness of your jeans was too restrictive, and you quickly unbuttoned them and zipped them down. “My papi’s fingers feel so good,” you groaned. “I want more of them.”

“You feel… so good,” he answered, lowering his mouth to yours for a fervent, but surprisingly tender kiss as he moved his fingertips over your swollen, stimulated cunt. He traced over your dripping entrance, and pressed in just the tip of one finger, leaving you gasping for more. He withdrew from your pants and brought his fingers to his lips, sucking them clean, his eyes closing as he savored it. “You taste good, too,” he whispered low and gravelly, almost a growl, though not one you would describe as predatory. There was no danger lurking behind those perceptive eyes—the thrill he gave you had a different source. Your tongue darted over his, dipping into his mouth to taste yourself on his broad tongue.

“Is papi going to fuck me with those fingers?” you challenged, enjoying the way his breath hitched every time you called him that. You’d heard it in passing and knew it was something like calling him “daddy,” but you’d never expected it to have such a big effect.

He helped you pull your jeans down below the swell of you ass, not bothering to take them all the way off and interrupt your pleasure any longer. Once he had all the access he needed, he plunged his fingers into you. He observed carefully, gauging your reaction in the way the slick walls of your cunt gripped and twitched around him, and the tone and frequency of your pleading moans. When one finger wasn’t enough, he added a second, satisfied with his judgment as you cried out and arched against him, your hands gripping the blanket at the stretch. “Te gusta, mamita?” he purred, but you were too breathless to give an answer except a throaty carnal whimper.

Adapting himself to your responses, he alternated penetrating you with his fingers and teasing your clit, kissing you hot and fierce, ramping up his intensity to draw louder and louder cries, leaving a trail of wet bruises down your neck. Curling his fingers inside you, he hit a sweet spot that made your legs begin to tremble. You wailed uninhibited and raw, too overwhelmed with pleasure to try to rile him with another “papi.” He sucked your pulse point under your ear, savoring the feeling of your blood racing beneath his lips. Knowing how turned you were, how much he was affecting you was so deliciously invigorating to his ego. As easily as he could command a courtroom, he’d never had the same confidence in his body. Past lovers would say he had perfect technique, but no soul, no intuition for what a they needed—but here you were, cunt twitching on his fingers, moaning over and over for him.

Your eyes kept closing to focus on what he was doing between your thighs, but when they opened you saw how intensely he was watching you. The arousal on his face as he watched was intoxicating. You had never seen such anyone look at you with such wanton lust, and it heightened your excitement.

“Rafael… Raf—oh, fuck,” you hissed, jerking your hips up to deepen the penetration. “Keep going... deeper!”

“Dime, ‘más profundo,’” he ordered softly, but confidently.

“M-más profundo, papi.”

“Eres buena estudiante,” he praised, a smile lighting his eyes as he sank his fingers deeper with enthusiasm. You were getting close, the fire singing between your thighs blossoming outward through your entire body but always coiling tighter in your core, building an unbearable tension that threatened to break you. He rocked his hips, and the heat twisted tighter at the feeling of his iron-hard cock grinding against you.

You squeezed your hand between your two bodies, groping blindly down his stomach until you found his pants and the massive tent he was pushing into your leg. You grasped the hard outline of his cock, squeezing it and working it through his clothes. He drew a sharp breath and for a moment the rhythmic thrusting of his fingers stuttered and paused. His hemlock-green eyes were black with arousal as they examined you. Then he rocked his hips, thrusting into your palm with a low groan, and his fingers pumped into you again with renewed vigor.

“Que buena chica eres… Just like that,” he croaked. His breathing was growing ragged, he was starting to fall apart with your hand working his cock.

He adjusted his weight to free his other hand, stroking the side of your face as he pressed a passionate kiss to your lips. His thumb kneaded your cheeks as they smiled against his mouth and went slack with lust. His mouth wandered lower, teasing your collar bone with light nips to make you yelp and sigh, then bending to take a mouthful of breast. He withdrew his two slick fingers from the depths of your cunt and circled your clit slowly, gently—then fast and rough as he sucked at a hardened nipple, drawing a shattered gasp from your throat. You rubbed his cock frantically, trying to repay some small amount of the pleasure he was giving you. When he plunged his fingers back inside, he added a third, and you moaned at the added fullness—at being stuffed tight, almost too much for you to handle, an intense pleasure threaded through with pain.

“Oh, fuck,” you cried out, eyes rolling back as you felt your climax build, every nerve ending in your body on fire.

“Is that a good fuck, or a bad fuck?”

“Good,” you stammered, barely holding yourself together. “Don’t stop, papi, I’m almost there.” The hint of pain faded into pure bliss as you imagined it was his cock splitting you open.

His eyes gleamed wickedly as he pumped his fingers in and out of you, watching you come undone with every stroke. This horrible week, he had felt so helpless, useless. It made him doubt himself. But this—this he had control over. Your body. Your arousal. Everything that had fallen apart wasn’t his fault; it was because of circumstances outside his authority to influence. When he was given complete control, this was his effect. He could get any result he wanted, elicit any twitch of your cunt, any moan from your lips, and have you singing in ecstasy just from his fingers. Imagine if you let him fuck you, the songs he could have you singing then.

He angled his hand so his palm was rubbing against your clit as he thrust, and he could tell you were riding the edge of the precipice by the helpless mewling whimpers pouring from your lips with increased fervor, how your walls began to invite him deeper, taking more of him until he was buried three knuckles deep and you were still bucking your hips to intensify each thrust, starving for more. His own hips began rocking at a frantic pace into your hand.

“Rafael… Oh, Rafael,” you moaned. You loved the shape of his name in your mouth. It was like you weren’t even strangers, the more you said it. For him, it would have been too personal for a casual hookup most nights, but for some reason it turned him on even more than when you called him papi.

“Ven conmigo,” he urged softly, his hips stroking at a delirious pace that did not match his calm tone. You didn’t recognize what it meant, but the sound of Spanish rolling over his tongue mixed with the wet lewd noises of his fingers fucking you drove you to the edge.

“I’m gonna—I’m gonna...” Your voice broke.

He ducked his head back to your chest and drew a nipple between his teeth, sucking hard just as you came over the precipice and pushing you off it with a violent shove until you wailed out loud, careening into a free-fall steeper and farther than you’d prepared for, your back arching and your walls crashing around his fingers, clenching and convulsing around them.

“Open your eyes,” he said. “Look at me.” You could hear the lawyer in his voice—controlled, assertive. Not quite a command, but your eyes fluttered open obediently. Holding eye contact while your body was being rocked by wave upon wave of fierce climax was too intimate, but he repeated his request low and soft as a tiger’s purr. Your met his gaze and held it. The look of lust on his face, his lips softly parted, lower lip quivering, renewed the strength of your orgasm and sent another shockwave coursing through you.

He kept pumping into you through your orgasm, riding out the aftershocks, until your legs were shaking and weak. The sensation of you coming on his fingers turned him on so much, he only needed to rock into your hand once more, flick his tongue over your breast, and he lost control. He was not vocal as you were as his thighs trembled with his own release, but his hips slowed, and then stopped, their desperate thrusting, and you felt a warm, wet spot soak through the front of his pants. Your gasping cries were stochastic and desperate now, overstimulated—you pushed his hand out of your underwear to stop his relentless fingers, and he rolled off of you heavily.

Laying back on the soft pile of hotel pillows, he slowed his breathing, then sucked his fingers clean one by one with a lascivious growl of pleasure. You watched him, shivering with fascination, and he glanced back at you with a piercing gaze. “I want to fuck you next time. Por favor, déjame a cogerte.”

Next time. You turned away, your cheeks burning up. You never assumed there would be a next time to this, but your heart wouldn’t stop beating at the thought.

“Next time sounds good. That was…” You turned back to praise him, but his eyes were already closed, and a light snore was emanating from his nose. “...Amazing, you lightweight.”

The dizzying effect of all the booze was catching up alarmingly quickly now that you were spent. After the strenuous effort of tugging the blanket out from under Barba so you could tuck it over him, you were completely worn out, and within a minute you were fast asleep as well, cuddled under his arm, your chests rising and falling in unison.

#Rafael Barba #Rafael Barba x Reader #Raúl Esparza #SVU #smut #Barba x female reader #My writing #thatesqcrush kink bingo #I am curious how intelligible this is to someone who speaks zero spanish #hopefully the dialogue tags & context explain enough

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somegirl29 · 4 years ago

Text

Sherlock X reader- a romance to killing it (first chapter)

Synopsis: Sherlock falls in love with a girl, but what he didn't know was that she was a murderer sent by moriarty to kill him

Sherlock X reader

Author's notes: this is my first fanfic here

I may have a spelling mistake because I am Brazilian and my English is not very good

feel free to make requests, or constructive criticism, say what you think of this fanfic so I can know if I keep writing or not

When Sherlock first saw the girl at a crime scene as a transferred detective he didn't pay much attention, he was focused on the case and thought she would just be more of an annoying cop who would just hinder him, in a matter of minutes she won her attention interrupting his remarks by saying details that went unnoticed at the crime scene, this made him question himself his observational power had never failed before. When he let his eyes fall on her, all he could see were unknown. She looked like a blank sheet of paper. He couldn't deduce anything about her and that completely puzzled him.

It was a matter of time before she became one of the closest people he has ever had in his life, perhaps the factor of thinking similarly to not understanding human feelings, or she was able to reach complex case conclusions in seconds being the most experienced person who he already knew even surpassing himself. At one point he fell in love with the girl, then she moved to Baker Street and as she was perfect, he was never frightened by the body parts in the fridge or the house, he did not interrupt him in his mental palace, nor his days in silence where he only played the violin. And he never felt bored or felt the need to use drugs, because she was a great mystery that entertained him when he had no cases to solve, he wanted to understand her and was in fact beginning to believe that love is not a chemical defect, and he accepted that if he really was, he was willing to accept such a defect.

(Y / N) was a really mysterious girl, nobody knew what she was thinking, they never knew how she would react to anything, they also had no information about her personal life or past she emerged as a ghost without anyone knowing an explanation to do so, however, their talents to solve crimes drew the attention of everyone by diverting their suspicions. The cruel truth was that the girl was a murderer, everyone in the world of crime knew her for her cold and bloodthirsty murders. She had fun with what she did, tortured victims until she was bored again, killed when she wanted or when they hired her for such a function, her life came down to that, and this time his mission was more than just ordinary murder.

Moryart told Sherlock that he would burn his heart and that was the criminal adviser's new plan, he knew that girl would be able to win over the detective and knew that he would suffer from the sad reality when he discovered that it was all just a plan, when she got tired playing house with Sherlock she might as well kill him as she wished, and her fame as a torturer gave evidence that she would destroy him physically and psychologically, it was all just a game.

A very fun game

Eight months passed, Sherlock and (Y / N) had a six-month relationship. Both were on an ordinary day, the girl was lying on the leather sofa staring at the ceiling, the detective was out chasing some criminal as usual. Her attention was diverted by a call which she answered simultaneously

'' This game is starting to get boring, does he keep meddling where he shouldn't and taking away my patience, when you plans to kill him? '' The girl hesitates to answer '' don't tell me you got attached to him, I expected more from you, 24 hours to kill him or others will go after him and in that case know that the target will also include you '' and so the call was disconnected without her being able to say a word.

It was a blow to the assassin's pride when she realize she had become attached to that boy, the way he thought of her intelligence, the way he looked at her as if she were the most important being on the planet with those beautiful blue eyes despite his terrible temper and difficulty expressing feelings she knew he really loved her. However, this was her job, she always knew that this moment would come.

'' Why is this so difficult? '' She yells at herself in frustration

''What is so difficult? '' She jumps up, sitting on the sofa, turns around and looks at Sherlock in the doorframe, how long had he been there without saying anything?

Without saying a word she walks up to him and hugs him making him be amazed

‘'I’m starting to get scared, you usually hate any show of affection, and you avoid them more than I’ ”he jokes

She walks away and offers him tea walking towards the kitchen where she makes one of the most painful decisions of her life.

When he returns to the other room, he hands the cup to the boy, who soon ingests the liquid and extinguishes it in his chair. She walks to the room where she picks up all her belongings, changes clothes by dressing discreetly, she would need to go unnoticed when she runs away. At the bottom of her bag is a loaded gun which she hesitantly holds. She closes her purse and walks towards Sherlock, unlit sleeping innocently with her calm face. She wished he had found out who she was, ending up in prison would be better than that.

Hours passed she walked uncertainly around the environment, he could wake up at any moment, and then in an attempt to buy time she vacates her hands by placing the gun on a support on her leg, removing handcuffs from her pocket '' doing this with him awake and a little dizzy and helpless can be better isn't it?" I always liked to see the despair in the eyes of the victims' I tried to convince herself, by closing the handcuff on one wrist she is surprised because he quickly attaches it to the other side of the handcuff.

Surprised and without knowing how to react she looks at him, he opens his eyes and looks at her seriously

‘’ I knew something was strange ’'

‘'Did you take time to realize ohh great detective, why did you hand cuff me to you?’'

‘‘Thinking fast, I deduced that it mustn’t be pleasant to be attached to a corpse ..’' he would say something but it was cut off with a gunshot

In the case the noise came from her gun which she pulled quickly and fired at an assassin at the door.

‘'I advise you to get up and follow me now Sherlock’'

‘’ What happened to nicknames like love or Sher? ’’ He asks sarcastically as he stands up and has the question completely ignored.

'' I think you've already noticed what's going on at that point .. '' he can feel the regret in her voice '' Where are we going? '' He asks being ignored as she drags him running along dark, little-moving paths from London, watching the surrounding area fearing new assassins lurking.

—

At some point she shot the handcuffs, breaking them apart, separating the two, but she forced him into a car, he silently obeyed her, but soon he couldn't contain himself.

‘'Was that car your plan for escape? ’’ She nodded saying yes in response ‘‘ have a gun in the glove compartment, I advise you to take it out just in case, there must be more assassins on the way ‘’

After that they spent hours in silence in that car until she finally parked it and was followed by him.

''Where are we ? Would you mind answering me now please ’'Sherlock asked in anguish, the whole situation was destroying him.

She closed the door locks and sat on a large sofa

‘’ This is the safest place I know, my house, the rest you deduced already ‘’ he felt hurt when she talked about that being his home, he really liked to believe that her house was on 221B with him

''You are a murderer, hired to kill me, because of the way you shot that man, you seem to do that often, can I dare to ask why? ’'

‘’ I was bored ’’ the room was flooded with silence until he got up his courage, he handed her the gun he had picked up in the car and placed next to her on the couch, he knelt in front of her.

‘'Go ahead, kill me’'she cannot help being astonished to hear Sherlock utter such words

‘'What do you think you’re saying?’'

'' Feeling is a chemical defect found in losers, I am admitting my defeat, love is in fact a dangerous disadvantage .. ’'

(Y / N) stares at him in amazement as he completes '' I really love you '' ducking his head waiting for a coup de grace from her '' Stop being so heartless and kill me .. '' he is cut by a kiss, her arms soon fall over the girl's waist and hers hug her neck. When they separate, she dries a lonely tear that drips from one of his beautiful blue eyes. ‘'I love you Sher, at first I really planned to kill you but I ended up falling in love, we’re two losers’' she hugs him

‘’ What’s going to happen now?’’ He asks fearfully '‘I’m going to murder everyone who might hurt you and protect the love of my life’ ’

It would be difficult from now on. But nothing they could not face for each other, she would surely save him.

second chapter: here

#sherlock x reader #sherlock x you #sherlock x y/n #sherlock x oc #Sherlock Holmes #sherlock imagine #sherlock bbc #bbc sherlock #sherlock x reader angst #sherlock tv series #sherlock holmes imagines #angst #x reader

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tomhardysteeth · 4 years ago

Text

Counting Heartbeats

[ao3] Joe x Nicky 2.7k words During the time it takes Nicky to come back to life after an accidental death, Joe thinks back on their 900 years together.

It hurts every time.

The waiting, the tattoo of his heartbeat growing stronger and faster the longer the wait as a tangible reminder that all hearts permanently stop beating eventually.

This time is very stupid.

Joe and Nicky were just eating a lovely dinner together in one of their safe houses when Nicky laughed at something Joe had said and subsequently began choking on the food Joe had cooked. Joe, of course, tried to save him, but it was a fluke accident that inevitably ended in Nicky’s death.

Joe counts the rhythm of his heartbeat as he waits. He holds Nicky’s head in his lap on the floor and strokes his thumb across his reddened cheek and hums a soft tune as he counts.

The first time Nicky had died was clear in Joe’s memory, because he had been the one to kill him and watching a man come back to life is not something easily forgotten (at least, not the first time). Joe thought he was just imagining things, until Nicky stabbed him through the chest and Joe experienced the nothingness himself, the unquantifiable dark emptiness of nonexistence before he impossibly breathed himself back to life and killed Nicky again. And again and again and again until other soldiers began to take notice, and there was a moment of understanding, a moment of looking into each other’s eyes for the first time not as enemies but as allies, and they fled together, wordlessly, into hiding because they knew that they were the same and that they were different.

They learned each other's languages patiently and painstakingly, and for a while they spoke a combination of Arabic and Ligurian, oftentimes switching mid-sentence and then switching right back. Once they could fully understand each other, the first real conversation they had was about what it felt like to die.

“Did you see what you were fighting for? Heaven?” Joe asked.

Nicky shook his head and smiled, his eyes cast down thoughtfully at the ground of the cave they were holed up in. “There was nothing. Every time. Nothing.”

“And when you wake, it feels like no time has passed, and that all of time has passed.”

Nicky laughed and nodded his head. “Yes. Exactly.” He looked at Joe, considering. “What we were fighting for is meaningless.”

“Your religion? Maybe. The god you worship, did he rise from the dead?”

“He did. Perhaps he was like us.”

“So does that mean he was a man, or that we are gods?”

Nicky laughed again. Joe quickly discovered that he liked that small, quiet laugh and that he liked being the one to cause that laugh.

It made sense, in their own little pocket of the universe, when Joe kissed Nicky for the first time. They had been living together, hiding together, running together for a year, maybe two, and they had met Andy and had some questions answered while others continued to pile up, but meeting her put things into perspective. They had an inherent bond with her, of course, but it was different than the bond they had with each other. Until they met Andy, they believed their bond was born primarily out of having the same affliction, but Joe remembered recognizing right away that he would never feel for Andy what he felt for Nicky, that the intensity of his affections were reserved for one person only. And he could feel it, too, without ever having talked about it, that Nicky felt the same. Their love began easily, with gentle touches and secret kisses, and it was altogether thrilling and scary, monumental and simple, and even if they had had just one lifetime together instead of a hundred, Joe would still feel like the luckiest man alive.

The next time Nicky had died was also clear in Joe’s memory, because he loved him, he loved him, he loved him, and he watched the light extinguish from his eyes, and Andy was there with a firm hand on Joe's shoulder, holding him back and yelling in his ear, Nicolo will come back, keep fighting! But it did not stop his heart from hammering furiously in his chest until Nicky came back. That time, Joe felt before he saw; the beat of his heart evened out before he even saw that Nicky was alive. His heart knew.

“When I die, do you feel it?” Joe asked Nicky, one night when everything was still new, when they still felt young and years still felt like years instead of minutes, when they had been together for a single year and it felt like a significant amount of time, a collection of moments, of firsts, to hold and cherish for the long future ahead of them. “Do you feel the pain?”

Nicky was on his back, Joe curled under his arm with his head resting on his chest. He could feel Nicky’s heart beating softly beneath him. “Of course I do,” Nicky replied.

“We began together, do you think we’ll…?”

Nicky squeezed Joe closer against his side. “‘Began,’ is that what you call it? I think of it as being born together.”

“You didn’t answer my question, love.”

“You know I don’t like thinking about it.”

“Humor me.” Joe lifted his head to press a kiss to the underside of Nicky’s jaw. “Please,” he mumbled against his neck.

Nicky huffed a laugh. “I sometimes wonder if it’s not the time that matters but the number of times we die. Maybe Andromache is still alive because she has only been killed 200 times, and maybe on the 300th time she will not come back. If it takes many millennia for that many deaths to occur, then she will live for many millennia.”

“By that logic, if she wanted to die, she could kill herself over and over until she reaches the magic number.”

A beat passed before Nicky said, “It is probably best if we don’t tell her this theory.”

“Agreed.”

“I know it is illogical, but I do keep count,” Nicky continued. “As much as it is possible, I want us to stay close to one another in how often we die.”

Joe traced a line with his finger down Nicky’s chest, the skin smooth and unblemished despite how often it had been stabbed. “Yes, it would be good to try to die as little as possible.”

Nicky kissed the top of his head, burying his whole face in Joe’s hair. “I know we are young, but I fear it will never get easier to see you die. I will worry every single time that it is your last.”

Joe squeezed his lover tight, in confirmation that he felt the same.

After a decade together, Joe began drawing. Everything. He still felt like a young man, but memories are tricky, and the one looming fear of his life was that the vastness of time ahead of him would make him forget all the good he had already experienced. How fortunate he was, to be scared of eternity not because of loneliness and heartbreak and loss but because of having too many good memories to recollect.

Nicky became exasperated with him, with how often he stopped whatever they were doing so he could draw whatever they were doing, or just draw Nicky because “you made a face I like, I need to preserve it.” Parchment was not easy to come by, but Joe was relentless in his efforts.

He drew and drew and drew, a constant as rocksteady as their love for each other.

For a period lasting nearly 50 years, neither of them died. They still fought battles, with Andy deciding when and how they would fight, but they survived each one like very lucky mortal men. It was during a skirmish with a small group of religious extremists somewhere in Europe that Nicky’s throat was cut clean across, and Joe cried out in pain so loud that Andy pulled him against her body and held him tight until he felt his heart calm.

That was the first time he remembered feeling old. He and Nicky had been together for so long, what felt like so long, they often acted like old men. Their love deep and settled and sure, they spent many days together not even speaking, only small touches, sexless for weeks without noticing.

But after Nicky’s throat was slit, a fire ignited in Joe, a myopic feeling of impermanence making him hungry for every touch, every kiss, every fuck. He mapped his body with his lips for several nights in a row, kissing and licking every inch of skin, opening himself up while swallowing Nicky’s cock, bringing him right to the edge with his mouth before readjusting and sinking down, riding him slowly and surely because they had all the time in the world.

And after, lying naked together, Joe scooped Nicky into his arms, back to chest, and whispered against his ear the many ways in which he loved him.

The next time, it was Joe who died a brutal death, and it was Nicky who experienced an existential crisis that resulted in many pleasurably sleepless nights.

When they grew past the age of a normal lifespan, they began counting in decades instead of years. There was a decade of boredom. A decade of bliss, and a second, third, fourth decade of bliss. Then a decade of bickering with one another. A decade of attempted relationships with others outside of Joe, Nicky, Andy—they tried having pets, they tried making friends, they even considered finding a way to raise a child together.

But they were outcasts, and not because of their supposed immortality. They could lie about that, could know a person for years before it became an issue, but for the other reasons. The other reasons were not so easily overlooked. Christian and Muslim, holding hands—they avoided much of Europe for many years. Progress is not linear, however, and so they could spend several years in a place where they could be themselves, only to move on to a place where they could be killed for being themselves, and this was over and over again, for hundreds of years, and in the 21st century they both finally began believing that progress was a line and not a circle only to stumble upon a small town in the American Midwest where they were refused a room at three different hotels. The decade was the 2010s.

They had never broken up. Not once in 900 years had it even come up. They needed space sometimes, sure, but the one thing they had learned from living so long is that time is not real and that a decade together can pass in a moment while three days apart can feel like a year, and so they had never spent more than a couple weeks apart from each other in 900 years.

There was longing, yearning, stretches of time where they wanted to escape the life that was chosen for them, and there were many years that they did not fight any battles, that they did not even see Andy. They both went through periods of depression, mania, and every human emotion in between, identity crises and existential dread, and sometimes the only thing tethering them to reality was the steadfast surety of their love for one another, that when all else seemed lost, they had each other. They checked on Andy a lot during their lowest moments. It was impossible to imagine how she had survived all this time without an anchor.

Living so long rattled one’s moral compass. Any hard decision, any mistake would be forgotten or would prove unimportant with the ever patient and forgiving passage of time. Hundreds of years, killing countless men, it is not possible to feel them all, to remember them all and carry the burden of all that death. No matter how many wars they fought, Joe was never fully confident that they were on the right side or that there was a right side. There was always the nagging deep in his subconscious that there could be more, that they could be doing more with the time they were given, but he wasted years and years trying to figure out what. Once they became old enough to read about things they had lived through in history books, it seemed obvious that they should have done this, could have done that, focused more on this, ignored that, and the world would be a better place if they had just been able to see the big picture. Living through so much of the world’s history made it feel like the responsibility of the world’s trajectory was on their shoulders.

“We can only do what we can do,” Nicky would say, every time Joe had to get his jumble of thoughts out, and he somehow always had the grace to be gentle with him, even after having the same conversation hundreds of times. “We are only men, after all.”

They were not always careful, or they were not always lucky. They had been tested on by doctors, priests, scientists, witches; it was hard to keep track of all the times they had died on operating tables, only to be discarded when their secrets could not be revealed. These deaths were painful, like the others, but for some reason they made for the best sex afterward. We are only men, after all.

When Booker was born, they began fighting smaller battles. They were for-hire for any job that seemed like the right thing to do. After Booker’s last son passed away, the four of them lived together for many years. They all four liked each other, then they hated each other, then they loved each other. There was a sadness in the set of Booker’s shoulders that time could not heal, a grief somehow heavier than the kind Andy carried. It was through Booker that they learned that grief does not compound or diminish with time, it comes and goes as it pleases.

And then came Nile.

It hurts every time.

At beat number one hundred ninety-nine, Joe’s heart evens to a steady pace. At two hundred twelve beats, Nicky coughs his way back to life, red skin fading back to white, blue eyes blinking open.

Joe’s face splits into a grin as he looks down at his lover. “That was all my fault,” he says as a tear slips down his cheek. "I finally cook dinner for once, and you die."

Nicky reaches up and cups his jaw, fingers pressing lightly into his beard. “It’s OK, that’s the first time in several hundred years that you’ve accidentally killed me.”

“I told you, it was Andy that accidentally shot you in the Revolut—”

"I know, I know." He smiles warmly up at Joe. Quietly, he says, "You're OK. I'm here."

“What are y’all doing?”

Nicky and Joe both lift their heads at the sound of Nile's voice. Nicky sits up and leans his weight back against Joe’s chest, both of them still on the floor of the kitchen.

“Joe was waiting on me to come back to life. He poisoned my food to see what would happen.”

Joe playfully bumps his shoulder against Nicky.

Nile raises her eyebrows at them. “Cool. Um, I was hoping I could talk to you guys for a minute.”

They help each other up and gesture to the kitchen table as they talk over each other with of course you can talk to us, anything you need, we’re glad you came to us.

Nile sits across from them and folds her hands on the table. “You’ve been alive nearly a thousand years, right?”

They both nod.

“Do you remember what it was like? At first?” She scratches the side of her face, her eyes wide as she looks down at the table. “Because I’m 27 and I still feel 27 even though I know I’m gonna be 27 for, you know, a really long time. I don’t feel old yet, and I don’t feel like I’m gonna feel old for a while. But I can’t even imagine what it’s like to live for so long, like, am I even gonna remember any of this in a couple hundred years? How do I make sure I don’t...forget?”

Joe and Nicky share a look. Nicky nods his head, silently telling Joe to get up.

Joe excuses himself. He has some drawings to retrieve.

#the old guard #joe x nicky #nicky x joe #immortal husbands #the old guard fic #my fics #i was doin this for the clout but then i had a lot of fun #sorry i'm like this lmao

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seven-homosexual-dinosaurs · 4 years ago

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Say you won’t let go

My first song fic, let’s see how this goes :)

(Or rather, a one shot based very loosely around a song that at this point might not even be a song fic)

Based off the song “Say you won’t let go” by James Arthur (obviously)

Cathy had met Anne on a cool autumn night, standing in the corner alone at some party Thomas had convinced her to attend. Long abandoned by the latter, she scrolled through her phone absentmindedly. People danced and drank around her, the sound of bad decisions in the making filling her ears.

She’d looked up from her phone, only to come face to face with a girl about her age. Glossy, chocolate brown hair fell past her shoulders to rest on her lower back. Piercing emerald eyes gazed at Cathy nervously, a tint of pink staining her cheeks as her hands scratched at the back of her neck nervously. She wore a dark grey jacket over a deep green crop top, as well as a pair of ripped skinny jeans.

Cathy took a moment to collect herself, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face.

“Hi,”

Cathy smiled at the girl awkwardly. The girl brightened slightly at that, flashing her a brilliant smile.

“Hey,” she greeted, “I couldn’t help but notice you were looking kinda lonely over here and I think you look really pretty and sorry I just kind of blurted that out for no reason but doyouwannadancewithme?”

Cathy blinked at her blankly, taking a moment to process her words. As soon as they fully sank in, she felt a bright blush creeping along her face. She had half a mind to refute the offer, to remind herself she already had a boyfriend. Yet what harm could one dance do? Besides, it wasn’t like it would really do anything, right?

“Yeah!” she answered finally, a dorky smile spreading across her face, “Yeah, I’d like that,”

The mysterious stranger led her onto the dance floor, an excited grin overtaking her face. They swayed to the music gently, and despite her previously unsavory mood, she couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her as the stranger twirled her around, singing along to the music joyfully.

“I didn’t catch your name?”

The stranger winked at her mischievously.

“Anne Boleyn, at your service,”

The music slowed, as did their dancing. Swaying to the music slowly, Anne rested her head on Cathy’s shoulder.

“And what about you, pretty-stranger-I-met-at-a-party?”

Cathy blushed at the description, her heart quickening.

“Parr. Catherine Parr, but everyone just calls me Cathy,” She answered.

“Cathy,” Anne’s lips twitched into a smile. “I like it, it’s a nice name,”

“Thanks, I got it for my birthday,” Cathy deadpanned. Anne laughed, the noise sounding like heaven to Cathy’s ears.

“Well Cathy,” Anne began playfully, “what’s a pretty lady like you doing in a shithole like this?”

“You flatter me,” Cathy answered blankly, despite the growing blush spreading across her face. Anne grinned at her response, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

“...Well?” Anne asked, curiosity seeping into her voice. Cathy laughed awkwardly, carefully avoiding Anne’s gaze.

“Well my boyfriend kind of dragged me here,” She answered. Anne’s smile dimmed slightly at that, although it was back at full force as soon as it was gone.

“Really? Who’s the lucky guy?” She inquired. Cathy cleared her throat uncomfortably, preparing for what was to come.

“Thomas. Thomas Seymour,”

She waited for the inevitable “Really?” or “You’re so lucky!” that always came whenever someone learnt of their relationship. It was getting annoying, really. She already had enough of her family telling her of how lucky she was to date a man like Thomas, she didn’t need to add more people to the mix.

Anne did none of those things. Instead, she wrinkled her nose in disgust. Not a good reaction, but having some variety was nice.

“Thomas? I know that guy, he’s kind of a dick,”

Cathy frowned.

“Hey, I know he can come off as unpleasant at times, but he’s really a good guy at heart,” Cathy countered. Anne grimaced doubtfully.

“No, really, I’m serious. I’m friends with his sister, he’s a real piece of work,”

Cathy rubbed her shoulder uncomfortably, stepping away from the Boleyn girl apprehensively.

“Yeah, well, I should probably go find him anyways. It’s getting late, so...”

Not waiting for an answer, she took off. She heard Anne yell something behind her, but she ignored it, choosing to weave her way through the crowd instead. What did she care what some stranger thought of her relationship, it’s not like it mattered anyways. It’s not like the fact that Thomas never told her he had a sister bothered her, everyone has their secrets.

“Tom? Thomas?” she called, ignoring the growing feeling of dread in her chest. Walking over past the kitchen, she finally found what she was looking for. Well, sort of.

Thomas sat on the worn couch, chatting excitedly with a girl Cathy recognized as her old friend Bethany. His hand rested on her waist, pulling her close to him as he pecked her lips, prompting a laugh from the latter. He cupped her cheeks gently, pulling her in for another kiss.

Cathy felt cold, a numb feeling overcoming her.

“Thomas?” Her voice sounded distant to her ears, as if spoken by another person. He didn’t respond, Cathy felt as if she couldn’t breath. She ran from the room, she needed to get away from here. From everything. her feet carried her blindly, sweat gathering on her brow as an ill feeling settled in her stomach.

Coming to a stop, she looked around to see where her feet had carried her.

She appeared to be in some kind on park, littered with all kinds of trees. Stars twinkled in the night sky, illuminating the empty park. Leaning against a tree, she lurched forwards to throw up, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.

Retching heavily, she jumped as felt a hand pull her hair out of her face. Anne Boleyn gazed at her, worry evident in her eyes.

“You alright mate?” she asked sympathetically. Cathy wanted to say yes, to tell her to go away and leave her alone. She wanted to pretend she was fine, to go back over to the party and fall into Thomas’ arms.

Oh god, Thomas....

She gagged, spewing the contents of her stomach violently. She felt Anne rubbing circles in her back, whispering quiet reassurances in her ear. Feeling her nausea subside slightly, she fell limp in Anne’s arms.

“What happened?” she asked gently. Cathy paused spitting some leftover bile from her mouth.

“You were right about Thomas, he... he...!”

Cathy couldn’t finish. It was as if saying the words would make them come true, she’d be forced to accept what had transpired before her very eyes. Anne pulled the taller girl into a tight hug, wiping her tears away gently with her thumb.

“Hey, it’s okay,” she whispered softly. Cathy sniffled quietly, hiding her face in the crook of Anne’s neck.

“I don’t know why you’re even putting up with my shit anyways,” she choked out, wiping her nose on her sleeve. “You barely know me, why’re you even helping?”

Anne frowned at her, pulling her close.

“Hey, none of that, okay? Even if I don’t know you that well, I can’t just let you go through this alone”

“Besides,” her face blushed a bright red and she looked down at her feet “I kind of know you. You have Miss Greene for linguistics, right?”

Cathy looked up at Anne in surprise.

“Yeah, how-”

“We’re in the same class. You’re the girl in the blue hoodie that always has a coffee with her,”

Cathy nodded slowly, taking a moment to process the information. Rubbing the wetness out of her eyes, she looked Anne over once more, attempting to match the Boleyn girl to her memory.

“Sorry I didn’t recognize you,” she mumbled numbly. Anne waved her hand dismissively, shrugging her apology off.

“It’s fine, you look in a world of your own most days and we’ve never talked. I wouldn’t expect you to recognize me anyways,”

Cathy nodded in understanding.

“Wait...” she began slowly, “If that’s the case, then how come you recognize me?”

Anne blushed, carefully avoiding Cathy’s gaze.

“No particular reason. You mentioned Thomas earlier, right? What happened?”

Cathy hesitated, looking away from Anne.

“Nothing important, I’m sure I just need to talk to him,”

Anne eyed her doubtfully, and Cathy felt a twinge of anger. She just had to talk to him, she was sure there was something to the story she was missing. There had to be.

Look, I’m going back to talk to him, whether you like it or not. You can stay here if you want, but I’m going,”

Turning away from Anne, she startled as she felt a firm hand on her shoulder. Emerald eyes gazed at her (albeit worriedly), grim determination set into her face.

“No, I’ll come,”

The night was windy, Cathy realized as she drew her arms around her with a shudder. Dead leaves fluttered through the air around her, crinkling and breaking in the cool autumn breeze. The yellow glow of the street lamps illuminated the empty street, flickering and flashing in the night. It was really quite beautiful, Cathy noted. There was something otherworldly about it, how the gentle breeze swayed the leaves in the trees, the little group’s footsteps echoing on the pavement.

She knew they’d reached the house before even laying eyes on it. Music blared through the windows, the reek of alcohol and sweat tainting the air even as they stood in the driveway. Ignoring the worried glance Anne sent her way, she pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Cathy had no trouble locating Thomas, something which came both as a disappointment and a relief. Said relief was rapidly quelled as her eyes locked onto Thomas. The situation hadn’t de-escalated, rather, it appeared far worse than before.

“Cathy? Did you- oh,” Anne faced shifted into a scowl as she took in the scene before her. She glowered at Thomas, muttering curses under her breath as Cathy felt tears gather in her eyes. She didn’t know why she thought it would have changed. She didn’t know why she thought it would have been different.

“-athy? Cathy?” Anne’s voice jolted her from her reverie. Her voice was laced with concern, although her eyes held nothing but contempt for the man before her. Taking in Cathy’s dazed expression, Anne shrugged her jacket off, placing it gingerly around Cathy’s shoulders.

“Here, keep an eye on this for me, will you? I’ll handle good ‘ol shithead over there,”

Cathy nodded numbly, pale knuckles gripping the jacket tightly. Sending one last glance towards Cathy, Anne set off towards Thomas, grim determination set into her face.

Meeting eyes with the Boleyn girl, her gave smiled at her charmingly. Resisting the urge to gag, Anne answered his smile with a sickly sweet smile of her own. Gesturing to Bethany, still in his arms, she spoke.

“Hey, don’t you have a girlfriend?”

“That ol’ gal? She doesn’t have to know,” he winked.

“Really now?” Anne hissed through grit teeth, “You really are exactly how Jane described you and more,”

“Jane?” he asked, looking around the room. It was then, it appeared, that he finally noticed the frozen Parr at the entrance. Jumping up, he shoved Bethany off of him unceremoniously.

“Cathy!” he yelped. Cathy fixed him with an icy glare.

“That’s “Catherine” to you Thomas,” she hissed. Stumbling towards her, Thomas froze as Anne stepped before Cathy protectively.

“I wouldn’t suggest coming any closer unless you wanna learn just how much damage these heels can do,” she threatened. Thomas paled, tripping over himself as he hurried to get away from the seething Boleyn girl. The rev of a car engine outside informed the two of his departure.

Turning to Cathy, Anne regarded her carefully.

“You alright mate? That can’t have been easy”

Cathy shrugged nonchalantly. Truth be told, she didn’t know. She felt angry and heartbroken, relieved and confused. Anne frowned, rubbing her neck in thought. Suddenly, a smile spread across her lips.

“Well then, I think I might have something to cheer you up,”

Extending an arm to Cathy, she offered the girl a dorky grin.

“We never did finish our dance, did we?”

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

Anne awoke slowly, squinting in the harsh sunlight. Looking around, she smiled as her eyes landed on the slumbering Cathy beside her. She snored lightly, hugging a pillow tightly to her chest. Most days, Cathy would be up an awake at the crack of dawn, making breakfast and getting ready for the day. Today, however, proved different. A nasty bout of the flu had ravaged the house for a week, and Cathy proved to be it’s biggest victim. Even as she made a speedy recovery, her energy remained quite low, as proven by her slumbering figure.

Anne smiled as the door creaked open, two little figures padding into the room quietly. A freckled face peeked over the bed as Elizabeth Boleyn-Parr looked over to her mom with wide eyes.

“Hi mama,” she whispered, swinging her little body onto the bed and crawling into Anne’s arms. A little whine came from the side of the bed, a mess of black curls peeping over the bedside. Holding Liz with one arm, Anne lifted Mae off the ground onto her lap. Mae crawled over to Cathy, poking her cheek with a grubby finger.

“Mommy?” she asked curiously. Planting a kiss to her forehead, Anne smiled at her gently.

“Use your words baby,” she encouraged. Mae looked over to Cathy once more, placing a little hand on her cheek.

“I want mommy,” she whispered. Anne smiled proudly, gently prying Mae’s hands away from the sleeping Parr.

“Mommy’s sleeping right now, but she’ll be awake later,”

Mae pouted, shaking Cathy’s shoulders sadly. Crawling over to her sister, Liz grabbed her hands and pulled them away from their mom.

“Mae, stop! Mommy needs to sleep!” She whispered urgently. Mae whined, sticking her thumb in her mouth angerly. Faced with the upset toddler, Anne pulled both girls into her lap.

“Well Mae, don’t you wanna help Lizzie get ready for school?”

Mae looked from Cathy to Liz before nodding slowly, resting her head in the crook of Anne’s neck. Standing, Anne was careful not to disturb her sleeping partner as she rested Mae on her hip. Holding Liz’s hand, the group made their way out the room towards the kitchen.

“Do you think you could get dressed on your own today?” Anne inquired. Liz grinned toothily, shooting her a thumbs up.

“Yeah!” she cheered, running back up the stairs to her room. Watching her stumble up the stairs, Anne turned to the toddler in her arms with a smile.

“Well then, how about some breakfast?” she asked sweetly, bopping Mae’s nose. Mae giggled at the motion, nodding enthusiastically with a clap of her hands. Coming into the kitchen, she placed Mae on her high chair. Flipping through the cookbook Catalina had gifted the family the previous year, her lips twitched into a smile as her eyes landed on a blueberry pancake recipe.

“Hey, how would you feel about some pancakes?” she questioned. Mae kicked her feet happily, throwing her hands in the air.

“Panckies!” she cheered. Anne chuckled, grabbing the flour from the cupboard.

“Panckies it is,”

Anne set to work making breakfast, chatting amicably with the happy toddler. Yawning, Liz padded down the stairs. She wore a a grey hoodie, along with a purple skirt and blue leggings. Sticking a blue journal in her sparkly green backpack, she trotted up to Anne.

“Mama? Where’s my lunch?”

“It’s the brown bag in the fridge,” Anne gestured to the item in question, dropping a dollop of batter on the pan. Liz stuffed the bag in her pack, sneaking a fudge cookie into her lunch. Grabbing a pancake for Mae and Liz each, Anne grabbed a small stack for herself and sat down with the kids. Cutting up their pancakes, Anne handed both girls their breakfast.

“Mama, I want syrup,” Mae protested, pushing her plate back at Anne. Anne sighed, ruffling her daughter’s hair.

“Sorry love, mama forgot to pick any up when we went shopping,” she smiled sheepishly, “But I promise we’ll pick some up on the way to school,”

Mae considered it before nodding, shoving bits of pancake in her mouth. The group ate in a comfortable silence, punctuated by the occasional scrape of cutlery or drop of a fork. Anne wiped the girl’s mouths with a napkin, grabbing the plates and placing them in the dishwasher. Patting Liz’s head, Anne picked Mae off of her chair.

“Could you wait at the door while me and Mae get ready?”

Liz nodded, running off to find her shoes.

Heading up to her room, Anne slipped out of her pajamas and into a green button up shirt and jeans. Dressing Mae to be much more of a challenge, seeing as the child in question wriggled about and refused to sit still. Finally, Anne headed downstairs, a dress clad Mae in her arms. Slipping into her shoes, Anne sent Liz an apologetic smile.

“Sorry for the wait Liz, Mae was feeling a little fidgety,”

Buckling Mae and Liz into their respective seats, Anne pulled her phone out to send Cathy a quick message.

-----------

8:16 AM

You: Hey Cath, I’m out dropping Liz off at school and Mae at Jane’s place, so it’s just you at home for now. Remember to take it easy, you still need to rest. In case you do wake up in time to read this message, breakfast’s in the kitchen. Love you <3

-----------

Slipping into the driver’s seat, Anne pulled out of the driveway as the group made it’s way to the school. Ten minutes and many yelled out songs later found Anne parked in front of the school, waving Liz goodbye.

“Bye Lizzie, love you! Say hi to Mary for me!” she called. Mae peeked over the window, waving enthusiastically.

“Bye bye!” she yelled. Liz waved back at the car before running off to the play structure.

Next stop was Jane’s house, where Mae would be having a playdate with Ed, Jane’s son. They got there relatively quickly, Anne noted as she stood at the doorway, resting Mae against her hip. The door opened at her knock, revealing Jane Seymour, her son Ed at her heels. Light blonde hair rested on her head in a messy bun, kind grey eyes greeting Anne warmly. Her figure was short and plump, a sharp contrast to her brother’s tall and muscular build. She was, as Anne liked to say, “friend-shaped”.

Like his mother, Ed’s hair was light blond, although it was rather thick and puffy. He was a petite figure, although his small size was easily made up for by his large personality. With a temper that rivaled Jane’s and the caring nature to match, he was almost like a miniature version of his mother.

Jane greeted Anne with a hug, placing a quick kiss to the top of Mae’s head.

“Hello girls!” she beamed warmly, “Right on time, the little one here was getting antsy,”

Anne chuckled at that, easily imagining the little boy running around impatiently, waiting for his friend.

“Well I’m on time,” she snarked.

“For once,” Jane muttered under her breath. Anne gasped, clutching a hand to her chest dramatically.

“Me? Late? Never!”

Both children giggled at her theatrics. Wriggling in Anne’s arms, Mae reached a grabby hand towards Jane.

“Mama, lemme go! I wanna play!”

Anne laughed, placing a kiss to Mae’s cheek and setting her on the ground. Mae gave Jane a quick hug before running off with Ed. Watching them go, Jane sighed.

“Well I’d better go make sure no one dies. Tell Cathy I said hi, ‘k?”

“Sure. Love ya!” Anne called, making her way back to the car.

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

The house was silent when Anne returned, a sure sign that Cathy was still asleep. Grabbing a plate of pancakes and some coffee, Anne made her way over to find Cathy. Walking into their room, Anne couldn’t help the smile that made it’s way onto her lips as she regarded her slumbering wife.

Gentle sunlight illuminated her peaceful face, highlighting every groove and indent in her gingerbread brown face. Wild curls framed her face, sticking out in every direction; a testament to her tossing and turning the night before as her fever stricken body struggled to rest.

Pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, Anne tucked a strand of hair behind her partner’s ear.

“Hey love, it’s time to wake up,” she whispered. Cathy’s face scrunched up slightly as her eyes fluttered open.

“Morning beautiful,” Anne soothed. Cathy yawned, propping herself up on her elbows.

“Morning,” she murmured, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Looking around at the assortment before her, she raised an eyebrow.

“Breakfast in bed? What’s the special occasion?” she teased.

“You’re sick! Besides, am I not allowed to do something nice for my beautiful wife?” Anne exclaimed. Reaching out for her breakfast, Cathy gave Anne a grateful smile.

“Well, your beautiful wife appreciates it,” Cathy smiled, bumping her head against Anne’s shoulder playfully. Shifting so that she was sitting next to Cathy, Anne wrapped her arm around the former, resting her head on her shoulder.

“How are you feeling?” Anne inquired. Cathy shrugged, swallowing the bit of pancake in her mouth.

“Honestly? Still pretty shit,”

Anne frowned, placing her hand on Cathy’s forehead.

“You’re fever’s gone down, you probably just need to rest,” she offered. Cathy nodded wordlessly, laying her head Anne’s chest. Her breathing evened out in a manner of seconds, fork falling onto the bed with a dull Thump.

Carefully, Anne grabbed the plate and mug and placed them on the bedside table. Slowly, she maneuvered their bodies so that they were laying down on the bed, Cathy’s head resting in the crook of her neck.

Listening to the rhythmic sound of Cathy’s breathing, Anne felt her own eyelids grow heavy. She knew she had to go pick Liz and Mae up in a manner of hours, but for now, she’d simply rest her eyes for a moment. She felt Cathy shift slightly, wrapping her arms around Anne’s midsection tightly. The sunlight felt warm on her face, Anne noted as she pulled her blanket up around the two.

The house was quiet. Distantly, Anne heard birds chirping and dogs barking. She could imagine Liz, chatting with her friends excitedly about some tidbit of information they’d found fascinating. She could imagine Mae, building a tower with Ed, only to knock it down with a laugh, Jane fixing lunch behind them as she gazed at the children lovingly. Cathy lay in her arms, snoring lightly as she mumbled something or other in her sleep. It was perfect.

She held her lover in her arms, and all Anne could think about was how much she loved this woman. She wanted to spend the rest of her life with her, to raise their children together and grow old together. And even after all these years, Anne couldn’t believe Cathy felt the same. She’d felt the same, as they sat in the park and said “I love you” for the first time. As they got married, as they adopted children, Cathy had been with her the whole time. It was peaceful, it was quiet, Anne remarked as she held Cathy close. Cathy had met Anne on a cool autumn night, standing in the corner alone at some party Thomas had convinced her to attend. And ever since then, it had been perfect.

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ethereal-not-occult · 4 years ago

Text

patience and the mulberry

"With time and patience, the mulberry leaf becomes a silk gown."

Fandom: Good Omens Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens) Characters: Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale (Good Omens) Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Established Relationship, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Fluff and Angst, Character(s) of Color, Sericulture, silkworms, past religious trauma, but nothing bad happens in this fic I promise, mixed bookverse w/ TV elements, references to Chinese culture Notes: Originally written for the @goodomensfashionzine !

“I'll only be a minute, dear.” Aziraphale kissed Crowley's cheek as he opened the door of the Bentley. “You don't have to see me to the door if you don't want to.”

Crowley tightened his grip on the wheel. “Sure, angel. Sounds good to me.” The sibilants slid far too quickly past his clenched jaw, and he bit his tongue to stop the instinctive hiss from escaping.

Aziraphale gave him a sympathetic look, but shut the Bentley's door behind him and soon disappeared through the doors of the church. Once he was out of sight, Crowley slumped forward slightly, sliding his sunglasses up and rubbing at his eyes. A few deep breaths later, and he felt composed enough to exit the Bentley himself in blatant disregard for the “NO PARKING” sign on the curb.¹

[¹ Given his new job position (or lack thereof), lawbreaking was no longer a necessity, but old habits die hard.]

The bright afternoon sun made him wince a bit, and two robins in a nearby bush were getting frisky in a way he would never be able to unhear, but they made it easier to forget the distant wail of air sirens. Even standing out on the road, Crowley's skin prickled faintly with the remembered sting of consecrated ground.

He pushed the feeling aside and walked resolutely forward. Aziraphale was bound to take his sweet time as he mooned over the church's dusty old tomes, but Crowley had his own investigations to conduct while he waited. No rest for the wicked and all that.

The concrete pavement under his snakeskin shoes gave way to grass, and the tingling sensation in his soles faded. Soon he found himself at his intended destination—an Edenic grove of mulberry trees, clustered together in a ring in the church's backyard. He'd spotted them on the drive over and couldn't resist the temptation of a closer look.

Crowley wandered into the garden with a scrutinizing eye. They were young, for trees, but growing well despite their callowness. A particularly stocky sapling hardly flinched when Crowley gave it a token glare, much to his disappointment. Then again, outdoor plants were rarely as well-behaved as properly cowed houseplants. It seemed this attitude persisted even in ecclesiastic gardens such as these.

He cast a surreptitious glance over his shoulder, then reached a hand up into the tree's umbrella-like branches and tugged. The season wasn't quite right for fruits, but he still withdrew clutching a handful of dark ripe mulberries. Hardly apples, but his lips twitched upwards nonetheless. He plucked a berry from the pile and raised it to his lips.

“Zaoshang hao!”

Only a hasty miracle saved Crowley from choking as he jumped and swiveled around. Hovering right outside the churchyard was a middle-aged human, well-dressed and smiling pleasantly at him. Judging by her formal clothing and the Bible she carried, she was a part of the congregation, maybe even the priest herself. Crowley swallowed and stepped backwards.

“Ni shi jiaohui de xinshou ma?” the human called again, picking her way across the dewy grass in his direction. Crowley eyed the Bible she held, willing himself not to break out into hives.

“Um. Wo bu—er, no. I'm not new. Not here for church at all, actually.” He fidgeted and clasped his hands, still full of pilfered mulberries, behind his back. “Just waiting for someone.”

The human raised an eyebrow. “You're welcome to wait inside, if you like,” she said, also switching to English. “I reckon we still have biscuits left from the children's morning service—”

“No!” Crowley said too quickly, and perhaps too sharply. He winced. “I mean. That won't be necessary. I'd much rather stay out here, if it isn't too much trouble.”

The human gave him a Look. Crowley's cheeks heated and he averted his eyes, willing his sunglasses a few shades darker.

“Beautiful, aren't they?”

Crowley's head shot back up. The human had turned her back to him and was running a hand through the glossy green leaves of the nearest mulberry tree. Crowley could practically see the branches stretch out in delight beneath her touch, like a purring cat.

“Volunteers from our congregation take care of them,” the human continued, smiling at the young tree. “The kids here like raising silkworms, you see, and we welcome them to pick leaves from the trees each week to feed them.”

Silkworms. Of course. Despite himself, a hazy memory rose to the forefront of his mind: Sichuan, China, several hundreds of years ago. A family farm, weathered and cozy and oozing enough sheer goodness to make the average demon ill with it. Crowley wouldn't normally be caught dead in such a place, but he had owed a favour to the angel. His fingers twitched at the phantom memory of butter-soft silk fibres against his skin; long, winding threads that stretched out thin and fine, tangling so easily around his uncertain fingers. With this memory came the golden, moon-round face of a child he hadn't thought about in centuries, grinning toothily as they held out a box to him, a box filled with small pale larvae that wriggled among the spade-shaped leaves. “Zhe jiao can.”

Crowley forced himself to return to the present. The human was speaking to him.

“—waiting on Mr. Fell?” she asked.

Crowley blinked. Shook himself a little. “Yeah. He's helping out with the restoration of some old manuscript or other.”

The human smiled again. It was an unnervingly piercing expression. “I'm aware. I was the one who requested his help. Such a lovely man. Are you a friend of his?”

Crowley tensed. “His husband, actually.”

He braced himself, but the human only brightened. “Goodness, then you must be Mr. Crowley! Mr. Fell talks ever so much about you. Finally gone and tied the knot then, have you?”

Before Crowley could stammer out a reply, something dinged loudly, making him jump. The human pulled a phone out from her pocket and squinted at the screen.

“Sorry, I have to run back inside. But it was lovely meeting you, Mr. Crowley.” She stuck out a hand—thankfully not the one that had been holding the Bible—and after a brief hesitation, Crowley shook it. As quickly as she had arrived, the human disappeared from the garden, leaving Crowley alone and off-kilter amid a grove of mulberry trees.

---

Aziraphale emerged from the church around an hour later to find Crowley seated on the curb next to the Bentley, basking in the last rays of the afternoon sun as he scrolled through his phone.

“My dear,” the angel sighed. His joints creaked as he eased himself down to sit next to Crowley on the roadside. “Don't tell me you've been sitting here the entire time.”

“Nope,” Crowley said, popping the ‘p’. “I toured the gardens for a bit. Swiped some fruits, too. The mulberries aren’t half-bad, for a bunch of church plants, but they’ll need a good deal more threatening before they're really up to snuff.”

Crowley stopped when he saw Aziraphale chewing his lip, brow furrowed as he studied Crowley's face. Now it was Crowley's turn to sigh.

“Really, angel. It's fine. I was hardly bored.”

The expression didn't leave Aziraphale's face. A soft brown hand reached out and brushed aside stray wisps of hair from Crowley's forehead. The demon hadn't bothered to cut it since the Apocalypse-that-wasn't, and it was growing longer and more unruly by the day.

“I'm fine.” Crowley caught Aziraphale's hand and held it, carefully. He pressed his lips against the well-manicured fingers. “It was years ago, angel, and we both came out of it all right. You don't need to worry about me.”

Aziraphale still looked vaguely distressed as Crowley drew him close. With the sun setting behind him, framing his face and curly dark hair in a golden halo, he was the most beautiful thing Crowley had ever seen.

He kissed him then, right there on the road, in full sight of the church and probably Someone Else, too, if She happened to be watching at that particular moment. Once, he would've been terrified of such a public display, but he hadn't gone through hellfire and holy water to care anymore about what others thought of them.

As he helped Aziraphale into the Bentley, he noticed abruptly that the angel was carrying what appeared to be a shoebox, of all things, along with his usual camelhair coat.

“What on Earth is that?”

“Oh!” Aziraphale carefully pushed the box over to Crowley. “Mrs. Lao gave it to me once I'd finished with those manuscripts. She said it was a gift for you, actually. Have the two of you met before?”

Crowley stared down at the box, baffled. “We talked for a bit in the gardens just now, but I can’t imagine why…”

He trailed off, and his mouth dropped open as Aziraphale eased open the lid and beheld the contents with a raised eyebrow.

“Good heavens. Are those caterpillars?”

“Silkworms,” Crowley corrected automatically, leaning in for a closer look. There were so many of them, somehow both smaller and larger than he remembered, all white and wiggly and chomping away busily at the layers of mulberry leaves filling their box. None of them paid any attention whatsoever to their occult observers hovering above them.

“Why would she give you such a thing? Not that they aren't dear little creatures,” Aziraphale added hastily, glancing into the box, “but I doubt I have the means to keep them in the bookshop.”

“No need,” Crowley said before he could stop himself. “I can raise 'em in my flat.”

Aziraphale gave him a curious look. “You know how to care for these… insects?”

“Yeah.” Crowley gently shut the lid of the inhabited shoebox and curled a hand around the Bentley's stick-shift. “I've done something like this, before. I know what I'm doing.”

“If you say so.” Suddenly Aziraphale chuckled. At Crowley's affronted look, he demurred, “I'm not making fun, my dear. It's only that you still manage to surprise me, even after all these years.”

Aziraphale leaned in and pecked Crowley's cheek, making him blush red and sputter. Much to his disgruntlement, the Bentley chirped a light-hearted rendition of Haydn's Crazy Little Thing Called Love all the way home.

---

Crowley had spent the past eleven years co-parenting the Antichrist with Aziraphale.² They had faced this challenge head-on, and in his opinion, it hadn’t gone too shabbily. Now, without the threat of the Apocalypse hanging over his head, becoming a surrogate parent was far less daunting the second time around.

[² Even if young Warlock hadn't really been the son of Satan, it was the principle of the thing.]

Still, Crowley worried. He had always been something of a worrier, and that hadn't changed even after the First Day of the Rest of Their Lives.

After dropping off Aziraphale at the bookshop, Crowley returned to his flat, where he commenced the preparations for introducing his unexpected twenty-odd guests to their new home. This was accomplished by miracling up a small glass aquarium onto his desk, lining the bottom with paper towels, and carefully (read: nervously) placing the silkworms one by one into the tank. Once this was done, Crowley scattered the half-eaten mulberry leaves from the box around the aquarium. The silkworms set upon their interrupted lunch with all the enthusiasm of Aziraphale devouring a meringue pie at the Ritz.

Crowley slumped into his chair, took off his sunglasses with a wince, and rested his chin on his desk, staring into the glass tank.

“I raised your ancestors once, you know,” Crowley informed the wriggling creatures. “Tiny farm in China several centuries back. We'd weave branches together into a tray and let you loose inside. Bit like how manmade beehives work, or something.”

Crowley paused. Watched one silkworm slowly inch its way across a stem to tackle a new section of leaf. “‘Course, humans use wire mesh nowadays, but the general premise is the same. Always thought it was bloody clever, what humans could come up with. If you gave me a bunch of moth larvae and told me to make a living out of them, I definitely wouldn't think to make clothes.” He snorted. “Whoever came up with that, I'd like a glass of whatever they were drinking.”

The silkworms munched on. They ate much faster than they crawled, that was certain. In the quiet walls of his flat, away from prying human eyes, Crowley loosened the knot of his silk tie and tugged it off, easing the tightness around his neck.

“You're the ones who made this, in a sense,” he said, waving the tie at them. He laid the tie beside one glass wall of the tank at just the right angle for the inhabitants within to see. Several silkworms looked up curiously.

Crowley tossed his suit jacket aside, then unbuttoned his shirt collar. He had always prided himself on his sharp, modern attire over the years, the better to tempt humans with—or so he claimed. Despite repeated scoldings from his superiors, his Lust quotas had never been quite up to par.

Sufficiently dishevelled, and feeling all the freer for it, Crowley sank back into his chair to watch the silkworms.

“The only thing I didn't like about the process was the boiling,” he murmured. “Logically, I can see why it was done. And you would all be in cocoons, so it's not like you'd be in any pain. Not like I was.” He exhaled, the sound becoming a low hiss. “But still. Never liked it. Always felt like an awful lot of trouble just for the sake of some silk threads.”

One particularly adventurous silkworm had nosed its way upwards and was now creeping over the edge of the tank opening. Crowley made a mental note to devise a lid of some kind and stuck his finger against the lip of the tank. The silkworm crawled onto his hand without any hesitation. Tentatively, he drew it closer. Its many feet stuck stubbornly to his skin, and it reared up as he approached, swaying slightly, its mandibles twitching.

Crowley stared at the silkworm. The silkworm stared back, and seemed disappointed when Crowley had nothing else to offer. Just to prove it wrong, Crowley materialized a single large mulberry leaf in his other hand and presented it to the insect, who fell upon it with gluttonous enthusiasm.

Staring at the miracled leaf, an idea formed in Crowley's mind. He smiled, slowly.

“I need a hobby, now that I'm jobless,” he said aloud to the silkworm, letting it creep onto his palm. He ran a careful finger over its smooth back. “I think I'll take up sericulture again, for old time's sake.” He reached back into the tank and gently encouraged the silkworm to crawl back inside.

“Humans have to boil you alive to get those nice unbroken threads off your cocoons,” Crowley mused, withdrawing his hand. “Fortunately, I don't have to do things the human way.” He lowered himself until he was eye-level with the inhabitants of the tank. The silkworm he had carried paused in its perpetual eating and turned its head, almost like it was looking at him.

“How's this?” Crowley asked. “You'll be able to grow into a fuzzy, fully grown silk-moth, and I can take your cocoon after you've finished with it and miracle the threads whole again.” He paused and mulled it over. “I guess I could take it a step further and just miracle the finished silk together, but there's still something to be said about the human way of doing things.”

The silkworm bobbed the front half of its body as though in agreement. Crowley smiled again.

“We can make silk, and no one gets hurt. I'm a few hundred years out of practice, but I'm sure I could make it work, somehow.”

The silkworm turned its attention back to its meal. Crowley didn't notice. He was too busy wondering if Aziraphale had any old texts on silk-weaving that he could borrow, just so he could refresh his memory.

The angel would appreciate having a new silk bowtie to add to his collection.

---

Thank you for reading! Replies and reblogs are always much appreciated. <3

#good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #go fanfiction #good omens fanfiction #go tv #otp: ineffable #li writes #zine fic #insects tw

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