#i feel like moulin rouge is it’s own warning

[ambernotember]

Points at the whiteboard again.

Act Two! (part 1 - soundtrack inclus)

Two months later, they’re in rehearsals for Bohemian Rhapsody, the play they invented that has become real. Tommy plays the main character, an aspiring singer who is being pursued by an evil gangster but is in love with a poor sailor. Sal plays the gangster, and Buck is the sailor. The parallels to real life are obvious to their friends.

Tommy and Buck are meeting up whenever they can sneak away from rehearsals and the Duke’s watchful eyes; every time Tommy calls him “Evan”, Buck falls a little more in love with him. They kiss behind stage during rehearsals, finding every little nook and cranny that can hide the two of them. Any night that the Duke isn’t with Tommy, he sneaks away at night to Evan’s tiny apartment where they can pretend it’s just the two of them.

Buck tells Tommy stories of his life before Paris; the travelling he’d done, the people he’d met, the women he’d loved. He tells Tommy that he was the first man that he’d ever kissed, and in that moment he’d felt like a whole new world had opened up to him. Tommy has to kiss him again about that.

Tommy tells Evan a little bit about his past, but glosses over some of the details. He’s never been happier than when he’s with Evan, and he doesn’t want to bring the mood down.

Back at the club, Bobby catches Tommy alone and warns him to be careful of the Duke. He and Athena have known people that have been hurt by him before, both physically and socially; his money and power allow him to get away with nearly anything he does.

Tommy tells Bobby he knows what he’s doing; Bobby says he cares about him and Buck and doesn’t want to see either of them hurt. Sal appears and echoes the sentiment — if he and Buck are going to stay together, they have to be more careful.

And, Sal adds, Tommy needs to look after himself. He’s noticed how worn down Tommy seems to be lately, and the cough that doesn’t seem to go away. Tommy assures him it’s nothing, just the strain that comes from rehearsing a new show.

The Duke arrives to take Tommy out. He’s frustrated with Tommy still working at the club and how much time the rehearsals take up. He shows Tommy the chateau he’s bought for him; he’ll allow Tommy to stay at the club until the show opens, but after that he wants Tommy to move into the chateau and cut ties with everyone from the club. The Duke takes him to all the finest clothing shops in Paris, saying his paramour can’t appear to be ‘less than’, it would have a negative impact on the Duke’s reputation.

Tommy reluctantly agrees, knowing this is the way to save the club and his family, but knowing that time is running ever shorter for them to be together. He allows the Duke to buy him a new wardrobe and forces himself into the uncomfortable clothing.

The next day at rehearsal, Evan blows up at him about the new clothing. He tells Tommy this isn’t him. Tommy reminds him that Evan knew what he was getting into, that Tommy has to do this to save his family, that his family is his priority.

Rehearsal is rocky. The Duke is there and complaining about almost all of the wardrobe and staging choices. Chimney is trying to smooth it over with him, while Eddie is trying to keep Buck from launching himself at the Duke.

They get to the scene where the sailor rescues the singer from the evil gangster. The Duke interrupts, saying that this gangster just wants what is best for the singer and can offer him more than what the sailor can, and why is that so wrong? Why does he have to be the bad guy in all of this? Chimney reminds him it’s a romance and a tragedy, and the show plays into those existing expectations. They reset the scene, but when Buck goes to speak his lines, his anger bursts out and he speaks directly to the Duke, telling him that Tommy doesn’t love him, he loves Buck, and the Duke needs to leave Tommy alone.

Eddie whisks Buck away immediately while Sal and Chimney try to cover for Buck and Tommy. Bobby pulls Tommy to the changing rooms backstage to get him out of the line of fire. The other dancers rally around him, saying that they can cancel the show, he can get away from the Duke, they’ll help him and Buck.

Tommy starts coughing and can’t stop. The handkerchief Bobby hands him comes away crimson.

The mood immediately changes. Sal has slipped in unnoticed. He asks Tommy if it’s consumption, if he’s seen a doctor. Tommy admits that he has seen a doctor, it is consumption, and he likely only has a few weeks left.

He tells them he needs this show to go on. He needs to know that his family will be okay when he’s gone. They don’t need to worry about the Duke, Tommy won’t be around long enough for it to be a problem.

He forbids them from telling Buck, or Eddie or Chimney. This is family only.

Tommy sneaks out one last time to see Evan. Evan begs him to run away with him, somewhere far away where the Duke won’t follow them. He paints a beautiful picture, a little house in countryside, filled with music and light, helping out other people like them, kids like them. His sister and Chimney can visit, they’ll be Aunt Maddie and Uncle Chimney, he doesn’t care if they’re poor, or even destitute, as long as they’re together.

Tommy can’t help but love the idea, but knows it can never happen. He tries to let Evan down gently, says this is his way out of the life, he can’t be a dancer forever, he can’t let his family down. If the show fails, there won't be a club to speak of. Evan begs him for one more night together, and Tommy isn’t strong enough to say no to that.

He sneaks out in the early morning before Evan wakes up.

For the next week, Tommy's family and Eddie and Chimney run interference between him and Buck and the Duke. He doesn’t see Buck outside of rehearsals. He spends more time with the Duke. Eddie admits they’re doing everything they can to keep Buck distracted.

It’s the opening night of the show, and Buck is nowhere to be found. The Duke insists Chimney go on in his place; after all, he’s the director, he knows the lines and the staging. He sneers at Tommy and tells him, see, that flighty artist was never good enough for you. He couldn’t even be here for your show. Tommy sees red, snaps, tells the Duke he doesn’t love him and never will, he can take the chateau back, he’ll never move in there.

The Duke storms off.

Tommy has another coughing fit, and Chimney is shocked to see the blood. Tommy admits that his consumption is getting worse, but he has to get through the show tonight. The other dancers promise to help him through it. Chimney sneaks away to tell Eddie and sends Eddie to find Buck.

Eddie doesn’t have to look very hard. Buck is outside the back doors trying to convince himself to walk in. He tells Buck about Tommy, and it’s all he needs to go running into the building.

The show is about to start though, and Chimney and Eddie have just enough time to get him into costume, and he doesn’t have time to talk to Tommy.

Tommy walks on stage to sing their song, the song that Evan wrote for him, to see Evan on the other side of the stage. He smiles, bright and beautiful.

Tommy starts to sing.

He collapses mid-song.

Evan and the other dancers rush to his side.

He and Evan hold each other tightly. He tells Evan he loves him, has since the first time he saw him. He tells Evan their song is perfect. He tells Evan not to let Tommy be his last; to still find love and beauty in the world.

He dies in the arms of his true love.

[onceuponastory]

protective - bucky barnes x reader

Plot: Bucky gets protective over Y/N during a mission. Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader Warnings: A guy being creepy, reader being slightly uncomfortable and Bucky wanting to fight the guy. As always, if I miss any triggers please let me know! Notes: This is very loosely based on El Tango De Roxanne from Moulin Rouge because I love that scene & that song. Also I was thinking about a Moulin Rouge AU so lemme know your thoughts. Not beta’d, so any mistakes are my own. Thank you to @staticscreenwriting for my divider!

“I don’t like this.” Bucky hisses, throwing a hard stare across the room. Nervously, he taps his feet. Although, when he sees Y/N standing there, leaning against the bar as she sips from her drink, his face softens ever so slightly, and a small smile grows on his face. But once he remembers what they’re doing here, his hard stare returns. He really doesn’t like this. Not one bit.

“Don’t worry Buck. She’s got this.” Steve’s voice crackles over the headset. “Besides, she has a wire on, so we’ll be able to hear everything, and we can step in if we need to.” Despite how his words are trying to be supportive, Bucky doesn’t feel comforted at all by his words. 

Tonight, they’re on another mission, ready to stop some corrupt agent intent on causing chaos. And Y/N was sent undercover to charm him and try to extract information because she’s not as publicly known as the other Avengers. It’s not the first time Y/N’s done something like this, but this time, Bucky hates the thought of sending her out there alone. From what Bucky’s heard, despite the man’s kind facade, he’s extremely cruel when he needs to be, and he has no issue with stepping on people to get what he wants. And no doubt he would do just the same to Y/N if she ever got in his way. Despite how experienced she is, the thought of Y/N stuck there with him alone makes his stomach churn.

“Sam, do you have visuals on Y/N?”

“Yes, Bucky. I did the first time you asked, and I still do now.” Before Bucky even asks his next question, Sam answers it. “Yes, I’m keeping an eye on her.”

“Good.”

Bucky knows his two best friends are worried about Y/N too, but he also knows that they think he’s overreacting slightly that Y/N is going to be perfectly safe. Bucky just hopes they’re right. Y/N is incredibly skilled at going undercover, and there’s no doubt she’ll do just as well today and get the information they need. It’s just that Bucky cares too much about her to let her go into these dangerous situations alone. At least not without her knowing that he’s there on the other end if she needs him. He’s been in love with her for as long as he can remember, and the last thing he wants is for her to be put in danger. His gaze goes back to Y/N, and he sighs. She looks gorgeous tonight, dressed to the nines. But that’s not too difficult. To Bucky, Y/N always looks gorgeous. Maybe one day he’ll actually find the guts to tell her the truth, instead of standing here all forlorn and lovesick, as Sam and Steve call it.

“Showtime.” Sam whispers, cutting through his thoughts. Bucky watches as the man enters the room, making a beeline straight to the bar. Y/N notices him too, and makes a point of brushing up against him slightly as she requests another drink. The man looks over her, pointedly staring at her chest and her ass. Bucky’s jaw clenches.

“Let me get that.” The man grins, placing his hand on Y/N’s wrist and reaching out with his card before Y/N can do anything. “Can’t let a pretty girl like you pay for your own drink now, can I?” Bucky suppresses a desire to vomit. Creep.

“Thank you.” Y/N smiles, batting her eyelashes slightly. The sight makes Bucky’s stomach flutter, the same way it usually does when he sees Y/N. Sometimes, Bucky likes to imagine that Y/N’s flirting is for him, and that she feels the same way he does for her. But for real this time.

As Y/N and the man find a table and start chatting, Bucky continues to watch, hating every moment. The way the man leers at her, a sick smirk on his face the entire time, makes Bucky’s stomach churn even more. He knows what assholes like him do, and he hates every part of it.

“Can you cool it with the glare, Buck? I’m not even in the same room as you and I can feel it burning through the wall.” Bucky ignores Sam’s comment and instead works through an action plan. A way to rescue Y/N in case she needs help. As he does so, he keeps a cautious eye on the pair, just in case. As she laughs along with the man, Bucky can pick up on the awkwardness in her laugh. He swears the noise makes his stomach twist. When the man presses a kiss to her cheek and a small flicker of unease crosses Y/N’s face, Bucky swears his heart almost stops.

In a moment, he jumps up, ready to charge in, to peel the man’s arms off of Y/N and drag him away from her. But before he can, Y/N takes control once more, changing the subject. Yet still, Bucky keeps a wary eye on the man. He flexes his metal arm, ensuring he’s ready to jump in and protect Y/N.

Whatever the cost.

Thankfully though, only a few hours later (albeit longer than Bucky would’ve liked), the agent suddenly has to leave, bringing the mission to a halt. And soon, Y/N is back safe and sound in the compound with the others. 

“Well done Y/N.” Steve praises, and Sam nods.

“Yeah. Great job.” Bucky murmurs, his tone causing Y/N to raise a brow.

“Guys, can I speak to Bucky alone for a moment, please?” she asks. Glancing at each other, Steve and Sam nod and leave the room. “So. What’s up with you?”

“Nothing.” he shrugs. Scoffing, Y/N rolls her eyes. 

“Bucky, there’s no point in lying. I know you.” She’s right, she does know him really well. Sometimes, Bucky swears that Y/N knows him better than anyone else. Even better than Steve. There’s no way he could even try to hide his feelings from her. “And besides, you were staring daggers out the window the whole ride back. Now, tell me what the problem is.”

“I just… when you were with that guy, I was worried about you, okay?!”

“Aww Bucky, you really do care about me!” she grins, giggling like it’s just a joke. But little does she know, Bucky doesn’t see it that way.

“I do care about you! Fuck Y/N, I care about you more than anything in this world, and the thought of that… that sicko being anywhere near you, o-or laying his hands on you makes me feel sick!” He exclaims, the words slipping out without another thought. “I know how good you are at going undercover, but the last thing I want is you getting hurt.” Y/N’s eyes widen.

“Oh… oh.” As silence falls amongst the pair, Bucky’s heart pounds. Why did it all have to slip out like that? Maybe keeping it in for so long has finally taken its toll. Y/N stares back at him, still silent. Bucky blushes, his cheeks turning scarlet. Now he looks like an idiot. A total lovesick idiot. 

“I’ll, um. I’ll go.” 

“No, wait.” Y/N stops him as he starts to leave, reaching out and touching his arm. “I-I never knew you felt that way about me, Bucky. Thank you.” she smiles, and Bucky nods.

“Y/N, I have been in love with you for as long as I can remember.” he admits, chuckling slightly. “You’re very special to me, Y/N.”

“And you’re special to me too, Buck. I’m so glad to have someone like you looking out for me.” Before Bucky can even respond, she presses a kiss to his cheek, his stubble lightly grazing against her lips. This almost sends Bucky’s heart into overdrive, and he swears his skin tingles from where she kissed him. “I’ve been in love with you for as long as I can remember, and I had no idea you felt the same way about me.” she whispers, her words making Bucky’s mouth drop open. “I need to go type out my mission report, but maybe we can grab dinner afterwards? I think we have a lot to talk about.”

“Yeah, yeah, that sounds good.” Bucky nods. And then she heads down the hallway, waving goodbye. Even after she disappears from sight, Bucky still stares down the hall. He cups his cheek, still feeling it burn from when she kissed him. Still dumbstruck at how Y/N likes him back. A goofy grin overtakes his face. 

Despite how badly tonight started, he’s never been as happy as he is right now.

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[ghostieboi1]

Papas and How They Love

No gifs belong to me

Papas x GN!Reader

Genre: Headcanons

Summary: How I think the Papas show their love that I can explain through other fictional character romances

Characters: Primo, Secondo, Terzo, Copia

Warning: Mentions sexual themes

Primo

Primo very much has an older fashion and style of showing his love for you.

He's a gentle lover, both in public and behind closed doors.

The best media example I could provide is Christian from Moulin Rouge.

He leans a bit more towards the shy side, he falls for you first but makes you fall harder with his care for you, makes you feel like you're constantly living a dream, acts a bit timid about intimacy until you've established a relationship, wouldn't know what to do with himself should something happen to you.

Primo is also definitely a kind of lover that always wants you near, would risk his own life if people considered your love forbidden.

He could live with you walking away from him, but if you died? He would never forgive himself.

Secondo

Secondo's love in intense in every aspect.

There's always a burning bubble of want and need between you two.

The best media example I can provide is the Phantom from The Phantom Of The Opera.

Secondo wants nothing more than for you to submit to him in every way, he may be a bit controlling but will let you do as you please if you push back hard enough, he will fight for your love, nothing could stop him from wanting you.

Some people fear you and some people admire you for dating such an intimidating man, but he gets a rush off that alone.

He would never do anything to harm you, not on purpose. However, should another person look at you with every intent of stealing you, they might go missing forever.

Terzo

Obviously, mostly everyone sees Terzo as a form of a sex magnet, but that's oddly not the case.

Terzo has a sweet way of loving you, the last thing he'd want you to assume was that he was just using you for his pleasures.

The best media example I can provide is Jack Skellington from The Nightmare Before Christmas.

He might not notice you right away but once he does, every little greeting means so much to him, he's gentle with you and is nervous with you.

Terzo's never met anyone that's made him feel the way you make him feel, so he does everything in his power to let you know how much you mean to him.

He's even soft in the bed, contrary to popular belief.

He loves you. He wants you to know that.

Copia

When I tell you this man is obsessed with you, I mean it.

Whatever it is you desire, Copia will make sure you get it no matter the cost.

The best media example I can provide is Gomez Addams from The Addams Family (any version will do).

His love for you is overwhelming even to him, he can't keep his hands and lips off of you.

He's more sex driven than Terzo in a relationship but he is the bottom. Once you get him into the bedroom, he's consented to everything you want to do to him.

He can and will worship the ground you walk on, he'd even kiss it if people didn't think he was insane for it.

Copia does the hand to shoulder kiss thing too.

He will also always make you dance with him.

[mingyusprettyprincess]

00 | The Condè Family - Against The World [ KIM MINGYU ]

Genre: Erotic Romance/ Dark Romance/ CEO AU/ Thriller/ Suspense/ Mystery/ Curvy Latina Reader x CEO Mingyu/ Introverted Reader/

WARNINGS: Explicit language/ Troubled Past/ Trauma/ Mentions of drug and alcohol abuse/ Dark themes (EX: Strip Clubs, Underground pleasure houses/Moulin Rouge, Gaslighting, manipulation & Sexual abuse)/ Cheating & affairs/ Toxicity/ Heavy&dark Sex Scenes/ Daddy Issues/ Kinky Sex Scenes/ Mentions of BDSM/!Reader is a Moulin Rouge dancer!/ CITY IS SOMEWHAT INSPIRED BY GOTHAM CITY & INSPIRED BY MARVEL’S NEW YORK CITY!! THE CITY MENTIONED IN FIC IS NOT A REAL CITY! IT’S A CITY CREATED BY WRITER (ME)!

Not proofread! 😭 trying to post this part before going into work.

Word Count: 1618K

🎧Now playing -> (Intro OST) Feel It - Ayesha Erotica + Sway - Dean Martin + Let’s Fall In Love - Amy Hampton Callaway + Baby I’m A Fool - Melody Gardot + Put Your Head On My Shoulder - Michael Bublé + Dirty Little Secret - Nessa Barrett

Camera flashes were blinding the eyes of every guest arriving at the Colucci Villa, reporters throwing questions left and right. My footsteps falter as I make my way to the back doors, “Mr. Kim! Over here!” Reporters push and shove one another as one of the guests of honor steps foot out of the black limousine. I exhale and open the door quickly before any reporters on the side catch a glimpse of me.

I fan myself before walking towards the grand staircase, “Must you always use the back doors?” Noah asks as he waits patiently on top. I roll my eyes and walk up the stairs, “Yes I must. Bethany, Darcy, Nic, and you are on the front cover of magazines with Mother and Father whereas I remain hidden.” I said with a soft smile. Noah sighs in annoyance, “Why must you hide your identity? Aren't you tired of hiding?” He asks.

I shake my head as we walk further into the villa, “Not at all, I would still like to be able to live a normal life and not be known as a Conde.” I said. Noah hums softly as we enter the main hall, “Well it won't be long before someone catches a single glimpse of you.” He implies. I fix the sleeves of the black blazer, letting my gaze wander around the room.

Endless people dressed in brands and high-class jewels, not quite fond of the world of high class or status. I bite my bottom lip as I take one of the champagne glasses from the tray, events like these are just a buzz kill for me. I caught my mother’s eye, I could already see her distaste for my option of clothing in them. I flash her a sweet smile before taking a small sip of the bubbling drink, today’s event is a Fund Raising Charity.

I did come dressed for the occasion, a dark red mid-thigh velvet dress hugging my body with a little bit of cleavage on display. But the black Chanel blazer made it look more elegant and business casual, with a pair of red-bottomed Louboutin.

I walk around the venue as I try to kill time, “The Colucci Family is indeed the most high-class people, I mean they own half of the businesses in Bezauri.” Gossip here. I drink more of the champagne, “I heard Mr. Kim is a guest of honor for this event.” Gossip there. Gossip is around everywhere, I shake my head lightly and look at one of the paintings on display.

I could hear everyone go quiet and whisper as the doors of the villa hall opened, I bit my bottom lip as I kept my gaze on the painting. A painting that has become my favorite out of the twenty-five hundred paintings, a painting created by a little to no-fame artist. I bring the rim to my lips only to realize the glass is empty, I exhale softly and turn around.

Fixing my posture I look around for the champagne tray, “Good evening ladies and gentlemen, I appreciate you all for taking the time off to join me in this good deed event.” Mr. Colucci announces. Everyone falls silent as they give their full attention to the man, the host of the event. “Champagne ma’am?” A waiter comes by with a tray, I smile faintly and replace the empty glass with a full one. “Thank you,” I said as he walked off.

Mr. Colucci goes off about the paintings being the main event, an auction will be held tonight. I eye the painting I’ve stared at, maybe I could get Noah to buy it from Mr. Colucci. “Please enjoy the finest champagne and appetizers, the auction will start shortly.” Mr. Colucci says with a smile as he holds his glass towards the crowd, I let a small scoff escape my lips.

I bring the glass to my lips as jazz music fills the venue, drinking the champagne I spot a slight movement in the corner of my eyes. Annoyance fills me noticing it’s my mother, “Two glasses of champagne shall be fine for tonight,” She says taking the empty glass from my gasp. I sigh softly and cross my arms, “Didn’t I say to wear the dress I left on the bed?” Mother whispers. “Oh please ma that dress was too much.” I said I turned my gaze to the group of women gossiping.

“This is serious Y/N, you're a Conde now and that means meeting with the status.” Mother reminds me, and I roll my eyes. “I like to keep myself behind your shadows ma, remember I’m only saving the family from embarrassment,” I said softly as people walked past us. Mother sighs and nods, “Alright then since you seem to know what you're doing, I pray that I don't see your name on any magazine with vulgar scandals.” She warned me before rejoining my father.

I glance at the gossiping group of women surrounding a tall man dressed in a burgundy red suit, I bite my bottom lip and walk off to the paintings.

I walk around the venue eyeing the paintings and taking a moment to appreciate the art, a soft chuckle escapes my lips as Michael Bublé plays faintly. I sigh softly and walk over to the next painting, few people seemed to be here for the art and not for status. I look at the time on my phone, seven-thirty pm. I let out a small huff of breath, “Enjoying yourself?” I turn to look at the owner of the soft voice. I smile faintly, the same tall man that the group of women had trapped. “Somewhat,” I said, he chuckles lightly.

I turn my gaze back to the painting, “You must be one of the Condés,” He says softly. I look at him perplexed, “I-I-how did you know?” I asked curious. The man smiles, what a sweet smile. “It’s somewhat part of my job to know everyone on the guest list.” He says I nod in acknowledgment. “I didn't quite catch your name Mr?” I ask, the tall man smiles once more. “Kim Mingyu,” He holds his hand, oh boy.

Kim Mingyu, funder of FLORE is one of the honored guests. “Y/N Condé,” I said shaking his hand, “I take it you're not a fan of these sorts of events?” He asks letting go of my hand. I chuckle, “You are correct, but I was brought here against my will.” I said. Mingyu laughs softly, I smile sheepishly. My eyes wander at his sun-kissed skin, it's natural. I mean, of course, it's natural there’s no way a man will tan himself like most women do.

“Admiring the art before the auction?” His voice invades my thoughts, “Huh? Oh yes, I like art so at least this is keeping me from being bored to death.” I said. Mingyu smiles faintly and nods, “Which one is your favorite so far?” He asks turning to look at the paintings. I smile and look at the painting by Marissa Levy, the little no-fame artist. “A Father’s Love…” I said looking at the sad yet lovely painting. “Ah, Marissa Levy, did you know most of her paintings are from her personal life events?” Mingyu asks as he eyes the painting, I bite my bottom lip. How does he know the artist? I mean her name is on the painting but the facts?

I turn my gaze away from him, “I did…Levy is one of my favorite artists.” I said crossing my arms. Mingyu looks at his watch, this man means business if his wrist is wrapped with gold. “The auction is starting, will you like to join me?” He asks, holding out his arm. Flustered I give him a shy smile, “If you don't mind being bothered by my presence then yes I’ll join you.” I said letting my hand wrap around his arm. What doesn't this man have?! I bite my bottom lip as I feel how built he is under my palm.

Mingyu smiles, “Your presence is more welcomed than you think,” He says with a playful wink. I blush, we walk into the dining hall of the villa where the auction is being held. I can already feel my mother’s gaze on me, but I ignore it. Mingyu pulls out the chair for me, I give him a faint smile. “Gentlemen are very rare in this society,” I teased, he chuckled. I accept his invitation and sit, I look around catching Noah’s gaze. The look of pure shock made me want to laugh but I kept my composure, Mr. Colucci cleared his throat making it known that the auction would be starting.

~ Mingyu ~

“Carlos Condé is a man of business, I hope you do understand that Mingyu. This isn't some ordinary family, they’re part of the high society of Bezuari. The Colucci family being at the top, the Condé being at second…I hope you know what you're getting yourself into.” Seungcheol says as he looks at the photography, “Stop your worrying Choi, don't forget that I hired you to do this.” I remind him.

Seungcheol sighs and sulks, “No need to remind me,” He says. I look at the Condé family photo, “There’s one missing…” Seungcheol says. “No one’s ever seen or heard of her, she’s the daughter of Eva Condé…” He continues, and I sigh sharply. “The born out-of-wedlock daughter as most have said, as I stated no one’s heard of her so there’s no name,” Seungcheol says. The Condé family does not cease to amaze me…secrets, dirty little secrets.

[sissylittlefeather]

Your Love's Been a Long Time Coming: Chapter 1

A/N: Ahhhhh a new series!!! This is the one that won the poll, so I hope y'all love it! Also, I decided to play with POV on this one, so I'm telling it from Elvis's perspective. Please let me know your thoughts in the comments!!

ICYMI, this is the Elvis x OC Vivian Choquette series. Want to learn more about her? Here.

PS- I love you @ccab for loving Vivian as much as I do before I even write the story!

Warnings: Not much, this is gonna start slow, but trust me, it'll heat up. Kissing, cussing, alcohol use, smoking

Word count: ~2.4k

By September of '59, Elvis was used to the army. He was used to the routine, used to the work, used to the people, used to the fans, and used to looking for a good time wherever he could find it. On this particular night, he found it at a party at his own house in Bad Nauheim. All his friends were there, along with a plethora of girls to keep everyone interested. Elvis moved through the party easily, making small talk and keeping everyone stocked on drinks, despite the fact that he didn't have any himself. Sometimes he imbibed, but usually he didn't. Although his beloved mama was gone, what he learned from her still lived in the forefront of his memory. That is, unless he found himself at the Moulin Rouge. But that was different. Here at his own house, he preferred to remain in control.

Despite having a girlfriend back at home, he moves through the house looking for a girl to talk to. That's when he notices her in a corner, her dark hair swept into a low ponytail and blue eyes glancing lazily around the room. She almost seems bored. So much so that she turns to the bookshelf that came with the house and pulls a book down. She opens it and begins to read. Elvis is intrigued by the kind of woman who reads at a party. He begins to walk over to her and realizes that the book is in French. He panics for a second and then remembers that the guys taught him a phrase in French. Surely he can figure out how to communicate with her. Besides, most of these French girls speak a little English.

He swaggers up to her, ready to try out his French. He stands there in front of her for a minute before she looks up at him.

"Bonjour."

"Mhmm." She looks down at her book, but he doesn't leave. He's suddenly nervous, but he decides to risk it. She's pretty enough that it might be worth it.

"Uhh, est-ce que tu aimes le sexe?"

She looks up at him suddenly and laughs.

"What? Did I pronounce it wrong?" She laughs even harder. When she finally catches her breath, she holds up a hand.

"First of all, I speak English. Second of all, please don't ever say that to anyone ever again."

"Oh. Why?"

"You just asked me if I like sex."

"What?! Those motherfu- I mean, those jerks. They told me it meant 'how are you'."

"And you believed them? It literally has the word 'sex' in it."

"Well, I don't know! I don't speak French!"

"Obviously." She looks back down at her book. He's not ready to give up, though.

"Hey, if you speak English, why are you reading in French?"

"My mother was French. I speak and read it because of her." She answers without looking up from the page.

"Was?"

"She's been gone for a while now. I live with my stepdad. He's an officer in the army." He feels the pain of having lost his mother too soon and looks at her with even more softness and affection than he did before.

"I'm Elvis." She looks up at him.

"I know." He nods and she notices the look he's giving her. "You know, I'm actually here with someone."

"Oh?"

"Mhmm." She points across the party to Charlie, who's making his way to her with drinks.

"Charlie?!"

"Yes."

"Well, goddamn." Charlie makes it over to them and hands her one of the drinks. He throws his arm around her casually and looks up at Elvis.

"Hey buddy. I see you met my lady."

"Well, not officially..." She holds her hand out to him.

"Vivian Choquette. Nice to meet you, Elvis Presley." He takes her hand and has the strangest urge to kiss it, but he'd never do such a thing with Charlie right there. He's been a good friend to Elvis, so no matter how much he likes her, he won't risk their friendship. Instead, he shakes her hand like he would if she was a man.

"Yeah, likewise." Elvis nods awkwardly and then turns to go back to the party. It's too bad that she's there with Charlie. He wanders around a little more, before he sees a girl that will change the trajectory of his whole life. Still, he never forgets the girl he met first.

******

The next day, Elvis sits at lunch with Charlie.

"So what did you think of my girl?" Elvis chokes a little on his food and tries to think of how he can answer without letting on that he hasn't stopped thinking about her.

"Oh, she's... she's somethin' else."

"Ain't she? I saw you talking to that cute little thing though. She seemed like somethin' else too."

"Priscilla? Oh, yeah."

"Little young, though."

"Yeah..." Elvis tries to focus on Priscilla, but all he can think about is Vivian. If she wasn't with Charlie, she'd be exactly what he's looking for. He's not sure how he knows that based on the half of a conversation they had, but something about her just draws him to her. Maybe it's the fact that she seems deeper than most of the girls he's encountered. Maybe it's because she didn't fall all over herself to talk to him. Maybe it's because she understands the pain of losing a parent. Whatever the reason, he can't stop wishing that she hadn't met Charlie first.

******

About three weeks later, Elvis is walking around town and he passes a cafe. He doesn't think much of it until he sees someone he recognizes sitting at one of the little tables. His heart jumps a bit at the thought of talking to her again. Then, he remembers Charlie with his arm around her. He decides to keep walking, but as he gets a little closer, he notices her shoulders are shaking. She's got her long, dark hair in her face, so he can't see her eyes, but it looks like she might be crying. He can't let her sit there alone if that's the case.

He cautiously approaches the table and realizes he was right. Her sniffling is quiet, but he can hear it. She's got a lit cigarette in one hand, and it looks like she's forgotten it's there. Her other hand fiddles with her coffee cup on its saucer. When he gets to her, he's not exactly sure what to do. He didn't have much of a plan beyond walking to the table. After hesitating for a second, he pulls the chair across from her out to sit in, but it makes a horrible screeching sound and she looks up startled.

"What the f-"

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry. It's just me."

"God, Elvis, you scared me."

"I'm sorry, honey, can I sit down?" She wipes her face and nods.

"Yeah, sure, I guess so." He sits down across from her and watches as she puts out her cigarette and continues trying to wipe her face clean.

"Are you... are you alright?"

"Ha! Yeah, I'm just fine." She pulls out another cigarette and lights it. They sit in silence for a bit while Elvis tries to think of what to say.

"You sure?" Vivian takes a puff of her cigarette and blows it straight up into the air.

"Do I look alright?" Elvis hesitates. He wants to say that she looks beautiful, but it doesn't feel appropriate.

"You seem upset."

"You're very observant." She responds spitefully. He looks down at his hands in his lap. "I'm sorry; that was rude. You're not the one that cheated on me and abandoned me."

"No... Charlie?" She takes a drag and holds her breath, nodding. Finally, she has to exhale, so she does and then starts to cry again. It's killing Elvis to sit there and watch her cry without doing something about it. He stands up and offers her his hand. "Come on."

"What? Where are we going?"

"My house is only a block from here. You can cry in private." She looks up at him and he can tell she's thinking about saying no. "I won't hurt you. Come on."

She puts her cigarette out and grabs her purse, taking the hand he offered her. They walk in silence to his house, but they continue to hold hands. When he finally gets her settled on the sofa, he sits next to her and leans back, spreading his legs wide. He's trying to indicate that she can relax and sit comfortably too. To his utter shock, she slips her shoes off and tucks her feet up under herself, also getting comfortable.

"So, he cheated on you?"

"Well, I guess that's not exactly fair."

"What do you mean?"

"I was the one he cheated with. Turns out he's been writing letters to another girl for a while."

"Ohhhh... and you found out about it." He thinks about the girl he writes letters to at home. What would she think of him here on the couch with this girl.

"Yes. I didn't want to be the other woman. Besides I thought he... well... it's stupid."

"What did you think?"

"I thought he wanted to marry me." Elvis's eyebrows shoot straight up before he can stop them. He never thought of Charlie as the marrying kind. Then again, he can understand not wanting to let Vivian go. "See, even you think I'm stupid."

"No, I don't. I think you just had hope. There's nothing wrong with that."

"There is if you're me." He sits up and looks into her eyes. The sadness rolling off of her is about to kill him.

"Why do you say that?" She looks up trying to keep herself from crying, but it doesn't work and fat teardrops slide down her cheeks.

"Everybody leaves me. My father left me. Then my mother left me. The first boy I loved. And now Charlie. Why does everyone leave? What's wrong with me?"

He scoots close to her and pulls her into his arms, resting her head on his shoulder. She doesn't object. Instead she lets herself be comforted as she continues to cry. He strokes her hair and kisses the top of her head. The pain of loss is something he's all too familiar with. He takes her face in the palm of his hand and looks into her eyes.

"Viv, this is not your fault. There's nothing wrong with you. I know what it's like to lose people too soon and it hurts. But it's not because of you."

"Why does it feel like no one wants me?" This smashes his heart into a thousand pieces. He wants her so badly it hurts.

"That can't possibly be true." Just tell her. Say it. Say 'I want you.' He wills himself to tell her the truth, but he just can't.

"You're sweet, Elvis." He smiles awkwardly and tries to ignore the fact that she pats his thigh. She leans her head on his shoulder again and snuggles into the side of his body. He knows she's just seeking comfort, so he tries to stay focused on being that. But he is a young man and she is a girl with her hand on his thigh and his imagination is running wild with what would happen if he carried her to his bedroom. He swallows deeply and begs his body not to respond physically to what's in his mind.

Still, there's an electric charge in the air that she has to notice too. Almost at the same time, they pull back and look into each other's eyes. He puts his knuckle under her chin and looks down at her lips. When she closes her eyes, he knows he has the green light, so he leans in and softly presses his lips to hers. Something bubbles up inside him and his hands begin to tremble. He backs up slightly and hovers just above her lips. They both smile and he dives back in for a deeper kiss, dipping his tongue into her mouth to slide against hers. She nibbles on his bottom lip a little and he groans. His hands rest on her hips in an attempt to get them to stop shaking and he eventually lifts her into his lap to straddle him. The intensity of their kissing increases as his hands roam over her body.

Suddenly, she pulls back breathlessly.

"Wait. Elvis, do you have a girlfriend back home?" His mouth pops open. He's not sure how to answer. Yes, he has Anita at home, but for the right girl, for her, he'd end that in a heartbeat. "Answer the question."

"Well... I-I-I..."

"That's all I need to hear." She peels herself off of him and stands up, smoothing her hair.

"No, honey, wait-"

"No. You're basically doing the same thing that Charlie just did. All you G.I.s are the same."

"Hon, please-"

"My name is Vivian!"

"Viv, just, don't leave..." she tries to put her heels back on and stumbles to get the second one on. He uses both hands to steady her as she does.

"Elvis, no. Good luck with Priscilla."

"Wait-?"

"You know she's 14."

"She's 14?!"

"So, you know, have fun with that." Vivian stomps towards the door with him close on her heels. He doesn't know how to make her understand that she's all he wants. Priscilla, Anita, none of them compare to her. But he doesn't know how to say that, so instead he watches as she walks out his front door, catches a cab, and disappears from his life.

******

Or so he thinks. In 1961, Elvis is home from the army and back to his film career. In March, he leaves the continental US to get ready to film Blue Hawaii. He arrives and goes to a cast meeting on set where the director is excited to introduce his costar. His first view of her is from behind and his heart skips. Surely it can't be?

"This is Vivian Choquette. She'll be playing your girlfriend, Maile Duval." She turns to face him and smiles awkwardly. Elvis tries to hide his excitement, hoping his trembling hands won't give him away.

"Hello again..."

******

Until chapter 2. Thoughts so far?

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

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[imabeautifulbutterfly]

hiiiii for your jukebox roulette I was thinking about a fic for Obi Wan based off the song Come What May sung by Obi Wan himself and Nicole Kidman. Maybe it can be an angsty one please

https://open.spotify.com/track/5cCAnk1sHJDdqqNIScOkZU?si=52-2JgxyQ_iH3TnPRymJrQ

Hello Anon!

Thank you for this request, how could I not love it!

First it's Obi-wan, then the song is sung by Obi-wan, 'Come What May'. It's just all sooo Obi-wan and I'm here for it. I hope it's angsty enough for you.

Thank you for the request.

Love oo.

Come What May

Warnings: Held hostage, death, mentions of blood, regret, feelings of guilt, dead bodies, passing out, angst, some fluff, crying, anger, frustration. I think that's all of it, if I miss anything please let me know.

Main Master List   | Star Wars Jukebox Roulette |   AO3 Link

This wasn’t supposed to be you, this wasn’t what you had wanted or what you had planned. You didn’t want to be an Ambassador or a Senator. Your goal, your dream, had always been to have a small plot of land, something you could grow herbs and vegetables, something out of the way and secluded. 

It wasn’t … this wasn’t supposed to be your life. 

You closed your eyes, unable to keep seeing the blood of the handmaidens who’d been by your side since you were forced into office, slaughtered before your very eyes by none other than General Grievous. Doing everything he could to get you to reveal your planetary defences. 

“You’re a monster!”

“And yet, you could’ve saved them,” he chuckled, coughing as he stepped around you, “tell me, Senator, who’s really the monster?”

The truth of his words hit you like a ton of bricks, your eyes focused on each of your ex-handmaidens faces, their sheer terror still imprinted on their cold faces. You killed them, you could’ve lied, given him some false information, kept them alive long enough for someone to rescue you, even if no one did. But you didn’t, you just simply refused to answer, and turned your head as he executed them one by one. 

Before you could even respond, the ship jolted as one of the engines exploded.

“Sir, we’re being boarded.” A B1 unit reported, Grievous was annoyed, destroying the B1 droid whose only fault was to have been the one to inform the General.

“Hello there,” a smooth Coruscanti accent filled the bridge, it filled you with hope, as you tried to focus on the man who held your heart. 

However, before you could see him,  you were knocked out, when debris fell from the ceiling, hitting a droid which subsequently collapsed on you, smacking your head on the way down. Making you fall to the ground, unconscious.

When you finally came to there were hushed whispers being traded back and forth.

“Master, you should really be stepping up to stay?”

“Anakin.”

“What? Isn’t the Senator your girlfriend?”

“That’s… we are friends. Have been for a long time.”

“Right. ‘Friends,’ because I always look at my friends the way you do.”

“Anakin…”

“What? Did I get it wrong? Would it be so wrong?” 

“Anakin …” Obi-wan rubbed his forehead, ”attachment is forbidden.”

“How can you deny what is clearly in your heart?” Anakin was more annoyed with his Master. 

“Because it is what I must do.”

You cleared your throat as you looked at the two of them. They both froze slowly, turning to look at you. Your eyes locked with the older Jedi of the pair, his cerulean eyes burrowing into your own. You wanted to push away the pain that you had felt in that moment, overhearing the conversation between the two. 

“It was you that breached the bridge, Obi-wan? Right?”

“Yes, Senator.” Obi-wan bowed, “It is a pleasure to see you again. You may remember my padawan, Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker.” He pointed to the taller young man. You simply nodded.

“Did…” you fought back the tears, “Did any of my … handmaidens survive?” The look on their faces told you all you needed to know. You were the monster. Grievous was right. “Thank you, for … rescuing … me.” You cleared your throat, “Neither of you need to stay here. I’d prefer to be alone right now.”

Obi-wan and Anakin bowed and left you alone, as soon as the door closed Obi-wan turned back to the door, stroking his beard. Concerned over the emotions he was feeling from the Senator. 

“Alright, Anakin, you win. I’ll guard the Senator, you go and do what needs to be done. Update the Council on our progress, I will stay by the Senator’s side to gather more intelligence and report back as soon as you can.”

“Yes, Master.” Anakin bowed and headed to the bridge, grateful his Master decided to finally be honest to himself.  

Obi-wan waited outside of your med room, he could sense your grief, your guilt, and your utter feelings of hatred. His heart clenched in pain, he wanted to comfort you, to wrap you up in his arms, to let you know, none of this was your fault, but his feet kept him grounded. He always told you, come what may, he’d be there by your side, yet now, here he was on the other side of the door trying to stay as close as you’d allow him to, maybe he’d hoped for too much. 

Even if you didn’t want his presence near you, the very least he could do at the moment was stand by, ready to be of service to you. He settled against the wall as time ticked by, when he sensed her will to live absolutely crumple. 

The door opened as Obi-wan peaked his head through, you glanced over to him as you wiped your tears.

“Can I come in darling?”

You shrugged, annoyed not necessarily with him, but with everything.

He was careful about coming over and took a seat at the end of the bed keeping his distance, “Would you like to talk, my dear?”

“I … I …” it was all you were able to get out before you broke down crying. It was all too much, the kidnapping, the deaths, the fear, the adrenaline, why was this your life?

Obi-wan didn’t hesitate, he pulled you into a hug, picking you up, cradling you to his chest as he moved closer to you, and sitting back down on your med bed. 

“Shhh, it’s alright my dear.”

“No. It’s not.” You let out through broken sobs.

“What’s not?”

You sat up and moved out of his arms, although truthfully it felt rather nice to be in them. “None of this is all right! I hate this job! I hate this life! I’m responsible for the deaths of seven people. SEVEN. And because I represent our people in the Senate, I have to deal with assassination attempts. NONE OF THIS IS ALL RIGHT! I WISH I COULD DIE!”

He pushed off the bed, his heart breaking into a million pieces as the person he admired and loved for so long was falling apart in front of him. The only thing he could do for you, was to wrap you in a tight hug and never let you go.

“Don’t say that. Please.” His voice trembled, fear gripped his heart, “I need you alive, my dear. I need you alive. Please don’t say that.”

Your voice was muffled as you responded to him, your face buried in his chest, “Why? You … you can’t be by my side… we both know ….”

“Come what may. Remember? I always said come what may, I’ll be there, I will …” he couldn’t finish that sentence. The minute he did he was making a decision he couldn’t back away from, “Until my dying days, I’ll be here.”

He pulled back to look at your face, gently brushing the tears out of your eyes, he didn’t know if it was because you were at your wits end, if because you clearly hadn’t wanted this life but were doing the best you could, or maybe it had to do with the fact that you looked absolutely beautiful in this moment, but all he could think about was how gorgeous your lips looked and how tempting they were.

He slowly leaned forward, tilting your head to meet his, his breath mixing with yours as you both stared into each other’s eyes. You leaned in closer, only to hear the door slide open, you pulled away from Obi-wan wiping your tears, as Anakin stepped with news to share. 

Main Master List   | Star Wars Jukebox Roulette |   AO3 Link

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[babyhatesreality]

The Sinner and The Saint Ch 5

Pairings: Slow Burn Mob!Boss Bucky x f!reader

Warnings: NSFW, f!reader, language, fake names (for now), reader is referred to by her stage name, reader still thinks Bucky’s name is Nick, everybody has secrets, reader says unkind things about herself/is insecure, reader is an exotic and extremely flexible dancer, explicit NSFW thoughts/language/conversations, subtle D/S moments, slow burn relationship. There will be many, many more warnings for future chapters including mafia and all the stuff that comes with that, kinks, and smut.

YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN MEDIA CONSUMPTION. MINORS DNI. THIS IS AN 18+ STORY ONLY AND IS NSFW. I DO NOT CONSENT FOR ANY OF MY WORKS TO BE COPIED, REPRINTED, OR TRANSLATED ONTO ANY PLATFORM EXCEPT MY OWN. Likes, comments and reblogs deeply appreciated. 

Previous- Chapter 4

Chapter 5

The music started. You looked up slowly. Right into those blue eyes. Your lips twisted into a devilish smile. 

Sympathy for the Duke from Moulin Rouge the B’way Musical

The music started with just a simple drum beat. You were pretty sure your heart was beating the same rhythm. 

Please allow me to introduce myself, I’m a man of wealth and taste....

You took slow, calculated steps forward in time. You let your mind flood with images of the man of wealth and taste that you had just been introduced to yesterday. You brought your right hand up towards the black silk top hat you were wearing. You pinched the brim with your thumb and first finger, spreading the others so wide and strong you were pretty sure you made Fosse nod in approval from beyond. You slinkily stepped down the runway, as if you had all the time in the world, making sure to toss your impish smile out at just the right moments. Then you stopped in your tracks and looked right back into those gorgeous blue eyes. 

Pleased to meet you; hope you guess my name...

You extended your left hand in his direction as if you were presenting it for a kiss. On the word ‘name’ though, you flicked the brim of your top hat with a sassy smile. You watched as a grin cracked across his face at the irony of the song lyrics and maybe your sass.

But what’s puzzling you is the nature of my game...

You crossed your right foot over your left, slowly twisting away from the crowd as if you weren’t quite ready to give up the secrets to the game just yet. 

The song continued, morphing into a verse from You Can’t Always Get What You Want. As the orchestra grew underneath the vocals, you began to glide a bit more over the stage, back up the runway and along the mylar curtain line, just really feeling the fun and attitude of the moment. 

You can’t always get what you want; you can’t always get what you want; you can’t always get what you want....

With your back to the audience, you seductively lowered the shoulder of the silky mesh cover you were wearing, raising it back prudishly on the lyrics ‘what you want’. Then you turned to the other side of the audience and repeated the gesture. The crowd started getting more rowdy the more you teased them. 

But if you try sometimes, you just might find you get what you need.

You looked over your shoulder, right at Nick, shot him your sassiest grin, and on the word ‘need’, you pulled the top apart. The hidden break away seams along the back and the front made it look as if the clothes were exploding off of you. The crowd lost their damn minds and were eating out of the palm of your hand. Just the way you liked it. 

And that’s when the beat dropped in the song. And you went for broke. 

You pranced around the stage boldly, owning the moment and absolutely everything about every note. It was like putting on music and just dancing around your place just for the fun of it- you lost yourself in the joy of the rhythm. Your hips rolled deliciously on the trumpet riffs as your hands trailed seductively down your form. You tore off the wrap sequined skirt in time to the music. You felt like a goddamn rockstar; that didn’t always happen so you reveled in the moment right now. You made sure to flick your eyes up to Nick’s every now and then, just to watch his reactions. A couple lines apparently intrigued him...

I’ll lay traps for troubadours who’ll get killed if they come your way....

Use all your well-earned politesse, or I’ll lay your soul to waste....

He seemed to find something to smirk or chuckle about on each of those lines. Hmm. What was intriguing about them? Maybe he was the possessive type? Or he just found them funny? You didn’t really have time to think about that now- you surrendered to the moment, grinding your heart out and just having a fucking blast in a thong, pasties, fuck me heels, and a black silk top hat. 

Love, sister, it’s just a kiss away....

Pleased to meet you....

It’s just a kiss away....

As much as you didn’t want them to, the negative thoughts started flooding your brain. You were crazy. You had no right to think these things about a man you just met, let alone a client....but the lingering feel of his finger brushing your cheek and the nearness of those lips would not leave the forefront of your mind. It was a heady mix of wanting to back down versus willing to fight for what you wanted. Which way were you supposed to go? 

In response, and partially to reclaim your power, you had to throw your infamous leg move in the mix, making the crowd scream. Right before the last lyric, you positioned yourself in the dead center of the runway, flung your hat offstage, and looked boldly and deliberately right into Nick’s eyes, the devilish grin returning. 

Baby, what’s my name?

And you finished with a jump split, throwing your hand up in the air on the button. The crowd went absolutely berserk, but you only had eyes for one. Everyone around him was hooting and hollering, but he took a deep breath, returned the devilish smile, brought his fingers to his lips to give you a chef’s kiss, and tossed the rest of his drink into his mouth. His deep blue eyes never left yours. 

“That was our own darling Angel! And I’ll have Sympathy for any Devil that tries to take her out of Heaven,” Rhodey announced playfully over the PA system, making you giggle as you stood up, flicking your fingers goodbye, and exited. To your surprise, most of the other girls were backstage- apparently they’d come out to watch. They hadn’t done that since you very first started. 

“BABE that was FIRE!!!” Gamora moaned, snatching your robe and holding it out for you as Sprite hustled onstage to gather your things. “Shit, you’re gonna make ‘em run outta money before we even get out there,” she giggled, teasing you, as the other girls cheered and congratulated you in turn. You were even feeling a little proud of yourself- until you saw Nebula’s haughty, unimpressed face. 

“I don’t know,” she said nonchalantly to the crowd around you all. “I think it’s just because she’s new blood.” Nebula turned and smiled nastily at you. “Some people have a tendency to lose interest quickly once that ‘new car smell’ wears off.” You felt the color drain from your face as you suddenly felt like a worthless cast-off. 

Gamora, however, wasn’t having it. She turned and slugged Nebula on the arm as hard as she could. “Jesus Christ, why are you such a bitch?” she snarled as Nebula yelled in pain. “How the hell could I have turned out so fabulous when my own damn sister is such a raging cu-”

“Okay, that’s enough ladies,” Natasha interrupted suddenly, appearing out of nowhere. “Nebula, lose the attitude, watch your mouth, and get on deck. Gamora, quit punching your way into- and out- of arguments,” she commanded both of them. “Angel,” she said, turning to you with a much kinder tone. “Nice job tonight, sweetheart. Go back to the dressing room and get ready. I’ll have Sprite bring your stuff to you in a moment.” You nodded, still a little embarrassed, and turned to obey. You mouthed ‘thank you’ at Gamora, who gave you a saucy grin. You saw her glare at her sister again, but didn’t stick around to see the aftermath. You didn’t have time- you had to get ready. You were going to see him. 

27 deep breaths later, you were outside the Champagne Room, freshened up and in the outfit you’d obsessed over all day. Your insides buzzed with nerves, excitement, and adrenaline. You took your 28th deep breath and opened the door. And there he was, waiting for you. 

Nick was sitting in the same location you had first seen him last night- only this time he was holding a glass of champagne instead of a tumbler of bourbon. His black-on-black ensemble made your mouth water for some reason; he was too handsome for his own good. You watched with secret delight as he desperately tried not to let his eyes rake up and down your body; it was obvious he really wanted to. You tried to keep that compliment close in your mind and not let it twist into another self-insult. He spoke first. 

“Bravo on a fantastic performance, Miss Angel,” Nick said, standing up and waltzing over to the bar, his eyes never leaving yours. He began pouring you a flute as he continued speaking. “Gotta say, I think that’s the first time I’ve seen someone strip to the Rolling Stones.” You giggled at that, blushing and ducking your head at his compliment. He strode back to you, his very steps echoing the power you felt him emitting. He gave you the glass, then clinked his own against yours. “Cheers,” he said. 

“Cheers,” you replied, biting your lip and looking down, trying to contain your stupid wide grin. 

“Uh uh,” he said sternly, shaking his head. He put a finger under your chin and raised your eyes to his. “Look me in the eye when you say ‘cheers’,” he said firmly but not unkindly. 

Something in your very soul instantly responded to him, drawing you like a moth to a flame. You wanted to do whatever he told you to. Almost before you realized it, your eyes had locked back onto his. “That’s better,” he almost purred. He clinked your glasses again. “NOW cheers,” he said, with that mischievous grin. 

“Now cheers,” you agreed, your heart rapidly beating its new rhythm, trying to make up for the beats it had just lost. You hastily took a huge swallow just as he finished his. 

“You have to look people in the eyes when you cheers,” Nick explained, a hint of the devil in his smile. “Otherwise it’s seven years’ bad sex.”

You choked on your champagne. 

Nick carefully patted you on the back as you spluttered, not even trying to hide his puckish grin. Once you could breath again without fear of champagne splurting out of your nose, you glared at him. He just chuckled evilly before returning to the couch and sitting down. 

“I’ve never heard that medley of Stones’ songs before,” he said, back to his charming self. He seemed to hide a bit of a smile as you sat down next to him- no hesitation this time like yesterday. “Where’s it from?”

“It’s from the same musical as the song that I...” you suddenly stuttered a bit. The idea of saying ‘danced to for you’ last night seemed indecently intimate for some reason (which was ridiculous as you WORKED IN A STRIP CLUB, you internally yelled at yourself), and you just couldn’t make those words come out of your mouth. “...performed last night in here,” you cobbled out lamely ugh loser. 

Nick nodded, choosing not to comment on the moment. “You like that musical,” he said as if he were observing something about you. “You a theater fan?”

“Big time. You?”

“I might have to become one, if those are the kind of songs they’re doing nowadays.”

The next two hours flew by as the two of you talked and talked and talked. You were only supposed to spend one hour with him, but when Fury poked his head in to tell you time was up, Nick just waved a hand at him. Normally, that would have made Fury toss any other patron out on his ear, but this time he just nodded back and carefully shut the door. Who was this guy, to hold that kind of power over Fury?

Thinking quickly, you tilted your head to the now-closed door. “You paying for the second hour, then?” you asked boldly, feeling a lot more loose after the fantastic conversation you’d been having. 

“Something like that.”

“You must be running up quite a tab here.”

“Don’t worry. Natasha will track me down when the check comes.”

“Do you...often run up a tab here?” you asked, your steel persona slipping a bit, afraid of the answer. Nick seemed to understand that. He leaned forward, tilting his head at you and letting those blue eyes twinkle. 

“Not like this,” he said softly. “Never like this.”

You were so delighted at that you couldn’t speak for a moment. He seemed to enjoy you getting flustered, but took pity on you and changed the subject. In fact, he seemed to do that a lot. Any time you tried to steer the conversation towards his job or why he was such a high-roller at the club, or even his name, he masterfully swung back around to something that would distract you just enough to get off the subject. You knew better than to push in a direction he didn’t want to go...but you definitely noticed he was doing it. And it made you curious. Very curious. Two could play at that game. 

Despite his best teasing efforts, you refused to give up your real name until he did- which he was not about to do in the slightest. It often resulted in a spirited and creative verbal battle that, more often than not, left you both in tears of laughter. 

Finally, when it was getting clear that the night had to come to an end, he stood up and offered you his hand. You took it, feeling like a rockstar again. This man made you feel like a rockstar. That had never happened...in this way...before....

He escorted you to the door, then kissed your hand reverently. You wished with all your might he’d take off those gloves and touch your skin again, or even more you wished he’d just lean forward and kiss you. It’s just a kiss away...But he straightened up, smiling handsomely at you. 

“Bravo again on your performance tonight. I look forward to tomorrow’s,” he said chivalrously. 

“‘Pleased to meet you’,” you quoted to him sassily, with a grin. He responded with his own. “‘Hope you guess my name’,” you teased with the lyrics that you had known would capture his attention.

His grin morphed in that heady combination of sex appeal and power, making you instantly melt. And he noticed it, closing the already-small gap between the two of you. 

“‘But what’s puzzling YOU is the nature of MY game’,” he whispered wickedly in your ear. “Until tomorrow, Miss Angel.”

Chapter 6

[ninjadeathblade]

Moulin Rouge Discotrain AU (part seventeen)

Summary: (Post-game canon) The Conductor and DJ Grooves agree to finally work on a movie together. They come up with 'Moulin Rouge', a musical drama filled with romance. Over time the two directors grow closer and discover that maybe they don't hate each other as much.

Beginning | Previous | Next

Word count: 791

Warnings: None

Author's notes: Me? Push my own musical tastes onto characters? Noooo, never. ( < absolutely, always). ANYWAY- I skipped ahead and wrote one of the final chapters which is why this wasn't up until now. But here!

"Yer the one who said you wanted to see the Express," Conductor pointed out with a grin as the two of them walked up to the train. "I think this is the perfect time!"

The owl fiddled with the keys to the door on the back cart while the penguin stood by.

"Connie, are you sure this is a good idea?" Grooves inquired. "We're behind schedule as it is and I honestly feel like this isn't the best choice we could be making right now."

Conductor winced and looked over at him."I know, I'm sorry, you don't have to come with me," Conductor said. "I- I'm still going to go. But you can go back if you want."

Grooves frowned and shook his head.

"We wouldn't be able to film much with only one lead anyway," Grooves reasoned, stepping up onto the back of the train.

Conductor shot him a smile before trying the door. It didn't budge.

"Grooves."

"Yes?"

"Move out o' the way," Conductor instructed, keeping his grip tight on the handle as he turned sideways.

"What are you going to do?" Grooves asked.

Conductor rammed his body against the door, a stab of pain lacing through his shoulder as he barreled it into the wood.

The door swung open and he stumbled inside slightly before moving to keep it open for his companion.

"I was openin' the door." Conductor grinned, trying to ignore the pain.

Grooves snickered slightly as he walked in and Conductor closed the door behind him.

The yellow bird clutched at his shoulder with one hand, flicking on the Owl Express' lights with the other hand.

"How ever did you afford this train?" Grooves gasped, trailing one flipper across the woodwork on the walls of the carriage.

"I saved up a lot as a child," Conductor explained, leading the way through the train. "I worked a lot of part time jobs and after my movies made better money I finally bought her off an old family friend."

"How long have you had her?"

"Since around the time my ninth movie came out. One of the last movies before they turned into train heists," Conductor continued, entering the carriage just before the front. "The Express is spacious enough there's plenty of places for filming and just being in. I love this train."

Conductor pushed open the door to the front carriage.

Dashboards let out beeps and buzzes as Conductor brought the train to life, starting up the engine.

"Evening to you too darling," Conductor greeted the train, affectionately rubbing a hand across the nearest dashboard.

"Ready for another trip?"

Grooves chuckled as he walked up to stand beside the Conductor.

"Where are we headed?"

"Home. I want to go home," Conductor admitted.

Grooves let out a long exhale as the train slowly pulled into action. Then he reached over and gently poked at Conductor's shoulder.

The owl let out a whimper of protest, shuffling away from the penguin.

"Darling, you're hurt. Can't I just take a look?" Grooves questioned.

"No. It's fine, I'll just make a sling to wear for a couple days," Conductor protested, hand moving back to shield the arm in question. "Let's go grab a seat."

The two birds walked back into the previous carriage, sitting across from one another in one of the many booths.

"So, what made you hate musicals so bad?" Grooves asked.

"I told you. Theatre club when I was a kid."

"But which musical specifically?"

"Honestly? It was Hamilton. We did it once every three years and I got sick of it," Conductor answered.

"And your favourite?"

"Phantom of the Opera. I pecking loved it when I was younger. I got cast as the Phantom and it was probably one of the best things that ever happened to me," Conductor admitted, grinning at the memory of his first time acting in a show of Phantom of the Opera.

"I do like that one. But I'll be honest, I prefer Newsies," Grooves replied.

"I didn't take you for a Newsies penguin."

"What can I say, I like the message of it."

"About the injustice of corporate greed and the tension evident between different classes of society? Or the fact that camaraderie and not backing down in the face of adversity means that even the most unfair things can tip towards your favour?"

"I like the romance between Jack and Katherine. And the songs. But the messages are important too," Grooves said. "How long until we get to your home?"

Conductor froze.

His home.

It had been once, he guessed.

But he didn't feel that welcome there anymore.

He knew realistically he'd be allowed home.

It's just what he might have to face that worried him.

"Couple o' days."

[cheriecoke]

ᡣ𐭩 𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐈 . . . yours are the sweetest eyes i've ever seen

there's a new hope for the moulin rouge, but your budding romance may prove to be a problem.

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬. ft. sanji ! f!reader, moulin rouge au, prostitution, references to past sexual trauma, 18+ content. i think that’s it for this part but check the masterlist for all warnings. 10.9k words.

𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞, i’ve been working on this for a while so i hope you all like it ‪‪❤︎‬ let me post this before i chicken out again. i have agonized over this for too long lol.

𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 .˚⟡ ࣪ ˖ 𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐈𝐈 .˚⟡ ࣪ ˖ 𝐀𝐎𝟑 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊

Once everyone had left, the energy in your room died quickly, leaving you alone with nothing but your thoughts to keep you company. Your mind still whirled, body buzzing, but you did your best to calm your shaking nerves, staring lifelessly at yourself in the vanity mirror. 

Darkness never truly shrouded the Elephant Room; the sparkling lights of the Parisian skyline were always slipping through the cracks in your walls, filtering past the sheer curtains, penetrating the shadows. It reminded you of the evening that was still carrying on outside, for Montmartre was never dead, even after the sun went down. 

Still, you refused to glance back out the window, where you knew the apartments across the street would be blissfully alight with laughter. Even a mere glimpse would be dangerous, would lead your mind down a path you were intent on ignoring. 

A brush of soft lips, a palm tucked against your own —

You exhaled, standing quickly from the vanity and grabbing the novel that rested on the side table. Surely, bathed in candlelight and lulled by the soothing instrument of an accordion player down the road, you would be able to coax yourself into rest. 

But even then, in the hollow emptiness of your room, you felt as if eyes were still watching you, blue as the sea and just as extraordinary, fixated on every inch of your being. The sheets became too warm, the air in the room stifling, and you hastily threw them off, heading to the open window, one that stretched out into a balcony. 

While the Moulin Rouge flaunted years of excessive spending, outside your gilded walls, Paris was not so glamorous, only just hiding the poverty that ran rampant in the city. The streets still held their charm and a sprit that would remain, so long as it was inside the people that lived there. But, like anywhere, Paris wasn’t perfect—you’d figured that out more quickly than anyone. 

You took a deep breath, swallowing the damp smell of the streets, somehow grateful for the putrid scents, a mixture of absinthe, sweat, and everything else human. It was a reminder of where you’d be if you hadn’t sold yourself to this life, clawed yourself up into a position where your dreams seemed possible. A reminder of where you’d be if anything were to get in the way of those ambitions, if you were to lose sight of what you wanted most. 

Your heart beat steadily in your chest, and you felt it, not a single fluctuation in its relentless pattern. It was even, without a spike, safe from the tender touch of another, thieving hand. 

You’d always figured there was a reason creation had placed your heart inside a cage, carved by the bones of your ribs. It was safe there, resting somewhere you could control it, without letting another control you. 

But. Despite your doubts on love, it was hard not to yearn for it. You’d never felt anything close to it before; a feeling that was so beautiful, so moving, that it had been waxed by poets for centuries, sang about since humans could spin a fantastical tale. 

Even the ancients had known love and romance, so many of their myths circling around that very topic. How engrained it was in the human existence, and yet, not everyone got a taste of it, not everyone died knowing the keen sting of adoration, of desperation. 

You leaned against the balcony, slumping forward, suddenly weak with want. 

Lust was different completely, and you knew it well. It was deep-rooted, an itch to scratch, perhaps instilled biologically from the very beginning of time. There were plenty of other animals that entangled themselves together, even without that deep, sickening feeling of affection. A night driven by lust didn’t have to mean anything — but a night driven by love? 

Well, that was something you’d never had to deal with.

You sighed, staring at the blinking, neon light across the street. L’amour — as if mocking your very existence at the Moulin Rouge. Taunting you with every glittering red bulb against the starry night sky, promising you something you could never have. 

There was a reason you’d closed yourself off in the first place, and that wouldn’t change just because a writer had stumbled into your life with grandiose ideas about romance. 

And yet, when you’d heard the way Sanji had spoken about it, with a touch of gentleness to each of his words, your heart had ached, to feel just one moment of that passion he’d spoken about. It was such a foreign concept, a dream even, a fantasy that you thought only some were destined to achieve.

Even though many men had loved you, would’ve given you their hearts easily, they’d never captured your interest. No one had ever made your chest burn with such incredible yearning, taking over your mind, body and soul until it hurt.  Not until… until… 

You curled your fingers into your palms, and scoffed at the brief moment of vulnerability, shaking that horrific affection off every open cavity of your heart. Twisting away from the balcony, you turned to go back into your room, before nearly slamming into a figure that was most certainly not supposed to be there. 

You jumped, screaming in surprise and flying ten feet away, every inch of your body lit up with fear. Then, as you recognized the shape of the man who wouldn’t seem to leave your thoughts, you exhaled, a hand to your hammering heart as Sanji apologized profusely.

“Sorry!” he said, hands raised as you took a step back, your eyes narrowed. “Sorry, I saw your light and—”

“What are you doing here? Are you crazy?” you asked, quickly hushing him as you dragged him back into the room, hopeful that no one had seen. It would not serve you well if the Duke caught wind of your late-night rendezvous. “How did you even get up here?”

Sanji blinked, a small laugh escaping him as he followed you. “Doesn’t matter.”

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest, waiting for an explanation. 

There was another pause, before he admitted, “I just had to see you again.” 

You inhaled, hating that your chest squeezed at the gentle brush of his words. “Why?” 

Sanji looked past you, then refocused his attention, the intensity of his gaze far too much for you to think under. “I wanted to thank you. For helping me get the job. I’ve been writing for a while, but it’s all seemed for naught. Until now, that is.”

His fingers tapped against his slacks like he was itching for a cigarette, the brief suspension between the two of you enough to pull uncertainty onto his features. There was a tension in his shoulders that hadn’t been there before, his posture forcefully relaxed as he studied you. 

Still, he had spoken with such gratitude that you paused, collected yourself, and blew out a breath of air. “Oh,” you nodded, not sure why you’d been expecting any other grand statement. “Of course. I’m happy it all worked out. Luffy was right… You’re very talented.” You smiled softly. “It’s going to be a wonderful show.” 

At that, Sanji relaxed, a cloud of air leaving his chest as he brightened. Which made sense, considering your earlier feedback had been lackluster, and not any indication of his real, incredible talent. “You think so?”

You hummed. “It’s sure to be a hit.” Then, feeling flustered under his watchful gaze, unsure how to politely expel the conversation, you rubbed your arm, and said quietly, “You know, we should probably both get some sleep. It’s going to be a long day tomorrow—”

“Wait!” Sanji grabbed your wrist, halting you before you could take a step towards the door. 

You paused, glancing down at his fingers curled so softly around your arm, almost like he was afraid he’d break the delicate bones under your flesh. Quickly, his grip released, and he straightened, blinking away. 

“That’s not the only reason I came back…” Sanji admitted, chest rising and falling with the weight of his sharp breaths. “I did want to ask your opinion, your real opinion on the writing. But also because…” He hesitated, and though it was only the briefest of moments, you could tell he was nervous. “I think… I’m in love with you.”

For a moment, you hadn’t realized he was serious. You laughed, just once, before something shifted in his gaze, almost sad. Then, you straightened, eyes wide with panic, and your jaw tightened as you twisted away from him. 

“What? No, that’s…” you laughed again, but this time it was from your nerves, nothing more, as you backed away from him, towards the window. Anything to get away from the stifling feeling that spread throughout the room. “You’re not in love with me. How can you be? You hardly knowme.” 

“I know enough,” he defended, chasing after you, so horribly earnest. “Please, wait.” 

“No,” you repeated, shaking your head, as you finally reached the balcony, huffing air like it was intoxicating. “No, Sanji. I know you’re notin love with me. You’re a romantic… A writer. You fall in love with everything you see, and I’m no different.” You gripped the railing tightly, pinning your eyes on the streets, hands growing raw from the iron. “It’s an infatuation. It will pass.” 

A tense pause spread as he gathered his words, and you closed your eyes, hoping you could will him away with just your thoughts. But Sanji didn’t leave, and you began to ache all over, your nails pressed so hard into the railing that you were sure they’d crack.

“It feels different,” he finally said. “When I kissed you. It felt real.” 

“Sanji. I’m a courtesan. I’m paid to make men believe what they want to believe.” You shook your head, turning around to face him once again, his face unreadable in the starlight. In that moment, you pitied him, even if you were equally in denial of the melancholic twinge of your heart, endlessly faltering. “You’re a beautiful writer, but that’s all this is. A story. The courtesan would never leave the warlord for an impoverished cook. It’s all a fairytale.” 

A hushed silence fell between you, and though there were still people on the streets, the night never-ending, you felt terribly cold. You felt as if a pin could’ve dropped and you would’ve heard it, and maybe a piece of your heart still did work, because it was awful to be breaking his. 

Even worse was when he broke into a soft smile, disappointed, but kind all the same. “Of course,” he said, and though you had no right to be saddened by his acknowledgment of defeat, your chest ached all the same. “Silly of me, to think you could fall in love with someone like me.” 

“No. No, That’s not—” you pinched your eyebrows together, wrapping your arms around yourself, if only to keep from reaching out to him. “It has nothing to do with you. I just can’t fall in love with anyone. I’ve never been in love. I never will be.” You shook your head. “Can’t you understand?”

For some reason, you’d thought that would be enough, that it would dispel him, make him realize that you were fundamentally flawed, and it would be a fool’s errand, more trouble than it was worth, to even try to love you.

But he had already latched onto the first part of your admission, eyes wide with alarm. “What? Can’t fall in love?” He asked, and in a twist of events, he seemed horribly saddened for you. “But a life without love, that’s terrible.”

You scoffed, fixing him with skepticism. “No, being on the streets, that’s terrible. Do you know what would happen to me if I fell in love? I’d be out of a job. I’d have no money, nowhere to live—”

“But you wouldn’t be alone,” Sanji interrupted, and though it wasn’t untrue, you paused, souring, feeling seared open with vulnerability. “Wouldn’t it be worth it?”

“Of course not. Who would ever think that? It’d be awful.” You spat, turning away from him. “The only thing that would make me happy is achieving my dreams of being an actress. Nothing else.” An exhale escaped you, one that sounded weak, even to your own ears. You remembered the way his lips had brushed against your own, how intense his gaze had been as he’d spoken about the love in his story. 

Something inside you twisted up in agony. Your eyes fell shut, and you sighed.

Sanji softened, then, as if he were coaxing a small child. “Well, how would you know?” he asked, and though you frowned, your throat closing from the judgement, he was nothing more than curious. “If you’ve never been in love, how would you know it wouldn’t make you happy? It’s like oxygen. Once you have it, you’ll never stop needing it.”

You had no answer that would suffice.

Sanji came closer, those bright blue eyes pinning you where you stood. Instead of stopping him, you let him come up beside you, lean against the balcony with you. Your elbows brushed, and that small touch alone felt like you been seared by electricity, harsh shocks dancing along your skin. 

“Love is just a game,” you answered, letting your admission drift away into the night. “I don’t even know if it’s real.”

Sanji considered your words, and then smiled, his eyes wrinkling gently at the corners. And though you thought there was nothing about your statement that warranted that reaction, he was thoroughly charmed. 

“I see,” he said, humming. “Well, I suppose I can’t blame you. How can you know if it’s real, if you’ve never felt it before?” Sanji took a cautious step closer to you, experimental, testing your reaction once more. 

You sucked in a breath, drawing back on instinct — but there was nowhere to go. “Right,” you said, barely above a whisper. “I suppose that’s true.” The balcony pressed into you. You felt trapped, heart squeezing in your chest so tightly you thought you’d stop breathing. 

Sanji didn’t move any closer, noticing your discomfort. Still, he longed to reach to you — you weren’t blind to it. But he held back, his hands tucked into his sides, as his eyes roamed across your features, down to your lips. “Well, then, perhaps we should practice,” he said, his smile becoming boyish. “For the play. Make it believable. If you’ve never been in love, you won’t know how to properly play a love-sick courtesan, will you?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the suggestion. There was an unreadable blend of mischief and sincerity in his eyes that caused laughter to bubble up out of your chest. 

He was careless to the world around him, eyes honed only in on you. 

“Sanji,” you said, face heating as you buried it in your hands, shaking your head. “I was being serious, and you’re being ridiculous. It will be believable enough. Do you not have faith in my acting?”

“Of course I do.” A small movement, and his knees were brushing against your own. You froze once more — there was so much space still between you, and yet, you felt as if he was plastered against you, your souls merging in the oxygen encompassing you. It was suffocating and lovely in a frightening sort of way — intimacy had never been a problem for you, but it had never been like this. 

Sanji took your cheek in his hand, and you choked on air, eyes wide with the tenderness of his touch. “It was merely a suggestion. For your benefit, really. What’s another kiss if we’ll have to share more in front of an audience soon? Besides, It should be easy, if you don’t care for me as you say.”

His thumb grazed your cheekbone tenderly, eyes soft as he waited for your response. Sanji didn’t make any other movements, and the moment felt infinitely suspended as you held your breath and his gaze, your body stiff with anticipation. 

But you let your conviction get the best of you, and you exhaled, pushing his face away before you could do anything stupid. “It’s easier in front of an audience.” 

“Well, you’ve got the whole of Paris, don’t you?” Sanji said, gesturing towards the streets, the passersby that still lingered at this hour. His grin was full of amusement, and you felt nothing but fondness, as you forced down your laughter, rolling your eyes instead. 

“Perhaps,” you admitted, counting the people that still lingered out at this hour. “But the show’s not free, you know. And neither am I.” 

He hummed. “Is that the problem, then? The money?” Sanji spent a moment considering, before making a dramatic show of dropping to his knees, his hands outstretched to take your own. “Une nuit, ma chérie. Just one night, and I’ll never bother you again.” 

And, unsure if his pleading was genuine, or all a part of the unending performance, you smiled. “A night will cost you more than you have in your wallet, you know. I’m not cheap.” 

“I would never have expected you to be.” His hands were warm around your own, edges of his fingertips callused from writing. “But, perhaps, I could pay it off with time.” There was still a teasing lilt to his words, but the amusement was draining from his irises, replaced with desperation.

You withdrew your hand, the touch still tingling along your skin. Suddenly, the moment between you felt far too serious, and the thudding in your chest became too much to bear. “You’d never be able to afford an evening with me.” 

It came out choked at the end, and he stood back to his feet, trying to pull you close as you drifted away again. A lump lodged in your throat, and that tight feeling of being trapped spread upon you again, as quickly as the warmth rose in your chest. Your face fell.

He swallowed, tracing each of your features with the delicateness of a paintbrush, a touch barely there. “I’d pay it, you know,” Sanji said. “I’d pay anything, for just another kiss from you.” 

“Sanji,” you said softly, shaking your head. “You’re such a fool, wanting to spend your hard-earned money on someone like me. I’d never let you do that.” Turning away, you finally made your way back inside, feeling a cavern open up inside of you. “That’s what love does — it makes us out to be fools.” 

His footsteps were silent as he followed you back in, so still, in fact, you’d believed he’d left. Then, his palm came to rest upon your own, each of his long, slender fingers lacing within yours. 

You stopped, paused dramatically where you stood, hardly breathing at all. 

“Maybe, you’re right,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “But I feel I’d do anything for you. I mean that.”

“You can’t mean that.”

“Why not?” 

“Because… because you can’t.” Finally, you turned to look at him, tearing your hand out of his. And though you’d expected some hint of frustration in his expression, there was none, just patience, as you withdrew into yourself. “I’ve been on my own for so long that… I don’t know that I can care for you like you desire. Like you deserve,” you amended, eyes downcast. “I’ll make mistakes. I’ll shout at you when I’m angry. You won’t like me once you get to know me. Then you’ll want someone else, someone better.” 

You didn’t think you could bear it. 

Sanji reached to you, his words quiet. “No. I won’t.”

You said nothing, letting him tug you closer, palms resting on your elbows, your arms still wound tightly around your waist. Then, when you thought he would pull you into him completely, he stopped, inches separating the two of you. 

“Please, amour, Tell me that you don’t feel anything for me. Not a single thing, and I’ll leave. I’ll pretend like none of this ever happened.” His fingertips traced a small patten across your arms, goosebumps rising along your flesh. “Tell me that much, at least.” 

The pause between his words and your own was more tense than any you’d experienced before, and you swallowed, wondering why your eyes felt damp with tears. 

“Sanji.” you swallowed, so quiet that you weren’t sure you’d even mustered up the courage to speak. “You know I can’t. It would be a lie.” 

Finally, you looked back at him, exhaling, and like two magnets drawn together, you fell into each other’s arms. 

Sanji surged forward, kissing you, still so soft, but with a passion that had not been shared in your previous kiss. His hands cradled your cheeks, thumbs grazing your cheekbones as he held you, the oxygen from your lungs breathing life into his own. 

You’d had far too many lips on yours to count, far too many that had been about as exciting as brushing your mouth against a wall. But, now you understood what Sanji had meant earlier about it being different, about it being real. If love felt like this, you could understand why people grieved for it; killed for it. 

You threaded your fingers in his hair, breaking away with the tiniest exhale, not quite ready to shatter the moment. 

But Sanji smiled against your skin, his eyes still closed as he pressed his forehead against your own. “How much will that cost me?” He breathed, his face alight with even more adoration than before. 

And, though the fragility of that beautiful second had dissipated, you felt happier than you ever had before. Your laughter was loud, smile breaking across your face, as you kissed him again and again and again. 

Whatever shimmer of joy had flickered in your chest was easily snuffed out the following evening, as the warmth carried by your blooming romance shifted into a dying flame. 

The morning had been a blur, slipping through your fingers while your thoughts lingered on recollections of stolen moments in the moonlight. Even as you busied yourself with other tasks, hidden smiles still snuck onto your face, paired with a heat in your cheeks that you barely subdued. 

You hadn’t decided upon a name for the blossoming feeling in your heart, but if it was love, you were beginning to understand why so many romances ended so tragically. It was a desperate, unending feeling that would be painful to dissipate. Even Romeo and Juliet, with their childish naivety, had a sense about dying for love, so wholly incapable of living without it. 

And Sanji, as senseless as he’d been, was right in his fantastical idea about practicing for the play. It suddenly became far too easy to act as a lovesick courtesan, careless to leave a life of luxury for the heart of her beloved. 

Because of your own heart, you spent the day lost to the world, preoccupied both with your daydreams and the preparations for the upcoming production. Already, the Moulin Rouge was shifting into the perfect theater for a serious performance, rehearsals to begin in the next week. The changes would all take place under the watchful eye of your patron, Crocodile, who had more input than you’d expected.

Still, with his dime funding your future, you had no room to complain about any of his objections. 

But to your dismay, the chaos of yesterday had done little to quell his infatuation with you. Across rooms, you could feel his gaze on you, peeling you apart with his irises throughout every meeting. There was little you could do but smile back at him, eyes promising another evening with him in privacy. 

In reality, his very presence felt like a splinter digging deep into your slow-growing happiness — a joy that only shattered further as the darkness of the evening fell. 

In the moonlight, you found yourself back in the Elephant Room, once more startled by a presence you hadn’t been expecting. 

A sense of deja-vu washed over you, and this time, you’d fallen into a timeline where things had gone differently yesterday. Where you walked into your room and found yourself with the real Duke, his confidence an aura felt even from the hallway. 

Like Sanji had done yesterday, Crocodile perused your room. Opposed to Sanji’s intrigue, the Duke seemed to be picking it apart, scrutinizing the cheap perfumes and fake jewels that had been strewn across the space. 

“Bonsoir, monsieur,” you said, hoping your words didn’t sound as tense as you felt. The day had been long, the night even longer, and though you had never arranged a formal meeting, you had hoped the business would be enough to diminish his desire for you. “I see you couldn’t stay away.” 

You spared him a cheeky smile, finding that he’d already come towards you, your space invaded by his overwhelming presence. 

“From you?” he asked, voice deep as he ran a thumb across your cheek, pinching your jaw between his fingers. “Never.” Crocodile studied you, his eyes lustful, but still cold, as he tilted your cheeks from side to side, smile approving. 

Boldly, you took his hand in your own, dragging it away from your face, back down to his side. Although he stood inches above you, you straightened, hopeful that he wouldn’t see you as something weak, but as robust and determined as the shine of a diamond, it’s value never diminishing. 

“What brings you back so soon, then? Already here to cash in your night with me?” 

You meant it lightly, smile brazen as you trailed fingertips across his strong chest, eyes blinking lazily. But he didn’t return the gesture, his hand stilling your own, as he pulled you nearer to him. There were only inches between you, the air thick as you felt his own breath ghosting the bridge of your nose. 

“You misunderstand, my dear,” he said, tilting his head, amusement flicking into his irises. Perhaps he could sense the uncertainty that overwhelmed you when you were alone with him. 

Although this was nothing different, a normal routine for your line of work, there was something dangerous about the Duke, something that you were afraid of. Your breath stuttered.

“I’m not here to throw money at you, steal you away for an evening and then watch you go back to the others that beg for you attention,” he continued, releasing his hold on you and stepping away. “I want all of you.” 

You blinked, the lack of proximity allowing you the chance to think clear again, gather your thoughts. A small, disbelieving laugh escaped you, despite his solemn expression. “You’re asking for a lot,” you said resolutely, crossing your arms over your chest. “This is my livelihood.” 

“It doesn’t have to be.” 

You narrowed your eyes, jaw working as he walked to the drink cart, fixing himself a glass. The sharp lines of his back and arms were visible, even under the thick material of his coat. 

“Are you going to offer me something better?” 

Crocodile took his time responding, letting the alcohol slide down his throat as he stole a smooth sip from the glass. “I’ll offer you a chance to become a real actress, to have people know your name,” he said, turning to face you once again. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?” 

Stiffly, you nodded, watching the grim smile widen on his face. 

“I thought as much.” Crocodile finished off the drink, setting his empty glass back on the cart. His rings clicked against it, the sound sharply satisfying.

Despite his vague promises, you weren’t naive to what he was saying between it all. He wanted you, all of you — forever. It wasn’t the romantic proposal you may have wanted, but it was the sort of proposition you would have expected from someone like him. 

You quieted your thoughts, swallowing down the surge of panic as you draped yourself across the chaise lounge. “You want me to marry you?” you said, the question leaving more as a statement than anything.

“I do,” he said in return, the words haunting. “I find we can both give each other what the other desires. You want to the save the Moulin Rouge, find yourself on a real stage, keep yourself off the streets. And I want you.” 

Whether he meant that as a possession or as a lover, you weren’t sure. You didn’t have the courage to ask. 

“There’s no need to accept now, but I thought it best you were aware of my intentions. You may be a courtesan, but I’d like to do this properly. If you are to be of the nobility, I want to court you as such.” Crocodile scanned your face for any hints of a reaction, but his own features remained as unreadable as ever. You hoped the smallest twitch of your lips wouldn’t give your thoughts away. “At least until the opening night of your production. I will expect your answer by then.” 

You hesitated, but Crocodile was patient, eyes only flicking down to your thighs for a moment, when your rubbed off the sweat from your palms. “You’ll continue to fund the Moulin Rouge, won’t you? It won’t go out of business.” 

“Of course. Should you have any other requests, I’m sure we could come to an agreement.” 

Nodding to yourself, you glanced away, thinking, your mind whirring with the possibility of the life you’ve always dreamed of. Riches beyond your imagination, a life on a stage, reciting lines from the most notable plays in a beautiful theatre. It was all right there at your fingertips, everything you’d ever wanted. 

And yet. 

Yet, the vision was soured by loneliness, from longing for something you’d never known you could miss. Blue eyes haunting you from across the sea, an ache for Paris, somewhere you’d once cursed. 

Crocodile was a handsome man, yes, but you doubted his hands could ever be so gentle, his lips whispering praise against you like a prayer. You doubted he could string together words and make them sound like poetry graced by the Olympians, each syllable knitted with ambrosia. 

You hated that you’d ever gotten the chance to compare him to anyone at all. If all this had gone according to plan, you would have never been inclined to turn down his offer. 

But you knew that if you did so, he would pull his funding from the Moulin Rouge immediately. You would be back where you started, watching all the people you cared about slowly be forced back on the streets. Whatever arrangements had been made between him and Buggy had surely mentioned you, and there was, really, nothing you could do but accept his offer. 

You smiled, leaned your head on your hand, and sighed wistfully. “I suppose that means we’ll have to wait until another evening to share our first moment of passion, then? If we are to do this properly.” That was, perhaps, the only blessing to come out of this.

Unsurprisingly, that garnered a laugh from Crocodile, one that didn’t expand across his features like fireworks, but was amused all the same. “There will be plenty of time for that in the future. I’m aware you still have… others to attend to, and I’ve no desire to share you with anyone else.”

“Of course,” you smiled, bowing your head. “I’ll break the news of my upcoming marriage to them. Some will be quite disappointed.”

That was a certainty. Many of them were quite infatuated with you. 

But, that meant for the first time in five years, you would be completely free of any sexual obligations, even if it was for a short time. That in and of itself was liberating. 

“I’m sure it will be quite heartbreaking,” he said, full of self-satisfaction. Then, he made his way across the room, passing you with a squeeze to your shoulder, something in between affection and ownership. “I’ve more business to attend to before the night is over. I will see you tomorrow then, my sweet?” 

You glanced back, just over your shoulder, with a stiff smile. “I’ll be counting down the moments.” 

Crocodile laughed, but said nothing more. To your surprise, he didn’t seem to care that there was an edge to your words, that sarcasm lie just beneath the surface. Instead, there was unbidden amusement plastered across his features as he made his exit. 

And it should’ve have been relieving, to know that a slip of a tongue would not cause him to strike you, yet it only added to your discomfort. For you knew it was not love that drew him to the passionate fire within you, but the fact that he had subdued it so easily, stifled your spirit in his palm without burning. If he could capture a women that shone so brightly, what in the world could he not keep for himself? 

The conversation with Crocodile had put a damper on the rest of your week, and your excitement for rehearsal began to fade as the days passed. There was now a limit to the time you would get to spend with Sanji. Once the show was a success that no longer needed you as a headliner, you would be married to another man, your life lived far away from the streets of Montmartre. 

Already, you were mourning a life you’d never known. 

In the past few days, you’d hardly seen the beautiful poet — Sanji had locked himself away in the apartment, claiming to be too distracted by your alluring eyes to focus on his writing. For a while, your only interaction with him was through Luffy, who brought you updates of the script, until it was complete.

And finally, when you were starting to consider if everything that had transpired between the two of you was a dream, Luffy came to invite you over to read the final script. 

Of course, it was more of a demand than an invitation, followed by a, “oh, we’ll have a dinner, by the way!” Typical Luffy fashion, despite the fact that it was not his script, nor his apartment, nor was he anything but a ring-leader. 

But even with the flippant invitation and pretense of work, you felt nervous. 

It had only been a week, but a week was far too long for you to be alone with your thoughts, near to spiraling. Sure, you’d stolen glances with Sanji, small smiles when no one else was looking, but could that not be chalked up to friendliness? One night, high on passion and elation, could’ve meant nothing, now that things had calmed and enough time had passed for Sanji to get his wits about him. He could’ve realized it was a mistake, that you weren’t what he wanted at all, that there was something in the air that had twisted your sinful image into one deserving of reverence. 

Insecurity held tightly onto you — not for the first time in your life, but for a different reason entirely. You thought of Sanji constantly, your chest gaping wide open, heart bleeding into your ribcage every moment you were apart. 

It scared you, sickened you, to even consider that perhaps he had changed his mind, that the intensity of your feelings would be met with indifference once you reunited.

You inhaled, approaching the room number Luffy had given you. It was down the hall from the three other men, a studio apartment overlooking the bustling street and the Moulin Rouge.

Hesitantly, you knocked on the door, your knuckles soft. You waited, wringing your hands together as a shout came from the other side (Luffy, probably), then a crash (Luffy, definitely), then a gruff reprimand (Zoro), before the door swung open. 

The moment suspended, your heart racing, as you met his gaze. 

Sanji stood, his hand still on the doorknob, exhaling gently, like he’d run to you. He was bathed in candlelight and the dark hues of the evening, shadows creating an even more alluring figure of him. “You came,” Sanji said, close to awe, his eyes alight with wonder. 

Maybe he was stupidly obsessed with you — but you were certain you felt the same, as you blinked back at him, wondering if the evening painted him so beautifully, or if you’d already forgotten the gracefulness of his features in the short absence. He seemed far more angelic, long limbs relaxed in his own space, his hair combed softly, a flush on his face from alcohol. A few buttons of his top had been undone, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. 

Sanji released the door, slowly taking your hand, waiting for any sign that you’d changed your mind. You went to him easily, craving his touch as desperately as you’d craved anything before. His hands were warm, fingers even more callused from endless writing. 

You swallowed, the tension slowly easing out of you. Every concern you had washed away once his hand was in your own. There were no worries, no Duke out to marry you, no bankruptcy. Just an apartment full of people you called friends, and a warmth in your chest that you were learning to welcome. 

“Hard to rehearse without your star, isn’t it?” you teased softly, squeezing his palm. 

Another breath passed.

Sanji brightened, and though you began to cross into the apartment to greet the other three men, he pulled you back, turning to kiss you softly. 

Instantly, you melted, your knees jelly as his fingers caressed your cheeks, the touch barely there, his lips warm, tasting of wine. His nose brushed your own as he went away, and while there were still remnants of uncertainty in his words, he kissed you as if he’d been doing it for years. 

You fell back into him, exhaling onto his lips, before you remembered you had an audience and bashfully pulled away, cheeks burning. “I—” you began, putting a space in between you and Sanji that felt almost painful. “We—”

“Don’t bother,” Zoro scoffed, his eyes fixated on a flickering candle, pointedly trying not to look at the two of you. “We already know. He won’t stop talking about you.” 

You blinked, realizing that both Luffy and Usopp hadn’t batted an eye, still arguing about something in the kitchen. Props that were halfway built had been scattered across the floor — likely the source of the argument and Zoro’s obvious annoyance.  

Sanji made a face, something in between irritation and embarrassment, as he stiffened beside you.

But the shared secret from Zoro had brought out a bright warmth in you, a soft smile spreading across your lips as you turned to Sanji. “Really?” you asked, the joy in your chest overwhelming, far too big to even tease him for the infatuation.

Sanji’s face twisted quickly, the annoyance melting away as he smiled, defeated. “Oui. Tu es dans toutes mes pensées. It’s hard not to speak of you always, mon ange.” He kissed your temple, and the gentleness, the sheer affection in his words, brought a prick of tears to the back of your eyes. 

“The food’s burning, you know.”

Sanji narrowed his gaze back at Zoro, who merely rolled his eyes at the displays of affection, but was otherwise unbothered. 

“The food is fine,” Sanji scoffed. “Casse-toi.”

“We’re all hungry.”

“Yeah, Sanji, I’m hungry,” Luffy cut in.

Sanji’s face screwed up in stark irritation, but his anger subsided as he exhaled, his fingers dancing at the base of your spine. “Fine,” he snapped, resting his hand on the small of your back to guide you to the kitchen. “It’s almost done anyway. Putains d’idiots.” 

You suppressed your laughter, humming softly to yourself as he dragged you along. 

Although you’d expected to see a small, humble meal whipped together by an unskilled hand, there was an expertly crafted stew, simmering deliciously over the pan. You blinked at it, mouth watering as the smell wafted from the pot. 

Sanji threw a few more spices and ingredients into it, tasting until he was satisfied. You watched with curiosity, noticing that he held not the uncertain air of an amateur, but rather the practiced inventiveness of an expert. 

“You are a cook,” you said stupidly, as Sanji blew hair away from his face, at last removing the pot from the heat. “You wrote the play about me. About…” You trailed off, swallowing. Although it was rather obvious, you’d let yourself believe that it was just easier that way, to write a story about you, the star, the diamond. That it meant nothing.

In reality, he hadn’t even bothered to hide his instant fixation on you.

Sanji turned, facing you, before he broke out into laughter. “Well, it was the best I could do on the fly.” He smiled shyly then, gathering the five bowls beside him. “With such a lovely muse before me, it came quite naturally. I suppose I inserted my own character out of wishful thinking.” 

“Wishful thinking?” 

“Well, I had been hoping that our kiss would not be the last.” He tugged you towards him, kissing your knuckles.

“Were you trying to seduceme through your writing, Sanji?” 

“Hmm. Is it working?” Sanji asked, the hint of a grin pulling onto his features, as he leaned in for another kiss.

You sighed, rolling your eyes playfully before pushing his face away from your own. The food would burn if you let his lips fall onto yours again. “So you’re a cook, then?” 

“No,” he smiled, pouring a few spoonfuls of soup into each of the bowls. “I’m a writer. This is merely a hobby I dabble in. Perhaps, in another life, I’d have chosen the other path but,” Sanji shrugged. “I’m glad I didn’t in this one. I’d never have found you.” 

Your cheeks warmed, heart swelling and flipping over and over again. He said things like that so easily, bared his heart on his sleeve like it was nothing. How simply he could confess his affections, without caring if it was twisted into something ugly. 

It was a beautiful thing, something you envied; something you cherished. 

You ached. Someday, you’d take that away from him. The touches that lingered, the gazes that held steadfast… They could be nothing more than a passing fancy. It was cruel to lead him on any more than that, to let him care for you more than you’d ever be able to care for him.

You blinked away, swallowing back the sharp spike of regret. “Sanji. You can’t just say things like that,” your voice was barely above a whisper. “I’ll never know how to respond.” 

Although it was true, you hoped you conveyed enough playfulness to appear as if you were teasing. His kindness was overwhelming, his patience and gentleness hard to let swathe you. You were used to hands aimed to use you, nothing more — not ones that bathed you in affections like a gentle creature. 

Sanji grinned, not sensing your distress, as he kissed your forehead, then the space between your eyebrows. “Hm. Maybe that’s the goal.” He brought your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles. “The food needs to cool,ma chérie.There’s a copy of the script on the table. You’re welcome to read through it in the meantime.” 

Right. The show. You’d almost forgotten that that was the reason you were here, and not to find yourself lost in his eyes and the low cadence of his voice. 

You swallowed, smiled, and squeezed his hands tight.

A strong person would’ve ended this dalliance then and there, with the Duke looming over your shoulder and a marriage all but on the horizon. A kind person would’ve been honest, saved him from the pain of falling in love with someone he could never have. 

But, you were neither of those things. 

You sat down on the couch next to Zoro.

He hardly said a word as you did so, and you were grateful for it, allowing yourself to get lost in the storytelling of Sanji’s script. In a word, it was good. So good, in fact, you were certain it could compete with the finest shows being performed in Paris. For all his humility, Sanji had a gift. 

The ending of the script went unread, as the weight of Zoro’s eyes on you became too much to ignore. You set the parchment down and sighed, twisting to face him. “Alright. Spit it out. I know you’ve got something to say.” 

He smiled, leaning back on the sofa. “You know this is a horrible idea, right? You’re ridiculously stupid, and you have shitty taste in men. You’re going to get yourself into trouble. What about the Duke?”

“What about the Duke?” you countered, narrowing your eyes.

“I know you think I’m stupid, but I heard about the arrangement. Are you going to tell Sanji, or—”

“Zoro,” you hushed him, glancing back over your shoulder to see if the other man had overheard. To your relief, he was still across the room, moderating the conversation between Luffy and Usopp with an unamused expression. “Please.” 

Zoro frowned, looked over your shoulder, and sighed. “I don’t want to be in the middle of this, but I overhead Buggy and Crocodile talking. It’s not going to be a secret for long. If I found out that easily…” 

Your lips drew together. “It’s just for tonight. Can’t I have one night?” You swallowed down the words, remembering how Sanji had said the same to you, not too long ago. Things had soured so quickly. “Let me figure it out, okay?”

Zoro narrowed his eyes, then sighed, tipping his head back to the ceiling. “Do what you want. I’m not going to stop you.”

You exhaled, not why sure you’d been nervous in the first place. Zoro wouldn’t have said a word, and you’d known that. He was your closest friend outside of the Moulin Rouge, even if neither of you had ever said it out loud. 

You’d found each other the same year you’d moved to Paris, both new to the city, both searching for something better. Zoro was like the light of the moon to you, in those early days. Maybe he still was. Not enough to cast the rays of heavens over you, but enough to warm you, to give you comfort, save you from the darkness eating you alive. You trusted him. And you didn’t trust many people. 

“Thank you, Zoro.” 

“But—”

“But?” You made a face. “No, there’s no but—”

“Would you just listen? I’m being serious. I do think this is a bad idea, but you look—” He shook his head. “You look happy. Happier than I’ve ever seen you, and while I think this is going to end badly…” Zoro sighed. “I’d be a pretty awful friend if I didn’t tell you I’m glad it’s happening. You deserve a life better than that shit hole. Maybe you can find it without the Duke. That’s your decision.” 

Your mouth faltered, then shut. It was rare to see Zoro bare his feelings in such a way. Though he was a good man, he’d never been a very open one. You, suddenly, felt gutted raw, naked and exposed, in a way you’d never been before. You were’t sure you liked everyone seeing you on display. 

“Mon Dieu. Since when did you become so sentimental?” you said, instead of thanking him, the swell of your emotions becoming near unbearable. “You’ll make me nauseous. Worry about your own problems. We don’t need two worrying about mine.”

Zoro’s expression turned sour, like he’d expected some heartfelt response, akin to the dopey smile you’d given to the blonde man across the room. But Zoro was Zoro, and your friendship wouldn’t change just because you had developed sentiments about love. 

“You were supposed to accept that more kindly.” He mumbled, crossing his arms as he glared across the room. “Forget I said anything. It’s that fucking play, spending too much time around Sanji. It’s all too romantic. I’m getting wrapped up in it.” 

You laughed then, shaking your head. “Really? I think you’re having fun. I mean, you must have been bored — Luffy can never stay focused on one thing long enough to properly execute his vision.” 

For all his feigned annoyance, Zoro rolled his eyes and laughed. “You’re right about that. It’s a miracle we even got this far.”

You hummed, turning back to the manuscript, tenderly brushing the pages. The words were pieced together so beautifully; realistic enough to be a true conversation, but flowery enough to be the work of an artist. 

Pride swelled in your chest, before it twisted into some other emotion, one laced with dissonant woe. How was it that you could inspire such bewitching prose, could be the muse for a kind of romance that most never tasted? 

You didn’t deserve that. 

Your nose burned with unshed tears, mouth pinning into a frown. 

“Do you like it?” Sanji asked, as he came up beside you, passing a still-steaming, but much cooler bowl of stew over to you. You felt his curiosity and hope as heavily as you felt his eyes on you, receptive to your feedback, even if it was to be cruel. 

You swallowed, met his gaze. “Sanji,” you said, hardly a whisper. “Is this really how you see me? Even from the first time we met?”

He blinked, like the question perplexed him, fingers brushing against your thigh, before darting away. “What do you mean?” 

You noticed, as his hand snuck out once more, before curling in on itself, that he had a desire to touch you in any way possible, at all times. And though it had only been a short while, you found, to your surprise, that you didn’t mind it so much. 

With anyone else, anyone before, it had bothered you. Your boundaries had rarely been respected, men far too handsy, thinking they owned you. Of course, you’d bitten your tongue and expected their touch, knowing that they’d paid a fine stack of notes to get you for that evening. 

Still, that didn’t mean you liked hands sneaking under your skirts at dinner, dancing across your breasts in front of others, without an ounce of shame. 

Sanji’s affection was more hesitant, only until you softened, fell into it easily. Despite your caution, it soothed you; a tender caress of your elbow, nose brushing against your forehead. 

You exhaled, grabbing his hand with both of your own. His fingers straightened tight, before relaxing in your palms. The emotion souring in your chest must have expanded into your face, because Sanji frowned, scooting closer. 

“Have I upset you, chère?” he asked. “I can change some of the details, if—”

“No,” you said quickly, leaning into kiss him, just a peck of the lips, before you kissed his cheeks, his forehead. “No. It’s perfect. It’s lovely. You’re so talented.” 

It was entirely too perfect to be about you, but your words distracted Sanji from any previous melancholy, the despair melting into excitement. He preened under your praise, capturing your lips once more before mouthing his own gratitude against yours. 

Your chest exploded into million red flares, shimmering like diamonds before sinking again. You weren’t sure when Zoro had removed himself from the scene, but you were grateful for it, if only to hide the embarrassing softness that stole your breath away.

For an initial run-through, everything went well. 

It had started off a bit awkward — the lines were read stiffly, and without the breadth of emotion, they fell flat. 

Zoro had unenthusiastically read for the warlord, who was to be played by Buggy. But instead of providing you with even an ounce of lust to reflect the feelings of his character, all he gave you to work with was a scowl. 

You were certain there was more chemistry between you and a brick wall. “Zoro, you’re not even trying,” you’d said, and rolled your eyes. 

Zoro had only glared, and threatened to hand the script over to Luffy, who’d spent more time asking questions to be any better at the role. You’d sealed your lips, held back your laughter, and tried to imagine how the words would sound without the deadpan tone of your friend.

But, once Usopp and Luffy had entered the scene, things shifted easily. Their energy was far too lighthearted for the rest of you to be reading lines at that stilted, slow beat. 

Opposed to Zoro, who made it difficult to muster up any sort of reaction, it was far too easy to recite your lines to Sanji. Your character’s quick, instant affection for the cook flowered out of you, every word carved with real emotion. You couldn’t tell where the script began and the truth ended, which was spoken from your heart and which were the words of your fictional counterpart. 

You weren’t sure it mattered. If you could put every ounce of yourself into the play, then weren’t you guaranteed to be a star?

And then, you approached the end of the script. 

The desperation between the courtesan and her lover would have filled you with endless grief, had it not been for the dramatic flair that the Sanji read with. He skipped over sections, editing his own work as he spoke, pen scratching out the weaker lines, eyebrows pinched with focus.

You smiled, falling back in the chair with a laugh as Sanji recited the last part of the play. And he followed you, speaking the lines into your skin, fingers curling around your cheek as the grin on your face grew so wide it hurt.

“Those are my lines, idiot,” Zoro interjected, scoffing at his antics. But Sanji ignored him, and you laughed again, let him breath the end of the play into your mouth before he kissed you once more.

The run-through concluded. Everyone made notes on what to change, edits where things felt stilted and awkward. 

Then, the rest of them left — and only you and Sanji remained. 

Sanji guided you to the door, fingers tracing the notches between your shoulder blades, before falling down to the middle of your spine. Luffy was the last to leave, talking animatedly about the play, elation more than evident in every syllable he spoke. Though his dreams were much bigger than the realistic, already talking about how your show would make it worldwide in a matter of months.

You hummed, pretending to care, his words in one ear and out the other. There was little on your mind but the feeling of Sanji’s hand on your back, the proximity of him radiating heat onto you. “That’s a great idea, Luffy,” you said, nodding, probably more than you needed to.

“Oui, tres bién.” Sanji said dismissively, nearly shoving Luffy, who didn’t seem to notice or care, out the door. “Keep that in mind for next time. Merci beaucoup, Luffy. Bonne nuit.” 

The door shut behind him. You listened to Luffy speak to you both through the door for a few more moments, before he paced down the hall, turning the corner to his own apartment.

As soon as the building went quiet, you were upon Sanji.

Your hands curled into the lapels of his shirt, pulling him into you, his head bowing to your height. As soon as your lips connected, Sanji moaned into your mouth, the sound twirling your stomach. You took two steps forward, greedily, nails dragging from his chest to the blonde strands against his neck. 

Sanji’s back hit the wall, and he exhaled, pulling you into him. His palms ran down your back, caressing your sides, before, finally, they rested on your hips. Even as you drew back to kiss across his cheeks, his jaw, Sanji’s mouth chased your own, his eyes half-lidded. Red lipstick stained the collar of his shirt, but he didn’t seem to mind, his head against the wall, cheeks flushed.

Your hands drifted lower, fingers curling around the buckle of his belt, before you fell to your knees. 

That caught his attention, your body slipping away from his grasp as he tilted his head lazily. “What are you doing?” Sanji breathed, as you worked at tugging the belt off.

His hands brushed your cheeks, the bone of your jaw, reverent in this touch. A small, awed smile graced his lips, pupils dilated inside his sapphire irises. 

And although there was nothing hostile in the tone of his voice, you blinked up at him, confused. Your lips were flushed, cheeks warm. Despite the desire that churned deep in your chest, you swallowed down a spike of nerves. 

“I’m thanking you,” you said simply, on edge, searching for any signs of anger. You, of course, found none, but you still jerked away, unsure if you’d done something wrong, feeling wrong. “For… the dinner. And the play. You’ve written me so beautifully, and—”

Sanji’s eyes went wide, and he pushed your hands away, still so gentle as he swallowed thickly. “Oh,” he said, and there was sadness there, his smile fading. The evidence of lust was still apparent, but he swallowed it down, his breathing heavy. “No, no, chérie, you don’t—”

You withdrew then, not needing to hear the rest of the words to know that it was a rejection, that you’d upset him. Your skin burned, and your head spun from how quickly you’d stood. 

“Right,” you said, and curled in on yourself, making yourself as small as possible. Maybe that’s what he’d expected instead. It wouldn’t be the first time you’d misread a situation, tried to give a client what you’d thought they’d wanted, only to turn their desire into scorn. Some didn’t like it when you took too much. “I—I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry,” Sanji said, a frown spreading on his lips. He pushed away from the wall, trying to reach for you, before you pulled back.  

You turned around, facing away from him, and ran the situation through your mind, wondering where you’d gone wrong. “But I am sorry,” you said, pinching your eyebrows together. “I just thought that’s what you wanted, that’s all. I mean, before, you seemed… Like you wanted to.” You grew hot, flustered, the edges of panic creeping up on you. You swallowed that back down. “Did you change your mind?”

“No,” he said, adamantly. “That’s not it. That’s not it at all, I—” 

You glared over your shoulder. “What’s wrong, then, Sanji? I don’t understand. You do something nice for me, I do something for you. Isn’t that how this works?”

His features pinched, and his chest fell, a million responses seemingly running through his head before he spoke. “You don’t owe me anything. This isn’t supposed to feel like a chore.”

“It’s not. I didn’t mean it like that. But you don’t have to treat me like some fragile thing because I trade sex for money. I’m not…” You tipped your head back, more frustrated with yourself than you were with him. “I wish I could express my gratitude in such beautiful words like you can, but I can’t, Sanji. I can’t, I don’t know how to—”

“Hey,” he said softly, frowning. “I understand. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” Sanji reached out, and you accepted his touch, let him guide you back into him. His hands were so hesitant on your cheeks, not awkwardly unsure like before, but uncertain that you would break. Like you were fine china. 

You regretted saying anything at all, almost repulsed by how gently he was treating you. It wasn’t right, you didn’t deserve that, and you certainly didn’t need him feeling sorry for you. 

Sanji said your name so softly, a prayer. Even still, his gaze darted around your face, not lingering on one place for long. “I just…” he trailed off, words stuck on his tongue, guilt taking over. “I mean, this is different… Isn’t it? I’m not…”

Not a client. Not someone who paid you for your time with them.

“Sanji,” You exhaled, curling in on yourself. “Of course not.” You squeezed your eyes shut, cursing your jumbled mind and twisted heart. 

It was all so easy, in your head, to love Sanji. There were words in there for what you were feeling, visions of actions you could take to show him you cared. Dreams that had lingered since you met him, causing you to wake up warm and flustered.

But making those ideas real had become far too daunting — they weren’t feelings of some character you were playing, but choices that bound you to another. Ones you’d have to live with.

“I’m sorry,” you said, rubbing your elbow. “I’m trying. I’m sorry.” 

“Please don’t apologize.” 

“But—” 

“Please. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I’m doing this all wrong,” you said, voice breaking as you threw your hands up in the air. You were surprised by how quickly the outburst had bubbled up from you, how fast the emotions flipped. “I don’t know what you want from me. No one’s ever—” you huffed, taking a breath, calming yourself. “Just tell me what I’m supposed to do. Please.”

You couldn’t bear to look at his face, not when you could sense the dejection under the surface. Even still, your tone remained sour with him, though it was from no one’s fault but your own. It’d been your choice to become a courtesan, your choice to deny yourself any right to love. 

How simple things would’ve been, had you never come to Paris at all.

Sanji didn’t say anything. He pulled the box of cigarettes out of his pocket, lit one and took a long drag. Smoke left his lungs, a cloud forming. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

You watched, feeling so small and uncertain. Your bout of anger had hardly been vindictive, but it had come from you, all the same. 

“You’re not supposed to do anything,” he said through his exhale, a cloud of smoke floating above him. “Don’t give me anything you don’t want to give. That isn’t what love is.” 

“I told you I don’t know what love is.” You plucked the cigarette from his lips, placing in your own. “Maybe you should listen.”

His eyes held yours, a stormy mix of sadness and longing, and though you wished for the opposite, nothing spiteful was there. Not a hint of disgust to match what you felt for yourself, even as you tried to get him to see what a wretched creature you truly were.

 “It’s not going to work, you know,” Sanji finally said, staring once again at the place where your lips pulled from the cigarette, curled around it. “You pushing me away. If you want me gone, I’ll go. But—”

“I don’t want you gone, Sanji,” you said quietly, dropping your gaze, the cigarette still burning between your fingers. “That’s the problem. That’s the last thing I want.” You closed your eyes, assuming the same position that he had — back pressed against the wall, your heads lolling against it. “Can’t you understand why I’m so hesitant?”

“Of course I can,” he said, and though you still couldn’t meet his gaze, you could feel the tenderness of the smile there. Sanji took your hand, kissed the back of your palm. “But can’t we figure it out together?”

You paused, before nodding once. A vision of Crocodile loomed over your shoulder, and though you knew he was to be your future husband soon, it felt like a threat from the distant future. You couldn’t bear to tell Sanji anything about that now, even though you knew you should. But it would sour the already delicate moment more, perhaps in a way that would become irreparable.

Maybe that would be for the best.

Still, you kept your mouth shut.

“You’re right,” you said instead, shaking your head. You repeated an apologize — how many had it been now? “I’m sorry. I’ve ruined the evening.” 

“I told you, you have nothing to apologize for.” Sanji curled his hands around your cheeks, tilting your gaze up to his. “You haven’t ruined anything. I’m the one that stopped you.” He kissed you again, and though you were still full of uncertainty, you opened back up to him easily. He wore a starry expression as he pulled away, lips gaping softly. “As much as I wished I hadn’t.”

The admission lightened your spirits marginally, 

Your gaze drifted down to the undone belt, a small grin pulling across your face. You took another inhale of the cigarette before your placed it back between Sanji’s lips, wrapping your hands around his own, ones that still rested on his cheeks. 

“Is that so?” you asked, the suggestive lilt to your voice slipping back in easily. “You want me to keep going?”

Sanji blinked, his brain short-circuiting before you laughed, the tension between you easing. Your heart still raced, but you felt better, calmer, now that some of your uncertainties had been laid bare, as endless as they were.

“Well…” you amended, humming, not bothering to give him a chance to respond. “Maybe tomorrow. It’s late. I should be going back before people start to wonder.” You turned to face the window, the deep sky of the late evening the only witness your rendezvous.

“Of course,” Sanji said, swallowing, a flash of disappointment in his irises. He released you, let you pull away, but it was relunctantly. “Will you come back tomorrow?” 

Your smile, this time, was more genuine than an act of seduction, your chest melting into a lovesick puddle. You kissed the underside of his jaw, feeling so soft and full of something you were certain was love — even if you were hesitant to admit it. 

“Perhaps,” you said, squeezing his hand. “If you’re lucky.”

thank u so much for reading and for all the sweet feedback on the previous chapter!! ᡣ𐭩 reblogs + comments are much appreciated !!!

i've tagged anyone who expressed interest before, but please lmk if you do not want a tag :) or if you want to be added!!

@tetzoro @stunie @msheds0519 @akuma-coffee @iridescana

@aquadenks @luckiestangel @mncxbe @keeper-of-my-heart

@ofoceansandtombsanew @kit-ken @leafyturtle

[coll2mitts]

#12 Gentlemen Prefer Blondes (1953)

Merry Christmas!  I had to get a little creative since I'd blown through the explicitly Christmas movies on this list back in 2021.  A few years ago Leena Norms released a Non-Christmas Christmas movies video which highlight movies that are not set during Christmastime, but give you that same cozy feeling when you watch them.  I came up with my own list and lo and behold amongst the three Hugh Grant movies sits one excellent musical:

Where the Heart Is

About a Boy

Sense and Sensibility

Pride and Prejudice

Music and Lyrics

Under the Tuscan Sun

Moonstruck

Waitress

Pitch Perfect

Gentleman Prefer Blondes

I'm a child of the 90s; I don't have to defend why Mr. Grant's awkward blinking is comforting to me.

Gentlemen Prefer Blondes is a yearly Non-Holiday Christmas staple in my household.  It's fashionable, uncomplicated, catchy, and hilarious.  I first sought out this movie somewhere around my 50th time of watching Moulin Rouge and I was overwhelmed with the instant love I felt for Jane Russell and Marilyn Monroe.  They're both incredibly funny, with Jane's quick wit and biting comebacks and Marilyn's smooth talking manipulation.  And oh my god, not to beat a dead horse, but I couldn't help but notice they're absolutely gorgeous.  If it weren't for Ernie Malone being the dumbest person for Dorothy Shaw to fall for, this film would be perfect.  But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Fair warning that every single song is a certified banger.  It's no wonder - Jule Styne, who wrote the music for the original musical, also worked on Funny Girl.  Hoagy Carmichael and Harold Adamson, the two who wrote the movie-originals, "Ain't There Anyone Here for Love" and "When Love Goes Wrong (Nothin' Goes Right)" similarly had prolific writing careers. You will be humming these tunes in your head for days, sorry not sorry.

Meet Dorothy Shaw (Jane Russell) and Lorelei Lee (Marilyn Monroe), two stage performers the studio executives didn't dare try to pass off as sisters.  Each are guided by one thing - Lorelei is trying to marry her way into security and Dorothy just wants to get laid a lot.  Big mood.

Their mid-tier notoriety has allowed Lorelei to attract a wealthy beau, the precious Gus Esmond Jr. (Tommy Noonan).  His father, who bankrolls his behavior, doesn't approve of the match, which is why Lorelei has concocted a plan - They will set sail on a boat to Paris and get married in Europe, far away from his father's influence.  If Gus gets cold feet about the marriage and bails last minute, Lorelei and Dorothy will disembark regardless, only to return to the states when Gus comes to his senses and makes a commitment that matches the massive piece of ice on her finger.

As Lorelei predicted, her and Dorothy are soon escorted on the boat to Europe, France for their non-romantic voyage.  Gus has funded this entire endeavor of course and is counting on Dorothy to wrangle Lorelei and prevent her from getting in trouble.  Dorothy takes her responsibilities to Lorelei incredibly seriously, but immediately befriends the entire USA Olympic team to entertain herself.

It takes everything within Gus to leave Lorelei on that boat, bribing her with gifts while pleading for her to be a good sport.  She responds by placating his anxieties, "Daddy! Sometimes I think there's only one of you in the whole wide world!" This only proves that Marilyn was the only person who is allowed to say "Daddy" without us all collectively cringing.

I would absolutely lose my mind if Marilyn looked at me like that.  The syrup in her voice kills me. 

Marilyn had an acting coach, Natascha Lytess, that annoyed the director Howard Hawks because Marilyn constantly deferred to Lytess instead of him.  It got to the point where he booted Lytess from set because clearly Marilyn didn't need the coach since she had perfectly crafted her image and executes on it flawlessly. Lytess eventually returned after a one-week hiatus after Hawks determined it wasn't worth the fight and humored Marilyn by letting her do extra takes without telling her there wasn't film in the camera.

The second the boat leaves port, Lorelei gets right to work trying to find a "suitable escort" for her friend by casing the passenger list for those who are most likely loaded.  Dorothy scoffs noting, "I like a man who can run faster than I can," before Lorelei scolds her for not considering she may be destitute in the future if she settles for a man who is pretty and nothing else.  Dorothy takes this advice to heart by wandering over to the gym to ogle the athletes in their swimsuits.

Is Dorothy really here for love?  Because that boner in her pants really suggests she's only here for a good time.

It actually was an accident that Jane was pushed into the pool by a low-flying dancer, but they left the mistake in the movie because it played so well.  Neither Jane nor Marilyn had danced on film before Gentlemen Prefer Blondes.  Jack Cole (assisted by Gwen Verdon) was hired as the choreographer, and Jane reveals that while Mr. Cole was slightly terrifying to work for if you were a professional dancer (I can't imagine the conversation that happened with that man after dunking Jane), Jack had enough patience to teach Jane and Marilyn how to dance.  Furthermore, Jack took the lead in directing the musical numbers since Hawks realized his lack of experience in musical theater would hinder the film.  This is most likely why they're so flippin' good, because if we've learned anything from Gene Kelly, choreographers tend to frame musical numbers in a way that features the talents of the performers. 

While everything seems fine and dandy on the SS FindARichMan, there is a fella on board hell-bent on exposing Lorelei for the gold-digging hussy that she is.  Ernie Malone (Elliott Reid) is a private investigator hired by Mr. Esmond's father and is tasked with providing hard evidence that Lorelei is fucking around on Gus.  Since Dorothy and Lorelei are easily the most attractive people on board Malone finds them immediately and even overhears Lorelei making grand plans of ensnaring the heir of a whole state - a large one, like Pennsylvania or something - but misunderstanding this task is for the benefit of Dorothy.  His opinion of Lorelei is further tarnished after eavesdropping on her blackmail-adjacent conversation with the head waiter to get said state-heir Henry Spofford III seated at their dinner table. 

Malone, figuring it would be easier and less conspicuous to move in on the obviously single Dorothy to gather information, makes a pass at her by pretending to be rich.  When Dorothy sends him a look that would melt the flesh of his bones he changes his strategy by suggesting that someone told him that Dorothy was interested in men with stuffed pockets and instead it must have been Lorelei they were talking about.  Dorothy concedes, especially after Malone witnesses Lorelei making fast friends with Sir Frances Beekman, affectionately referred to as "Piggy".  He's an elderly man who owns a diamond mine in South Africa, so clearly he's a morally great dude who certainly doesn't deserve to be robbed blind by Lorelei.  It isn't until Lady Beekman, wearing more jewels than a magpie can horde, reveals she owns a diamond tiara that Lorelei officially makes her mark.

Later that night with their sights set on glory, the girls arrive at their very expensive dinner table while attracting absolutely no attention at all in their hideous gowns.

While we all know Marilyn as a sex symbol, Jane Russell also was pigeon-holed into "the girl" roles as well.  Discovered by Howard Hughes, Jane was never able to escape how he marketed her.  Even well into her 80s, Jane was asked by interviewers about her large breasts and the "special bra" Hughes designed for her to wear while shooting The Outlaw to hide her corseting (that she subsequently threw under her bed and he never noticed).  She's also inevitably asked about her and Hughes "romantic" relationship because much like Ann-Margret with Elvis and Rita Moreno with Marlon Brando, a woman can't just talk about her career without some dumb dude taking part of the spotlight away from her.  Similarly, Jane would always be asked about her and Marilyn's friendship with questions about how she acted on set, if she committed suicide, if she would have survived if she had a better support system... it's pretty disgusting, really.  While the public is neverendingly fascinated by the circumstances of Marilyn's death, her persona and likeness was continually marketed after she died, picking her body apart like a vulture and selling each of her belongings to anybody who wanted to own a piece of her (including proximity to her literal corpse which is so violating and gross it makes me physically ill to think about). Both of these women, while beautiful, were also incredibly talented, and it's disheartening that their careers are remembered either by their scandals, their fate, or their cup size.

Once seated, Dorothy is amused that Malone is conveniently placed at their table, incorrectly assuming he's there for her and not her friend.  The dinner continues to devolve in Malone's favor after it's revealed that Dorothy's blind date, Mr. Henry Spofford the Third, is barely older than a toddler.

"How am I doin'?"

Newly distracted by a diamond tiara and resigned to the fact her thinly-veiled plan to make Dorothy Mrs. Pennsylvania was a bust (If he were 16 or 17 you could marry him in Tennessee), Lorelei leaves Dorothy to get closer to Mr. Malone.  Every and all attempts Malone makes to bash Lorelei to his new pseudo-girlfriend are quickly and thoroughly rebuffed because Dorothy is a good friend, but not good enough not to make out with Ernie's face when the opportunity presents itself.

Dorothy's romance with Mr. PI is short lived, however, when she catches Malone conspicuously taking pictures of Lorelei and Piggy through the porthole of their state room.  Instead of decking the dude on site, Dorothy immediately confides in Lorelei they have been duped.  When Lorelei's first attempt at stealing the pictures by breaking into Malone's room (and subsequently getting stuck in a porthole trying to escape it) doesn't prove to be fruitful, they hatch a scheme to steal the film from Malone's pants by getting him incredibly drunk and drugged up on sleeping pills.

Once developed, Lorelei innocently uses the photos as leverage with Piggy to gift her Lady Beekman's tiara.  After obtaining the goods Lorelei and Dorothy are confronted by Malone, now armed with a tape recorder, who comes clean about his scheme and his intentions to ruin Lorelei. Unfortunately he also reveals to Dorothy that he is, in fact, in love with her.  Barf emoji.

Once docked in France, Dorothy and Lorelei use Mr. Esmond's line of credit to go on a shopping spree.  When they arrive at the hotel they encounter Lady Beekman, an insurance agent, and Mr. Malone.  Mrs. Beekman is under the impression Lorelei stole her tiara since Mr. Beekman is a coward who lied about the gift and absconded to Africa to avoid the inevitable fight with his wife.  Lorelei refuses to return the tiara on principle, which gets her and Dorothy kicked out of the hotel.  Adding salt to the wound, Mr. Malone also reveals Mr. Esmond has cut off Lorelei's financial support leaving her out on the street.  He then tells Dorothy what hotel he's staying at because he's a horrible person who seems to be on a personal mission to separate her from her loyal best friend.

Instead of rolling over and admitting defeat, the girls quickly get a gig at a local bar.  As if on cue, Gus travels by airplane to reunite with Lorelei, only to get the cold shoulder in return.  While money is important, trust is more valuable to Lorelei.  Mr. Esmond has only revealed himself to be like any other man in Lorelei's life - showering her in gifts when times are good, but the second things get hard, they sell her out or drop her flat.

This scene is by far the most famous in the movie, if not the most famous of Marilyn's career.  Countless musical artists, movies, and even playmates have referenced "Diamonds are a Girl's Best Friend" with varying levels of media literacy about what its ultimate message is.  Most of the time it is used as shorthand for love of materialism, but in this context it is Lorelei's way of getting under Mr. Esmond's skin.  If this is all you think I am, this is all I will be to you.

I love Marilyn's distinctive vibrato (beautifully showcased in "Bye, Bye Baby"), but she was not the only one to sing on this song.  Howard Hawks credited Gloria Wood for the more operatic parts in the beginning, and the ghost singer to end all ghost singers Marni Nixon has also claimed she dubbed over some of the lines. I honestly don't even mind - the majority of what you're getting is Monroe herself with the others giving her a boost where it went a little beyond her skills.

Also according to Hawks' biography "The Grey Fox of Hollywood", the test run of this number Mr. Cole staged was with Marilyn "wearing nothing but diamonds with a little horse's tail coming out of her ass with a little diamond horsefly on the tail", which like... I'm sure this is somebody's fetish, but how the fuck does that fit in this movie? Could you imagine if they would have asked Carol Channing to do that??

ANYWAY, after Lorelei finishes the number, the cops show up to arrest her and take back the tiara. She quickly discovers it has been stolen out of her room leaving her with only one option - getting Mr. Esmond to pony up the funds and get her out of a jam. The end of The Saga of the Tiara is pretty convoluted, but here's the short of it:

Dorothy poses as Lorelei and gets arrested by the cops to give Lorelei some time to wrangle 15k dollars

Malone meets up with Mr. Esmond Senior at the airport as he's travelled there to fish his son out of a French nightclub

Malone also bumps into Piggy at the airport, giving the game away that he is not, in fact, in Africa, while also pretty much admitting he's the one who ratted out Lorelei

Malone and Mr. Esmond Sr. head to the courthouse to watch Lorelei get stomped on, only to be confronted with Dorothy in a wig

Malone decides not to expose Dorothy because she admits she loves him and resigns from working with Mr. Esmond Sr. while relinquishing his salary

When Dorothy/Lorelei tells the judge the tiara has been stolen Malone knows where it is and hauls Piggy to court to play hot potato with the headpiece

With the tiara "returned" to Piggy, the girls are off the hook.

After Lorelei is informed everything has been resolved she tells Gus to take a hike. Instead of accepting Lorelei's rejection, Gus confronts his father and goes to bat for their relationship. Lorelei, finally getting some reassurance from Gus, convinces Daddy to let her marry Sonny for his money.

Of course, this film made in the 1950s ends with a double marriage - Dorothy to Ernie and Lorelei to Gus - proving that wedding rings really are a girl's best friend. Whomp whomp.

Lorelei and Gus seem like a good match.  He loves doting on her and she loves feeling appreciated.  His timid disposition is partially what attracted Lorelei to him, but his willingness to fight for her and prove he won't be a complete jellyfish when it comes to important matters really sealed the deal in her eyes.  Ernie and Dorothy, however... what is the appeal?  I feel like she settled for another useless pretty boy.  He lied to her the majority of the time they were together in order to make money off her friend's personal business.  While he began to earn some good faith by resolving the problem he took part in creating, he seems quick to judge and has proven he can't be trusted.  How exhausting will it be for Dorothy to live with a man who never has anything nice to say about the people she loves?  I give it a year. Dorothy's animal magnetism cannot be tamed.

I am absolutely smitten with Gentlemen Prefer Blondes. It's fluffy without being frivolous, good-natured, entertaining, and fun as hell. I giggle incessantly at every Dorothy comeback and every statement Lorelei makes with sincere severity. Not to give the game away too early, but it is going to be incredibly hard to top this movie on my own Best Movie Musicals of All Time list.

Thanks for reading on tumblr!  If you’ve enjoyed this post, please consider helping me fund this project by donating to my ko-fi :)

[this-is-mine-and-mine-alone]

ABOUT ME

Call me Ky (rhymes with eye)

I'm 22 & a libra

I'm a WOC

I'm sadly a working girly

I'm not straight (I don't have a gender preference)

I use she/her pronouns

I'm pretty introverted & shy

I suffer from depression & anxiety

I've had a tumblr since middle school

This is my 1st time being interactive with others on this app so please be sweet

I literally made this as like a low-key rant diary/Void to scream my interests & thoughts because life,years of trauma,& damn near crippling anxiety has fucked up my social skills & I just need an outlet. I don't expect I guess anyone to respond to this. I just don't want to continue being alone with my feelings & I think this could be a place to start. If anyone does respond to this you're welcome to comment (within reason & with kindness I beg of you),but be warned I'm super shy/anxious & will shy away from responding to messages (think of me as a scared stray & don't shake your pet food can at me too intently). I just want to get all my jitters/hyperfixations/Madness/general feelings & ickiness out. Also just an FYI dni if you're a minor/uncomfortable or triggered of talks of abuse & mental illness/a bigot of any kind/sex stuff (I'm not gonna go on about my nonexistent intimate life don't worry. I don't even really talk about sex like that I just have an interest in femdom stuff from time to time (me being the dom) & I think the psychology of it is interesting as well as the dynamic).

Ok now for the fun stuff

My interests (off the top of my head) include:

Movies

*horror/action/sci-fi/thriller/animated movies from my childhood & "some" of the new stuff

I like most MCU & DCEU movies (I owned a tumblr in the mid to late 2010s I'm practically a veteran. But I will say I have more nostalgia for the older mcu movies,but I kind of fell off in the past few years of fond remembrance outside of fandom for it as a whole. I actually really enjoy most of the new stuff (all of the shows except fatws/some of the 1st season of loki)

My favs include

Studio ghibli (I didn't watch a single movie till the age of 19) specifically Howl's moving castle/Spirited away/princess mononoke/kiki's delivery service/arriety/the cat returns. These movies fill with legit smiles & warmth

All the john wick movies (mf Keanu Reeves)

All of the evil dead movies

The lost boys

Scream 1/2/4/6

The old bratz/Monster high/barbie movies (barbie specifically from the vhs-to before the 2010s)

Jennifer's body

Bride of chucky/seed of chucky/Cult of chucky

The 1st 2 bill & Ted movies

The Matrix/the matrix reloaded

Mad max fury road

Constantine

Sucker punch

Isle of the dogs

Train to busan

Promare

All of the mha movies

Teenage mutant ninja turtles mutant mayhem

CATWS

Thor the dark world

Black panther

The amazing Spiderman

Into the spider-verse

Across the spider-verse

Black panther wakanda forever

Saw 1/2/3/x

Ginger snaps

Kill bill 1/2

Battle royale

Death proof

Moulin rouge

Chicago

The hunger games

Bullet train

Midnight

Ballerina

Obviously old childhood movies from Disney/pixar/DreamWorks & just really almost any kids movie that came out when I was young

Music

*literally anything but country (no offense to people who like country music. Off the top of my head I listen to rock/pop/metal/kpop & jpop occasionally/hyperpop/50s,60s,70s,80s,90,& early 2000s music/rap/hip hop/some anime music/some game soundtracks (especially Bayonetta/dmc)

Video Games

*I usually stick to horror/action with the occasional comfy games

Games that I have played (played/finished & or played/haven't finished) include:

Dmc 1/2/3/5

Bayonetta 1/2/3

BOTW

TOTK

Horizon forbidden west

Horizon zero dawn

The last of us & dlc

The last of us part 2

Ghost of tsushima

The quarry

Resident evil 4/5/6/7 & the Resident evil 3 remake

Animal crossing new horizons

Stardew valley

Sunset overdrive

Sims

Astral chain

Unpacking

Cult of the lamb

Spiritfarer

Uncharted

Spiderman (I haven't played the new one yet yes I know it's amazing & yes I will be playing it once I get a ps5)

The tomb raider reboot trilogy

The arkhamverse batman games

Old ds games from my childhood (my littlest pet shop/mario/hello kitty big city dreams/some of the Mario & Sonic Olympic games/cooking mama/monster high/a few bratz games)

A decent amount of mortal kombat/tekken/street fighter & 1 doa game when I was a kid

There's definitely more I just can't think off anything else

I'm not really a first person shooter game person & really don't like 1st person pov in games. I don't know why I just don't care for the perspective.

TV

*The walking dead (I fell off on season 7 I think)

TVD

Old law & order svu/criminal minds reruns

You

Bob's burgers

Invader zim

Blue eyed samurai

Live action one piece

Owl house

Amphibia

The imperfects

Voltron legendary defenders (I was very late to the party but I remember chaos)

She-ra princesses of power

ATLA

The legend of korra

Adventure time

Gumball

Arcane

Santa Clarita's diet

The boys

Gen v

Castlevania

Castlevania nocturne

The legend of vox machina

Supernatural (preferably season 1-9)

The umbrella academy

Lovecraft country

Moon knight

She-hulk

Alice in borderland

Sweet home

All if us are dead

Squid game

Ms. Marvel

Wandavision

Hawkeye

Peacemaker

Infinity train

Burn notice

6teen

Abbott elementary

Modern family

Pose

Freakazoid

The Simpsons

Old nick/cartoon network/Disney cartoons

[Can I say teen wolf even though I only watched 1 episode but I know the lore from fan-fiction/tumblr/clips from YouTube from my preteen years]

I obviously watch more things but like I said off the top of my head

Anime (yes this is a separate section from movies/shows)

*Black butler

Naruto/Bleach/haikyuu/sailor moon/one piece/Inuyasha (I'm on the 1st seasons & won't finish anytime soon but I do enjoy them

Assassination classroom

Tokyo ghoul

Demon slayer

The apothecary diaries

Kamisama kiss

Noragami

My hero academia

Soul eater

Fire force

Angelbeats

Dorohedoro

Spy x family

Attack on titan (I remember when the 1st season came out & watching it in the 7th grade I believe & got bored waiting for the next season. I did like it though & it was my first anime I watched & will probably catch up at some point)

Jujutsu kaisen

The ancient magus bride

Yona of the dawn

Maid sama

Durarara!!

Durarara!!x2

Angels of death

Death note

Trigun

Trigun stampede

Devil may cry

Tokyo ghoul re

Tokyo revengers

The God of high school

Helsing

Akudama drive

Helsing ultimate

Seraph of the end

Toilet bound hanako-kun

Nanbaka

Gangsta

The boondocks

Life lessons with uramichi oniisan

That time I got reincarnated as a slime

Fruits basket

Chainsaw man

Bed & breakfast for spirits

Kill la kill

Black lagoon

The promised neverland

Madoka magica (1st anime I watched by myself not what I expected by a long shot,but still enjoyed)

Little witch academia

Kakegurui

Kakegurui twin

Ouran high school host club

Komi can't communicate

Bungou stray dogs

BOOK

* maze runner

Hunger games

Anything by edgar allan poe

Hooky

I just recently got back into reading recently & I have a fuckton of books to start reading.

I flit from fandom to fandom,even returning to old ones. Anything that catches my interest & becomes my new hyperfixation. I usually juggle between a few at a time. Usually games/movies/anime. Also obviously I read fanfic on tumblr (duh).

Final notes: I like history/mythology/polytheism/writing/media/cooking/baking/winter/nature/animals & I'm a dog mom. His name is anubis & he's a dalmatian.

That's about all I can think of as of now

PS for the love of fuck dni MINORS/RACISTS/ANTI-LGBTQ+/INCELS/MISOGYNISTS/RADFEMS & JUST ANYONE WHO'S HATEFUL/IGNORANT.

I have to deal with enough nonsense,bullshit,& all around dumb shit irl keep it off my blog & away from me please & thank you.

Goodbye I love you *smooches* ♡

[purplekiwis]

Summary: It's no secret that as a figure skater, you're fed up with the local hockey team being treated like royalty... and your ex's status as a player isn't helping much either.

Genre: Exes to Lovers (Enemies to Lovers if you blink 😉)

Warnings: it's angsty and smutty

Wordcount: 8K

A/N: i'd like to thank @sucker4angstt for requesting this concept! it was a blast to work on and i hope you guys have as much fun reading it as i had writing it 🤍

THIS IS A 2 PART SERIES | PART 2 IS HERE ❄️

OTHER WORKS BY ME

“You wanna do black again? Didn’t we do that last time?” Niall inquired as he switched off the car’s ignition.

You had just shown him a dress you had found the night before in hopes he would like it, but as you had already been expecting, he claimed black was boring and wouldn't stand out among the competition. “Well, yes but this one’s a different style from the last one. It would go well with our song.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to try something new sometimes, you know? Like white or blue… perhaps even red?” He suggested as he removed both your skating bags from the trunk and placed them down by his feet.

You hid a sigh while you took your bag from him. It never got easier to admit that you had to consider the price before picking the costume. For whatever reason, there was always a hint of embarrassment associated to that admission. Needless to say you would also prefer to wear a bright colored outfit with lots of glitter and transparencies, but those were simply out of reach for your budget.

“We did red once already, that time we did Moulin Rouge.” You reminded him as you walked side by side, each of you steering your own carryon.

“Hm, that’s true. I’d forgotten about that.”

You hadn’t been lucky enough to land a parking spot right at the front of the sports centre that morning, which sucked big time given how chilly it was outside. Getting up early for practice was never fun, but during the winter months it got almost unbearable. Especially when the sky was all hazy and mostly black by the time you woke up.

“How would you feel about like, a nude?” You proposed, despite the fact that you weren't really fond of the color.

“From you?” Niall sniggered. “Thanks but I think I’ll have to pass.”

“Come on, can't you be serious for like 2 seconds? This is important.” You huffed, pretending like you hadn’t found his little joke amusing. “Also, um... I know this is probably like super annoying for you but my budget’s kinda tight right now, so if you’d be willing to repeat one of our previous outfits, that would be awesome.”

Niall laughed a bit. “Stop with that nonsense, will you? It's not annoying and of course I don't mind. Sides, it's not like it'll even matter what we wear. We'll do so well that the judges won't even think to pay attention to our outfits.” He then turned to you and stated, “...That being said, I still don't want to wear black again.”

“Aff, fine.” You grumbled. “Which one do you want to wear then?”

“Hm.. I dunno, actually.” He took a moment to reflect. “How about we just start naming them until we find one we both agree on?”

“That’s not a bad idea, actually.”

“Ready?” He asked, you nodded. “1, 2, 3…”

“Pink.”

“Turquoise.”

“Navy.”

“Green”

“Orange.” You said it in unison, but your faces immediately turned down in distaste after. “Nevermind the orange. I still don't know what we were thinking when we picked those.”

“Yeah, me neither.” You admitted through a deep breath in. “I’d be fine with the green though, as long as it's the dark one.”

“Make it the medium dark, and it’s settled.”

You reached an agreement right as you were approaching the entrance of the sports centre, where some figure skaters you had grown familiar with over the years were gathering. Surprisingly, neither unpacking nor warming up.

“Are you guys all done already?” You asked them as you dashed towards your usual warm-up area. It was spacious and had a canopy that kept you dry in case it rained. “I didn’t realize we were late...” You earned Niall's judgmental stare with your sentence. He had been rushing you all morning, but you were sure you weren't that late. As far as your calculations were concerned, you were just in time for your first warm-up.

In days like these, it was always very tempting to skimp on the off the ice warm-ups and go straight to the rink, but with the championship right around the corner, neither you nor Niall would take that risk. Because although you also competed individually, it was as a pair that you really stood out. Your journey to nationals depended on you both, and you weren't going to jeopardize all that for being too lazy to stretch.

“Don’t bother starting.” One of the skaters, Natalia, intervened when she realized what the two of you were up to. “The Emperors booked early morning.” She clarified, upon noticing your perplexed looks.

“They did what-” You gasped, all the more startled.

“They can’t do that.” Niall said after you, and the look on his face was as distressed as yours. “They already take up most of the rink’s time!”

“When their stupid coach came we tried to tell him that, but he refused to listen. He didn't even pause- just walked straight through as if we weren't here.” The new skater jumped into the conversation. You hadn't officially met her yet, but you knew her name was Mei, a.k.a the girl Niall had been crushing on for weeks.

Redness engulfed his cheeks as soon as she looked his way, but he still managed to respond, albeit stutteringly. “Yeah, I'm not too surprised… Y/N’s ex plays on the team and he always used to say the guy was a moron.” You pointed out Niall’s oversharing by flashing him a chastising look, but he was too engrossed in Mei's beauty to notice your death stare.

You cleared your throat, now feeling a touch hot in the face too, before turning to the remainder of the group, “Have you spoken to couch Jo or Paul? Aren't they supposed to come teach the kids right after we leave?”

“Yeah.” Natalia sighed. “Apparently they’ve had to rescheduled some of the skating classes but nothing much. Basically it's fine for everyone but us.”

“So what time can we come now?” The Emperors could have taken your place, but surely they had to have left a gap somewhere.

“That’s the thing.” Mei explained. “There’s no time apart from the lessons we have with our coaches. A spot is available in the afternoon, but that's just not feasible for anyone.”

“What? No! How’s that even allowed?” Your question was hardly noticed by the other skaters as they were preparing to leave. "Wait- Where are all of you off to? We can’t just leave; have to solve this.”

“What do you propose we do, then?” Mei groaned. She was clearly on edge, as was everyone else in the group. “We’ve already tried. We won't get to solve anything right now, so staying here is a waste of time.” She grabbed her skating bag off the floor. “You can still try if you want, though. Didn’t you used to mess around with one of them? Maybe he could help.”

You scoffed as you watched Mei leave with the rest of the group, “Unbelievable...” You commented with Niall, only to find him looking at you like he agreed with her. "Oh no, not you siding with her. Are you kidding me?”

“I mean, she’s got a point…” As he went on, a goofy smile spread over his face. “I can't believe she actually spoke to me. This is crazy... and she’s even hotter up close…” Rolling your eyes, you started gathering both your bags in a tacit plea to leave. “Please, Y/N... can you go talk to him? I don't wanna stop seeing her now that she's speaking to us.”

You took a long, deep breath.

You really weren't in the mood to do all that, but unfortunately your ex happened to play team captain for the hockey team... so perhaps, if you could flip the tables and get him to be on your side, there was a small possibility his opinion could give you some advantage when it came to straightening everything out.

That was what you needed to remind yourself of.

There was a deeper purpose to this than Niall's desire to speak with Mei. It was important for everyone. None of you could afford to miss practice now that the championship was about to start. The time you spent practicing with your instructors was good but having time to skate freely every morning was critical.

“Fine. I'll go, but you’re coming with me.”

You had wanted Niall to come along for the emotional support, but that idea was quickly scrapped once the centre’s receptionist, who was acting a lot more standoffish than usual, refused to let you walk past the front desk.

It occurred to you that his behavior might have something to do with how Mei and the rest of the skaters handled that morning’s dreadful news. If that was the case, his mood was about to get worse because you were planning to bring up the issue as well… until Niall stepped in, “Oh, we're not here to skate. We’re here because my friend thinks she dropped her bracelet on her way out of the rink yesterday. We just wanted to see if we can find it.”

“I have orders not to let anyone in right now. If you want, you can come by after eight to look for it.” He answered monotonously, his gaze fixed on the computer screen.

“Ah, we have school at eight; we can't come at that time I'm afraid.” Niall’s revelation elicited no response. So, after a moment of awkward stares, you continued,

“If we don't go now, someone else might find and keep it.” The man’s expression told you that he thought you were being a nuisance, but you kept playing by Niall’s script and added, “The bracelet was a gift from my mother. It has a lot of sentimental value...”

Finally, just as you were beginning to lose hope, he sighed and said, “If it's just the bracelet you're looking for I'll let you go find it, but he stays.” His head motion indicated that he was referring to Niall.

“I’m sure it would be easier if we searched together...”

The man sat back with a sigh. “Look, it’s nothing personal. I'm simply doing what I've been told by one of the coaches after he got harassed by your little squad at the door… which is not to let anyone in the rink while the boys are there. I'm already making an exception for you when I shouldn't, so it’s either this or you'll come back later.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I hadn’t been informed that the hockey coaches were now in charge of the place...” He ignored your provocation, but his gaze was drawn to the agitated tapping of your nails on the counter. “You know what, it's fine. I get it. I’ll be quick, oh- and don't worry, I'll be careful not to harass the local royalty while I’m there.”

You didn’t stick around for further verbal cues, just swiped your membership card, walked past the barrier and turned toward the rink. It was only after you got there that you realized how angry you were. Knowing that the hockey team was being treated like kings and given the freedom to do whatever and however they pleased with zero regard for anyone else was one of the most infuriating things you'd ever witnessed. It wasn't exactly surprising taken they always got prioritized for being the bigger sport, but they had never taken things this far before. This situation was ridiculous, and you weren't going to tolerate it.

So although you agreed to come speak with your ex, now you were actually hoping to speak directly with the coach instead. Maybe your efforts were in vain, but you had to, at least, try to get your point across. There was only one problem - he was nowhere to be found, and you didn’t know anyone else on the team well enough to ask on his whereabouts.

Speaking of the team, the guys were dressed in practice gear, which was far more basic than their game jersey’s, but still had the same colors of red and gold. You assumed they hadn't started properly training yet, as they were still warming up with crossovers and pivots.

Among the many broad-shouldered athletes there, your eyes were immediately drawn to the player whose number you knew best: 77.

Not that you’d ever need a number to identify him.

Even with hockey armor covering his frame, you knew his body’s contours like the back of your hand. Picturing the tousled curls hidden under his helmet, the green of his eyes, and the curvature of his lips was easy. A little too easy.

“Styles,”

He turned when he heard your voice. His eyes were obscured by the visor, but you could swear you saw his brows quirk. “Y/N,” He didn't look too surprised by your presence. In fact, he looked more amused at you yelling his name than at you being there.

After a few seconds of skating by he came closer, and as he stopped next to the board, his skates scratched the ice a little too harshly for someone who wasn't aiming to make a spectacle of himself. You weren't wowed by his effort. You could execute that same slide better and with greater polish if you wanted to.

“Where’s your coach? I’d like to have a word…”

He signaled the rooms on the top level with his head. “Up there in a meeting. Why, what do you want from him?”

“Not that it's any of your business but it looks like there’s an issue with the rink’s scheduling.”

You saw the grin he was trying to hide. “Oh, what’s that?”

“The skaters had it for 6am, as usual.” You attempted to highlight. “Ergo, you shouldn't be here.”

“No you didn’t.”

“Yes, we did.”

“I don't think we would be here if you had booked it, would we? If we took the spot, it was because it was available.”

“Well yeah, because we’ve never had to book it - because we had a spoken agreement and we’ve always followed through on it.” He didn't respond, nor did he appear very willing to engage in the conversation you were trying to have. “Are you listening to me?”

“I am,” His voice felt harsh and didn't quite fit the easy stance he showed as he shrugged. “I'm just not sure of what you want me to say – I’m sorry? Does that make you feel any better?”

His cynical tone didn't sit well in your stomach, but your face didn’t let that show. “Okay, look - I get it. You’re in the league and you need to practice, but that doesn’t give you the right to take early mornings from us. It's only two hours out of the entire day, couldn't you just let us keep them?”

He appeared somewhat bored by your approach, but not completely. His facial expression had an edge to it. He was irritated. “It wasn’t me who made the call. If you want to lash out at someone, try the guy at the front-desk or whatever. I can't help you.”

He was really starting to piss you off, but worse than that, there was a part of you that was getting legitimately hurt by his indifference. He used to be one of your biggest supporters, and now it was like he simply didn't care. “Even if it wasn't you who made the decision, you knew better than anybody that this would disrupt our practice and you still didn't say anything.”

“Why would I? Wasn't it you who just said it's none of my business? If you have an issue, it’s your place to handle it - not mine.”

“Harry, your stupid team already takes up most of the rink’s time! Our qualifying season starts in two weeks, we need to practice.”

“Well, I'm not sure if the news has reached your self-centered little world yet but our season has already started, and we have big games coming up. So sorry to break it to you but we're going to take all the extra rink time we can get.”

“Not unless I can’t do something about it.” Your implied threat was meaningless. You had no plan whatsoever... apart from the original one to get on Harry’s good side, which had just been blown. You'd figure something out though, anything to ensure they wouldn't get their way. “You’ll have to go through me first.”

He got closer, coming right up to your face as he leaned over the border and uttered one last, quiet “Gladly,” before skating away to rejoin his team.

The bleachers were packed by screaming fans in replica shirts. 

The big day had come. The Emperors were playing their first home game of the season and as the concentration of bodies suggested, a considerable portion of people had come out to witness it firsthand… including you and Niall.

After what the fuckers had done to you, you almost felt like a traitor for showing up to their game. However, you had purchased tickets weeks ago and since you had spent the money, you figured you might as well come and root for them to lose. That worked for a while, until they actually started losing.

As soon as the visiting team scored a goal, it became impossible to disguise who your heart was really rooting for. The Emperors were jackasses, that was beyond dispute, but they were the local team and it was hard to cheer for strangers when the other players were people you had “known” for years.

“You haven’t touched your pretzel…”

Niall's comment drew your gaze away from the game for a millisecond. “I don’t want it right now, I’m not hungry.” Your reply came out garbled due to the way your cheeks were getting smothered between your hands.

“It’s gonna go cold if you don’t eat it now...”

“You’re right. Here- you can have it.”

“You sure?” His hesitant smile expanded when he heard a fragmented “Yes” fall from your mouth. The “Thanks,” that followed was mumbled around a large bite. “Oh man, this is nothing like the hot dogs they sell here.” He chewed as he spoke, “Have you ever had one? They always put sauerkraut on them and it’s like, who even likes sauerkraut that much, you know what I mean?”

“Mhm,” you hummed again, eyes fixed on the local team captain and the player battling him for the puck. "Get off his ass, shithead." you blurted as another player floated over and pushed him against the board. It was the same player who kept harassing him throughout the first two frames of the game. There had already been insults, menacing stares, and provoking shoves exchanged. This wasn’t going to end well.

“You know you don’t have to do that anymore, don’t you?” Niall asked after a lengthy pause in conversation, what caught you off guard.

“Don’t have to do what? Eat sauerkraut?” You questioned back, a little confused.

“Get nervous for the games.” He clarified, which sort of took you by surprise. You weren't aware that your feelings were showing that clearly. “Since, you know…  you and Styles aren’t a thing anymore and all. You don’t have to get all anxious over him.”

Your focus immediately diverted from the rink as a result of Niall’s remark. “This isn’t about him, Niall. It’s about the game- I want us to win.”

“Uh huh… because of your deep love for hockey, I assume.” His face lit up with laughter. “Not any of the players in particular, just the sport itself.”

“Shut up- Oh, that son of a... oh, great! Now he's starting a fight...” You muttered inwardly once you saw Harry's gloves hit the ice first, followed by the other player's.

The initial strikes to the head sent the helmets flying. Thereafter, it was all direct blows. The two boys faced each other angrily as they dodged and struck each other with bare hands and faces. The crowd roared loudly as the violence between the two players increased. “God, I hate when they fight.” You admitted, despite it being nothing new. “Why does it always take the referees so long to split them?”

“Ah, well, you know that's how the game works. The crowd loves it.”

“No, I know that but… it’s barbaric.”

The other player’s left hand was gripping Harry's jersey as if he was going to rip it apart, while the right continued to strike jabs in his stomach. But Harry didn't cut loose; he whacked him with the same force. They both went down, and just like that there was blood on the ice. A laceration over Harry's eyebrow had resulted in what looked like a crimson mask covering his face, most likely caused by his helmet’s visor as it leapt out of his head.

As the boys hit the floor the referees finally intervened and broke up the fight.

But the two were back on the ice as if nothing had happened after spending five minutes in the penalty box. Harry’s cut was no longer bleeding, but the bloodied towel he left behind served as a solid memento.

“I swear my Nan is more flexible than you.” You teased Niall as he tried to strike the mermaid pose. He was struggling, so his tongue was sticking out.

“You can't compare your Nan's yoga to mine. She's been doing it for longer than I've been alive!” He grumbled as he attempted to move his elbow to the proper position by imitating your posture. “I’ll have you know though, that I've never had any complaints on my flexibility before. In fact, it’s what I usually get the most compliments on aside from my-”

“Shhhh.” You were shushed by the yoga instructor for speaking over the soothing music.

You had never taken a yoga class before but considering your time on the rink had been compromised, you figured it might be a good idea to give it a shot since it still allowed you to practice your balance and flexibility.

You'd gotten cocky and chosen advanced yoga, assuming it wouldn't be too difficult to keep up given your figure skating background. Big, big mistake. You were living it up at first… however, as the class progressed and poses like 'the crow' and 'the flying pigeon' began to appear, you found yourselves admiring everyone rather than trying to keep up.

As a result, you were only doing the same five poses over and over, which got boring really quick. Besides, you weren’t even mastering the intermediate ones...  as Niall was struggling with flexibility, while you were having trouble with all the arm strength exercises. That was when you started to get chatty, even though you were well aware that it wasn't appropriate.

You'd already been told to be quiet twice, so when your phone went off in the middle of class you didn't hesitate to roll up your mats and leave, figuring you had already caused enough disturbance.

“We'll never be allowed back there again...” Niall remarked on the way to the locker rooms. “Did you see how she looked at us when your phone rang? That wasn’t very Yin and Yang of her…”

“Well… to be fair, we were being incredibly rude...” You checked your phone for the notification you had received during class. “Speaking of rude, you won't believe who was texting me just now…”

“Who?” He realized who you were referring to when you made a face and pointed your head toward the rink. The yoga classes were held in the same section, the one dedicated to indoor sports. Despite being on opposite ends, you knew the hockey team was there because you had passed by and heard them. “No way... are you serious? What did he say? Does it have anything to do with the rink?”

“He didn't say... just asked if I could meet him at that cafe we used to go to after class. He says it’s urgent.”

“Do you need a ride? I can drop you off on the way back from class; it's close by.”

“No, don't worry. I end class earlier than you today, so I can take the shuttle like I used to.” You were guessing Harry had remembered you had a similar school schedule on Fridays, which is why he didn't bother telling you a time. He knew you would be there by 3pm... supposedly. “I don’t know if I’m going, though… I don’t know what he wants.”

“Yes you are.” Niall asserted, as if the idea of you not going was the most insane thing ever. “What if it’s something to do the rink?”

“What if it’s nothing to do with the rink?”

“No, come on… it has to have something to do with it.” He insisted. “I know you want to go; you're just nervous about seeing him.”

“No, the only reason why I am nervous is because he isn’t telling me what he wants. It's weird.”

Niall paused for a moment as you reached the door for the women’s locker rooms. His face let you know he was debating whether or not to tell you what was on his mind. He decided to do so. “It's obviously up to you whether you go or not, but if I were you I’d go just to see what he wants. You don't have to sit there all afternoon if you don't want to... and if things get too awkward, you can text me and I'll show up there to save you.”

“Right.” You replied even though you knew it wasn't the most appropriate answer.

You realized it would be stupid not to go knowing it could be about the rink. There was a good chance it was, which was supposed to get you excited, but in reality was doing the exact opposite. Selfishly, you wanted this to be about you and nothing else.

As petty as it sounds, you wanted to get there and hear Harry admit that he missed you, that karma had gotten him good, or something else that made you feel like your suffering had been worthwhile even if you were never getting back together. That was why you were afraid to go… because you would be disappointed if he looked as fine as he did last time.

“Does that mean you're going?” Niall asked, cutting through the pitiful thoughts racing through your mind.

You chewed on your lower lip. “I guess.”

You saw him as soon as you walked into the cafe.

He was sitting alone, but there was a girl “standing” next to his table. To refer to that as plain standing would be inaccurate. You knew what she was doing, and most of all you knew what for.

She was showcasing the best she had to offer. That was why her hips were pushed back, and her gut was pinched so firmly.

She fixed her hair over her shoulder, and you got a glimpse of her face. She was hot enough to get you to stand up straighter, but not to make you wonder if you should have spent more time getting ready before coming.

You stayed back and waited for their interaction to be over. For you, this was nothing new. You’d grown so used to watching girls fawning over him that it rarely made you jealous anymore, despite it always being slightly unpleasant to witness.

The bright side was that experience taught you when to worry… and now wasn't the time.

She appeared to be asking a question about game tickets, but you could tell by the look on Harry's face that he wasn't all that interested in chatting with her. He looked like he wanted to be left alone. He was doing that thing that he used to do when random people approached him back when you were together - he smiled politely but barely said a word.

It took the girl some time to catch on, but eventually she got the hint. He wasn’t interested, and no amount of flashing her cleavage would change his mind. She stepped away, and you took it as your cue to walk over.

“Hey.” You greeted as you got to the table, hurrying to remove your scarf and jacket before you took the chair facing Harry’s. Not that there was any other option to pick, anyway.

“Hi.” He smiled slightly, before pushing one of the coffee cups on the table towards you. “I hope you don’t mind that I went ahead and ordered you a drink...”

His gesture brought you back to memories frozen in time, but you didn't allow yourself to linger on them too long. You and Harry used to meet at this coffee shop all the time. In fact, it was once one of your favorite places in town but being here now only brought back sensations you'd rather avoid. Still, for the sake of politeness, you accepted his drink. “Oh, um… thanks. You didn't have to get me anything...”

“I know I didn’t.” He took a sip of his cup, and you impulsively mimicked his action. The coffee which used to taste like love, suddenly seemed almost too dull to drink. “You still like those, right?”

You wondered if he had noticed your grimace. “Yeah, it's what I always used to get from here. I'm surprised you remember…”

“I guess I haven't had enough time to forget most things about you yet.” A twinge of discomfort shot through your chest at his words. You suspect he caused it on purpose. “I have a sharp memory.”

“I'm not sure that'll last if you keep hitting your head like that.” Your point was lost on him, which kind of made you regret making it in the first place. “You've got a bruise… on your...”

“Oh, that.” He tried to mask it with a quick ruffle of his hair, but you could still see it. “That's nothing, forget about it.”

“I wouldn't exactly call it nothing, when-”

“I didn’t ask you to come here to talk about that.” He intervened before you finished. “There’s something I need from you.” He admitted, crossing his arms over the table.

“'All right then, what is it?”

“That jersey I gave you, do you still have it?”

“Why are you asking?”

“I need it back.” His request caught you completely off guard. Your mouth opened and tried to speak, but nothing came out. “Mine got ripped and the spare I gave you is the only one I have left.”

When you finally spoke, it was quickly and angrily. “I'm not giving it back.” You said, and Harry let out a groan. “You never mentioned I was only allowed to keep it until you needed it back. It looked like a gift to me.”

Another sigh followed, this time deeper and more frustrated. “That’s because it was a gift… but now I need it, and I'm pretty sure you're not wearing it, so what difference does it make?”

You crossed your arms and shook your head. “You can't ask for gifts back, that's nasty.”

Why, of all things, did he have to ask you to give back his jersey? It was the most special gift he had ever given you. And now just because he never got to see you wear it, it automatically meant you didn't care for it?

That was simply not true!

Behind closed doors, his jersey was still a favorite.

Frankly, the only reason why you stopped wearing it during games was because you thought it would be demeaning not to. It would have been weird for everyone, plus you didn't think Harry would appreciate you walking around with his number on your back when you weren't together anymore.

Not that people thinking he had a girlfriend would have been enough to keep any hookups from happening if he wanted them to. When it came to Harry, it seemed nothing was ever enough to discourage girls from trying their luck. It wasn't just because he played on the hockey team. That was a bonus, but it was insignificant compared to the rest. His looks, his character, his sense of humor… from the surface, Harry looked like a catch, and finding that he was everything but, hurt. You still loved him, so it hurt. You hated how it all still hurt.

“I'm not asking for any of the other stuff back. I'm asking for my jersey because I desperately need it; else, I wouldn't be asking.” He explained as you sat there, feeling your chest squeeze as you half-listened to his reasoning. “Please Y/N, this is sort of critical for me.”

His slightly pouted lips suggested that he had also not forgotten how to sneak his way inside your heart. It wasn't a difficult task, but it was aggravating how well it still worked.

The worst part is that he didn't even do it on purpose; it was just the way his face looked whenever he wanted something and was told no. It was the same face that managed to get your panties to come off that one time right before a game, despite your fear of getting caught.

“Fine. I'll give your stupid jersey back,” When he smiled in relief, you halted your words, but only for a moment. “Under one condition.” His nostrils flared as he took a long breath, gearing himself up for what you were about to say next. “You'll have to convince your coach to give us our ice time back, otherwise you can forget it.”

“Y/N, can we not do this right now, please? I already told you that I had nothing to do with that shit.”

Harry’s reaction left you feeling oddly disappointed. Not angry, but close to it. That was when you realized you had made the same mistake again. You had been expecting him to be concerned, or at least to act as if he cared. It wasn't his job to care. It wasn't his job to make sure you were happy.

Nonetheless, Harry could still be the key to getting what you wanted.

It didn't feel good to have to coax him into backing you, but it was your duty to do so for Niall and the rest of the skaters. The hockey team had crossed a line, and if this was the only way to stop them, so be it.

He might not be thrilled to help you, but he had the means to do so. If he wanted to get a favor, he would have to do one for you as well. In the end, it was only fair.

“I believe you, but you're the team captain, and I know he'll listen to you.” You took another sip of the coffee you had almost forgotten was there. “I'm only taking a favor for a favor… sounds pretty reasonable to me.”

“Okay, fine, whatever. I’ll see what I can do.”

You cocked a brow at his reaction. “That's not enough. If I can't see any improvements, the deal is off.”

Harry stretched in his chair, crossing his arms behind his neck while he mused. “That's called extortion, you know? It’s a felony.”

Your lips curled as you snorted at his remark. “It's not my fault you got in a fight and need a new jersey; I'm simply taking advantage of the circumstances. Besides, you aren't so innocent yourself... or did you think I couldn’t tell you were trying to butter me up earlier by getting me my favorite drink?”

Harry’s eyes widened with what looked to be confusion and amusement... and perhaps even a little happiness. “You were at the game?”

Your face got warm. “Oh, uh… yeah. I went with Niall. He likes watching sports, so...”

“Ha, I see...” His face turned expressionless. “You're wrong about your drink, by the way... I wasn’t trying to butter you up, I just thought it'd be a nice gesture.”

“Yeah, I guess...” You smiled a bit, before deciding to congratulate him on his team's victory. “You played well yesterday. Everyone went crazy when you scored that goal at the end.” The moment you finished talking, you noticed Harry was slouching in his chair, just staring at you. It was almost trance-like, the way his eyes weren’t able to stop smiling. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” He asked, but then in a sudden move, he got up, picked up his backpack and slung it over his shoulder. “I have to get going. I've got homework.”

You didn't really buy his excuse, but you also didn’t question it since you knew he wouldn't tell you whatever it was that was on his mind. “Yeah, okay.” You said instead, despite your enquiring face. “I guess I’ll see you...”

“Tuesday.” He completed. “I'm not sure what time yet, but I'll let you know.”

He was gone in an instant, leaving you alone with nothing but two unfinished cups of sad, tasteless coffee to keep you company.

Tuesday came by quickly.

Amidst the week's rush of lectures at university, runs and yoga classes with Niall, as well as preparations for the championship, you barely registered the days passing by.

As far as your agreement with Harry goes, you knew he had kept true to his word since there were no hulking hockey players in sight that day when you got to the rink.

Given that you had agreed on Tuesday, you didn't bother getting up early the mornings before to check on the rink's availability... and considering that you had the schedule for it over the weekend, you ended up booking that open spot in the afternoon right after lunch for free skating, even though it wasn't the most ideal.

The return to the ice on Tuesday morning, however, was a welcome relief.

The weather was peaceful… the ice was fresh, and you and Niall were able to make progress on a tricky jump that had been giving you the willies as of lately. It wasn’t perfect yet, but at least by the end of the morning you no longer felt like you were putting Niall through the danger of getting a neck fracture every time you leapt onto his shoulders.

Later that day, you met with your choreographer and he too noticed a positive shift in your performance. Having barely been on the ice over the week other than with your instructors, the shift was somewhat surprising... but it also made sense to an extent, since the break had allowed you to focus on other forms of training that you normally considered supplementary – like practicing balance and endurance.

After your choreography lesson, Niall invited you to go to the mall with him.

He wanted to check out a new tech store that had opened there, and since you had nothing better to do than finish the schoolwork you were procrastinating on, you accepted his invitation.

It was a fun afternoon, though you ended up spending much longer than you’d originally planned just browsing around. You barely noticed the hours passing, which was mostly Niall's fault because he had this extraordinary ability to beguile people with conversation topics that were seemingly random but made for weirdly interesting discussions.

His conversation starters almost always initiated with “Have you ever thought about...” and then something crazy would follow. It was impossible to stop the tangents after that, especially if he happened to touch on a subject that you considered to be interesting too. When that was the case, the two of you would just go on and on like a never-ending pit.

This happened several times that noon.

So, despite having been anxious as hell for the better part of the day knowing you’d be meeting up with Harry later, the whole thing had almost slipped your mind by the time he texted you asking if you'd at the centre soon.

“Shit.” You muttered while replying to his message saying you were on your way. “Can you drive me to the sports centre? I need to get something to Harry and I'm too late to walk there.”

“Yeah, sure.” Niall said as you began making your way to the escalator that took you to the underground parking lot. It had become less crowded since you arrived, so finding the car wasn't too difficult. “So what’s going, you’ve been talking with him again?”

“Nothing is going on. I told you about him asking for his jersey back. I'm surprised you forgot…”

“Ah! True, true.” He responded as he climbed into the driver's seat. “I just wanted to ask if there was anything else besides that. I know you aren't fully over him yet, which is understandable, but...” He paused, then let out a sigh. “I guess what I’m trying to say is I don't want my friend to end up in the same position again if you get what I mean.”

“Yeah, I get what you mean.” You leaned back in your seat and stared out the window. “But don't worry, that's not going to happen. It's pretty obvious he doesn't like me, but even if he did…well, as the saying puts it… once bitten, twice shy.”

You talked about something lighter the rest of the way there. Niall wasn’t the type to bring up uncomfortable topics or force you to talk when you didn't feel like it. He usually just listened when you shared, which was good. He still gave his advice if you asked for it, but when it came to your situation with Harry, that wasn't what you needed, and he was aware of that.

What you needed was a friend that respected your decisions, but still cared about your well-being at the same time. A friend who understood you'd want to go meet your ex on your own but still offered to wait and give you a ride home afterward, so you didn’t have to walk alone at night.

The next day, the hockey team was playing outside of town, so there was a big, tall bus parked at the back of the sports centre.. and a shadowy man standing right next to it. The sky had already darkened so it was hard to see, especially on the side he was on, which wasn't getting bathed by the centre’s lights like the opposite one was.

Logically, you knew it must be Harry, but you didn't want to get too close without being sure. It could be the bus driver, or someone who happened to be there for something else. So instead of walking over, you stood at a reasonable distance and cast a wide-eyed glance in all directions, before lowering your gaze to your phone screen to text Harry letting him know you were outside.

But before you could send him anything, you were startled by his voice. “You can come over here, I don’t bite.”

You hoped the nighttime blindness worked both ways because you had jumped a little with the scare, which had to have looked a little stupid. “Oh, it is you! I couldn't tell from back there… it’s er…dark.”

If he saw you jump, he didn’t acknowledge it, instead he asked, “Did you walk all the way here by yourself?”

He seemed concerned that you had, which gave you a warm feeling in your belly. You didn't know what to make of it. “Oh, no. I was at the mall with Niall when you called so, he drove me. He’s parked at the front.”

“Hm.” Harry grunted dryly, which sparked a little awkward pause until he finally asked the dreaded question, “Do you have the jersey?”

“Oh yeah- one second... it's in my bag.” You smiled stiffly before you started rummaging around for it. “I’m not the best at doing laundry so the color might have gotten bit worn off from the washer, I hope that’s not an issue.”

“That’s fine.” He tossed the jersey over his shoulder, disregarding how neatly you'd folded it. “Thanks.”

“Okay, um… you must be pressed for time, so…”

“Not necessarily.” You found the coldness in his voice upsetting, and you couldn't figure out why he was stalling you when he obviously wasn't delighted to see you. “So how’s the situation with the rink, did it all work out?”

“It did.” It was a brief response, but you didn't feel like standing there chit-chatting just for the sake of it. “Thanks, for helping and… I guess for asking too.”

“Don’t thank me.” He said it brusquely, which irritated you even more. “Okay, um… I guess I’ll see you when I see you.”

“Yeah, that.” You curled your lips in a weak smile, and Harry did the same before setting out to go back inside the building. Sadly, upon watching him leave, you couldn't resist calling his name to see his face again. “Hey, Harry-” His head jerked back at the sound. “Have a good game tomorrow. I hope you win!”

He looked like he was about to look away, but he didn’t. Instead, he returned your gaze, as though he was contemplating something. There was a strange glint in his eyes, and it lingered there as he began walking back towards you. And then, wordlessly, swiftly and without a warning, his hands reached for your face… and his lips reached for a kiss.

You squeaked in surprise at the feeling, but that was all there was to it. After Harry’s lips' familiar texture took over, there wasn't much room left for surprises. His body steered yours backwards against the side of the bus, sheltering you from any curious eyes peering through the windows above. “Harry, what-”

“Stop talking,” He muttered against your lips, still laying kisses in between. “I know it's messed up but if we both keep quiet, no one has to know it happened.”

Your throat was itching to respond, but his kissing made your head blurry. His mouth lowered to taste your neck, kissing every inch of skin it swept by. Then, just when you thought it couldn't be any better, his tongue slipped out and found a spot that had you gasping quietly.

The touch of his body was setting yours on fire, reviving it in a way it hadn't been in ages. Your kisses grew hotter and heavier, and before either of you could pause and wonder if this was right, Harry was already fumbling with the button of your jeans - and you were letting him.

“Do you still think of my hands?” You could feel the warmth of his words on your skin as his fingers slid in. His pace was slow, almost too slow, as if he was enjoying listening to the eagerness of your heartbeats. “I think of yours most times; whenever I play with myself, it’s always you… your hands... your mouth... your pussy…”

You both moaned as Harry reached the hot spot hidden beneath your panties. He rubbed a bit around it, in slow and steady circles. “I’ve always loved how fast it reacts to my touch… it gets so wet and creamy, and your clit… fuck, ‘s all puffy and twitchy…” His fingers pressed harder on it, stroking more firmly.

And shit, you were getting there already. So, so close that your entire body was twitching uncontrollably against his. “Please… d-don’t stop.”

“Already? Fuck baby… you haven't been giving it the proper attention lately, have you?” You shook your head in response to his question. It was almost embarrassing how quickly you had gotten to that point, but Harry was right; you hadn't had an orgasm in a while… and of course, he could tell. “I'm not gonna lie, I already suspected that she wasn't being well taken care of, but shit... that's just disgraceful, isn't it?”

You could hardly gather the strength to answer him. The only sound you could muster were a few high-pitched "mhmms" that were muffled against his neck. You groaned when he pushed his fingers in and pierced through your hymen a little too briskly. “Still?”

You felt a little offended by how surprised he sounded but acknowledged his question with a nod. “It’s okay, just breathe…” He whispered softly into your jaw as his motions became gentler.

This wasn’t the first time Harry had used his fingers on you, but usually it was more the outside bits that he focused on. He loved giving oral, so you did a lot of that… the fingering thing only came later once you started having conversations about him taking your virginity. If it were up to you, you’d no longer have it, but Harry had wanted to take things slow. He knew your mind was prepared, but he had wanted to make sure your body was too… just so the experience was painless and pleasurable for both, and not just for him.

The stretching burn you were feeling eased after a while. It still stinged a little, but it wasn’t a bad type of feeling. Slowly but surely, it was transforming into a different type of heat, the kind that spread through your abdomen and got you to spasm around Harry’s fingertips.

He was going to make you cum if he kept on doing what he was doing…

Which he didn't.

He stopped right before you got there.

You stared up at him in confusion, right before you started glancing around to make sure no one was walking out of one of the buildings or approaching the bus. “What- what happened? Why did you stop?”

“Stop with what, hm?” That feeling of disorientation pervaded your mind for a moment, but reality set in once he started re-tucking your jeans back into place with a self-satisfied smile on his lips.

This was it.

He was done.

“That was a cute little warm up, wasn't it?” He shamelessly asked as he zipped up your fly. “It's a shame it had to end so abruptly… you seemed to be enjoying yourself... but don't get me wrong, this has been good fun for me too.”

With nothing to say or do, you just stood there astounded. You were torn between sobbing out of frustration, seeking an explanation, and simply leaving without uttering another word. It wasn't like whatever decision you made mattered anyway since none of those options would accomplish you anything.

The mess had already been made.

You shouldn't have allowed this to happen, and shouldn't have enjoyed it, but you did. It would have been much smarter to put a stop to things right the moment Harry kissed you but, despite the circumstances, you couldn't bring yourself to do it… and now, after everything he'd already done, he was ridiculing you.

When you looked at him again, you noticed that all of the traces of humor that had been gracing his features had dissipated. His gaze felt like steel, harsh and bitterly cold. “You should go. Niall's waiting for you, remember?”

His chest got shoved back by your clasped fists. “You’re an asshole!”

He tried to grab your wrists, but you shoved his chest again. It was enough to make him back down, although he still managed to get a hold of your arm. He used that to keep you from leaving. “I may be.” He spoke right in your ear. “Now you know what it feels like to be left stranded. I hope you fucking liked it as much as I fucking did.”  

PART 2

[multi-fandom-of-madness]

Just to Love and Be Loved in Return

Fandom: Victorious

Pairing: Beck Oliver x Reader (she/her)

Type: Angst with a happy ending

Warnings: Swearing, Jade is a bitch (I love her though), theater kids being theater kids, Jade calls someone a whore, I didn’t fully proofread, and a few Moulin Rouge references

Summary: You and Beck broke up two weeks before a Halloween party. You're still deeply in love with each other, but after being put through that pain, you don't want to listen to him. So what do you do?

Word Count: 5,422 (I got carried away...)

Notes: This has a song in it (I don't own the rights or anything), but I recommend listening before reading (It's linked below). All characters are 18+.

—

It was one of the best times of the year: Halloween. Everyone was getting ready to dress up and tick-or-treat (even if they were too old), going to parties, or just hanging out at home watching scary movies. It’s the night to be scared and eat so much candy to the point of tooth decay, and it is always one of the best holidays.

You, however, were not entirely excited.

Your friend, Tori, and her sister were hosting a Halloween party to participate in tonight's festivities, and you had decided to help with the set-up. It wasn’t like you were nervous to hang out with Tori while setting up; she wasn’t the issue. Some of the other people, who made an offer to help, were the issue.

You knew that this could be a bad idea considering your recent breakup with one of the helpers, Beck. It had been maybe two weeks, but your feelings for him still lingered; hope keeping them there.

You had left for Tori’s house around 10:30 a.m. and had gone to get coffee for the two of you. You debated on asking if anyone else wanted some, but when Tori told you no one was there yet, you didn’t bother.

You got to Tori’s house, and texted her so that you could get some help with taking stuff inside. There were a few decorations she wanted but couldn’t find, and since you hosted a Halloween party last year, you brought them.

“Hey, Y/n!” Tori said as she opened the car door and took the two coffee cups. “You’re a lifesaver; I am so tired.” You grabbed a few bags and followed her inside. “Thank you for coming to help with the setup, by the way. I really appreciate it.”

“It’s really not a problem, I didn’t have anything better to do anyways,” you said with a smile. That was a lie. You had plenty of better things to do. For example, not seeing Beck or Jade today sounded like a great idea.

You had left your makeup and costume in the trunk of your car, so you left to go grab them, Tori tagging along just for the hell of it.

You got to your car and had set your coffee and costume on the top of your car when you heard another car pull up. Looking to see who the driver, and apparently passenger, was. You held your breath. Jade drove Beck. Of course she did.

You tried to quickly grab your things, but fate had many other things in store. Your coffee fell, spilling everywhere, and as you tried to pick it up, you felt your costume fall on your head. “Good god, does anything else want to fall and make this day worse?” Tori had your makeup bag in hand, and you watched as it slowly unzipped, the contents spilling everywhere. “The universe is out to get me,” you complained, picking up your costume to keep it from getting in the coffee, and making attempts to grab the makeup.

Tori apologized, and grabbed your costume to take inside so that you could grab the makeup. It wasn’t her fault, you didn’t properly close the bag, so you couldn’t be upset with her. Thankfully there wasn’t too much damage to any of the more expensive things. You could tell that an eyeshadow pallet had busted considering the amounts of shiny pigments now littering the concrete.

You almost had everything back in the bag as Beck walked up to you. “Need some help?” He offered. You didn’t answer, but he grabbed the remaining lipsticks and a few other things that were still out of the bag. “Here.” He put the rest of your things back in your bag, and you zipped it up. You muttered a quick thank you, and quickly went inside.

“Hey, wait,” Beck called as he walked up to the door, Jade following close behind, but you just decided to shove past Tori and make your way to drop the stuff off in her room, knowing that any conversation with him would lead to you in tears. You knew they would both have to come upstairs, but you just needed a minute, so you threw your stuff on Tori’s bed, and walked into the bathroom right across the hall.

“Just let her go, she obviously doesn’t want to talk to you,” you heard Jade tell him as they made their way upstairs. You always assumed there was some sort of jealousy behind her actions. You knew that she used to have a crush on Beck, but he never reciprocated those feelings.

You knew that you were being childish about the whole situation, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. The relationship ended kind of poorly. He decided that he wanted to take a break, but he wasn’t communicating why, and he just suddenly broke it off with no explanation.

It took a week to do anything other than get out of bed and go to school, where all feelings were just worsened because as soon as Jade found out, she had taken advantage of the situation. Even though you two had become really good friends, she was being a bitch, to put it simply. You knew Jade would try to say something about it, that’s all she has been doing, and you really didn’t want to hear it today.

“I don’t see why you’re so upset about it, you just need to drop it,” you heard Beck say from the other side of the door.

“Well she doesn’t have to act like a bitch. You broke up with her, and she needs to accept that,” Jade responded. You knew she was just jealous, but there is no reason for her to act like this over something that she shouldn’t even be involved with.

“This isn’t your thing, though. You need to accept that.”

“I’m just saying that you could use someone who will actually be good for you. Y/n isn’t that person anymore,” she continued. You knew she wouldn’t stop until she was given a ‘good enough’ reason, but you didn’t have the energy to give her a reason. You opened the door to the bathroom as they walked into Tori’s room, and you looked behind you to see Beck freeze in the door.

He turned around and opened his mouth, but you just turned the other way and went downstairs.

—

Shortly after the little interaction, Cat and Robbie joined, and the decorating could finally commence. 

“Okay so I need Jade and Cat to go put out the stuff for the lawn. Beck and Robbie, if you could get the stuff that needs to be hung up in tall places put up, that would be great. Y/n and I can work on the inside stuff.” Tori gave out lists of things that she wanted in each area, with a diagram of suggestions (that weren’t really suggestions) telling people where things should go.

You watched as everyone quickly went over to where the decorations were and got started. It hopefully wouldn’t be a long process as long as everyone was helping out.

It had been about an hour and as the decorating continued, you noticed that you and Tori were the only ones in the room. Setting down the garland you were holding, you walked over to her. “Tori, can I talk to you about something?”

She put the bats that were in her hands down. “Of course. What’s up?”

You sighed. You didn’t want to be the girl who constantly talked about her ex, but you needed to talk to someone, and she was the closest. “It’s about Beck,” you paused, waiting for her to say something, and you continued when she kept quiet. “I went upstairs earlier and hid in the bathroom, but I could hear Jade and Beck talking. Jade was being rude, talking about how Beck needed to forget about me. Beck didn’t really respond because I walked out, but he looked like he wanted to. I know I’m just being silly, and I’m probably overthinking, but it got me wondering about me and him. He’s been trying to talk to me whenever he gets the chance.”

“Maybe he just needs to explain himself and give you closure. Whether you want to talk to him about it or not is up to you, but I would say wait until you’re ready.” You weren’t sure if that’s what you wanted to hear or not.

“I don’t really want to talk to him. I honestly don’t even want to look at him,” you explained. She gave you a look of pity, placing a hand on your shoulder, and you just sighed. “I don’t know. I probably should just forget it for now. We have a party to get ready for.”

—

The decorating was coming together nicely. The party wasn’t for another few hours, and everyone was getting pretty hungry. You decided to go pick something up for everyone because it was an easier choice, and you needed to get out of there. Calling Andre, you got in the car and started driving. You didn’t want to be alone right now, and he was your best source of comfort.

“So from what I’m hearing, you should talk to Beck,” he said.

“I wouldn’t even know what to say. ‘Hey, I’m still desperately in love with you, and Jade sucks, so come back and date me because I’m the best person for you?’”

“I think that sounds perfect. See, you’ve got this. No reason to stress,” he joked.

“Thanks, Andre,” you huffed. “I don’t know what to do. A part of me doesn’t want to be with him at all because he was the one who broke it off, and left me without reason, but the other part of me is still very much in love with him. I honestly don’t want to even go to this party…I’m just so tempted to drop off the food and ditch.”

“I don’t think you should do that. Maybe you’ll find someone to hook up with, it might make you forget about Beck.”

Rolling your eyes you responded, “You know, you’re really not helping.”

He laughed before yelling something, most likely to his grandma. “Hey, so I have to go, but I can call you later if you absolutely need me to.”

“I think I’ll be okay. I hope your grandma is okay.”

“She’s fine, she’s just being her.”

“Have fun with that,” you said.

“I’ll try.” And then he was gone.

You made it to the takeout place, and got everyone’s orders, checked to make sure everything was right, and went back to Tori’s house.

—

“I think that’s it!” Tori said, admiring the work done around the house. The whole atmosphere had changed and the decorations looked great. Fake spiders and bats were strung up everywhere, there was a zombie in a wheelbarrow with a party hat, sunglasses, and a coconut that Jade stole from Sikowitz, a fog machine, and definitely more that really made the room come to life. “If you guys wanna go on ahead and get changed people will start arriving in around an hour give or take.”

You looked over to Beck who had already gotten up to go do whatever, and couldn’t help but feel regret. Everything he did made you feel something. He was what you thought to be your perfect match, and it pained you to know that he no longer was. You looked away and tried to just focus on the party, hoping that it would make you feel better.

You had just gone upstairs to get ready when he walked in. You watched as he grabbed his bag and began to walk out, not saying a word until he stopped before grabbing the door handle. “Y/n?” He turned around. You didn’t know if you could handle him talking to you right now.

Trying to settle on a response, “Yeah?” was all that would come out. You didn’t want to have this conversation before the party.

“I wanted to talk to you. I haven’t-”

“Beck, I’m sorry, but I really just want to enjoy this party. I’m not interested in hearing anything about us tonight. You said it was over – we were over, and I…” you paused, not entirely sure whether or not you wanted to say something you didn’t really mean. “I’m okay with it.”

The look he gave you was that of pure pain. You thought that those words were the ones he wanted to hear, but from the looks of it, that was far from the truth. All you heard from him was a sad sigh, “I just wanted to say that I’m sorry,” and then he grabbed his bag and he was gone.

You didn’t entirely understand what he was sorry about, and you didn’t even know if you should care. Except you do, and it just hurts so much.

You ran a hand through your hair as you picked up your bag. You started with makeup, which for the costume, was fairly simple. You and Beck decided that you would go as Christian and Satine from the Broadway version of Moulin Rouge as soon as you heard of Tori’s party. You didn’t know if he was still planning on being Christian, but you spent too much money not to use your costume.

You kind of just sat in Tori’s room while everyone else was getting ready, the only other person who actually used the room was Tori, and she didn’t mind. She needed help getting her eyelashes on anyway.

“So are you excited about tonight?” She asked as you held a set of teezers dangerously close to her eye.

“Honestly, I don’t know,” you responded, setting the eyelash perfectly.

“Why not? It’s going to be fun,” she insisted.

You blew on the other eyelash to get the glue tacky before also applying that one. “I just can’t help but get the feeling that Jade has it out for me, or that something is going to go wrong tonight.”

“I don’t think you should worry. There’s going to be a ton of people, and who knows, maybe you’ll find someone cute to take your mind off Beck,” she said with a smile.

“That’s almost exactly what Andre said,” you said with a small chuckle as you walk over to your bag. You pulled your black and tan bodysuit, robe, and fishnets out of your bag, and grabbed your boots. The outfit was almost an exact replica of the one Satine wears when she first meets the Duke. “I’m going to go change in the bathroom, I’ll be back in just a minute.”

It was an easy costume to get into, the biggest struggle was zipping it up, but it wasn’t anything that you couldn’t handle. You looked in the mirror and pushed your hair being your ears. So maybe it wasn’t that the costume was too expensive to not wear, it was returnable, but maybe you just wanted to make a statement. Wearing the other half to a couples costume after a breakup? Almost a power move.

You turned the handle to the door and walked out, hearing the floor creak from the room next to you. Jade was standing at the door. “You look amazing, Y/n,” she said, with a smile and tone that was almost definitely fake.

“Oh…thank you, I like your costume too,” you tried returning the compliment, feeling that danger was ahead and trying to defuse it in advance. She was wearing a costume that resembled Janis from Mean Girls.

She huffed out a laugh and you could feel embarrassment creeping up your face. “I just don’t understand why you’re being such a bitch to Beck. He hasn’t done anything wrong.” 

“What?” Her statements took you off guard.

“I mean I get that he broke up with you, but he was probably just trying to save his reputation.”

“Jade-” you started before she cut you off.

“I mean look at you! You look so cheap. No wonder he left. Did you just put this on to try and impress him? Trying to win him back?” She put on a mocking tone, and gave a little pout.

“Why are you being so rude? Why are you always so rude?” you asked, trying to figure out a way to get her to stop. You knew she was just trying to get a rise out of you, but the words hurt either way.

“You’re pathetic,” she said, ignoring what you said entirely. “You think he would want to be with someone as disgusting as you? He doesn’t love you, he never loved you, and he never will. But by all means, continue to try, that way we all can enjoy the show when you inevitably embarrass yourself.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“What the hell is wrong with you? All you’re doing is being an attention seeker, and it’s not cute.”

“Just leave me alone. There is no reason for you to be acting like this,” you thought you had raised your voice, but it was just a whisper. Tears began threatening to fall.

You heard Tori’s door creak open and watched as she walked out, trying to come to your rescue. “Jade? What the hell?”

“All you are is trash, just some leftovers Beck threw out.” She paused, and you began to walk away. “Stop being such a whore, and go home.” And then she was gone.

“Y/n?” Tori put her hand on your shoulder, but you just shrugged it off.

You watched as she went back down the stairs, and then the tears started to fall. They weren’t sad tears, they were angry. Angry because of Jade, angry because of Beck, and angry because of the party. “I’m going home,” you stated, not listening to the pleas from your friend. You grabbed your phone, which you didn’t realize you left in the bathroom and raced down the hall, not caring about the clothes and makeup you left in Tori’s room, you’d get them later.

“You shouldn’t listen to her, she’s just jealous. Please, don’t leave, it’s going to be a fun night,” Tori tried to bargain. 

“If she wants me gone, then I’m gone.” You couldn’t quite hear what she said after that, you were trying to block everything out.

“Y/n?” Beck called as you ran down the stairs, angry tears flooding your vision.

“Leave me alone, I don’t want to talk to you.” You didn’t know whether that was a lie or not.

“Y/n, please,” he begged, trying to grab your hand, but you slipped from his grasp, walking a little faster. The music had already started, but you could hardly hear it over your heart beating. Or maybe it was your head pounding.

You made it out the front door, not realizing he was still chasing you until he grabbed your arm tight enough so that you couldn’t escape this time. “Beck, please just let me go. You are the last person I want to see or talk to right now,” you said struggling against his grasp, trying to rip your arm away.

He gently cupped your face so that you would look at him, and you did, until it was too painful. “Look at me.” It didn’t sound like a demand, more like a request. You looked at him, and he began to wipe away your tears. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t have to tell you anything,” you stated. His mouth dropped to a frown. “Just please leave me alone.” His hand left your face and dropped onto your shoulder.

“I’m not letting you go until you tell me what’s wrong.”

“Coming here was a mistake. I just want to go back home.” You tried yanking your arm again, but to no avail he wasn’t letting you go. He tried pulling you over to lean on the wall, but you weren’t budging. “Beck, please,” you were pleading, metaphorically down on your knees, begging. “I just want to go home.”

“No you don’t. I know you too well. What is wrong?” He emphasized the last sentence.

“Everything is wrong. This party, me, you, this costume, us. Everything except for Jade. I don’t want to be here anymore.”

“Really?” He scoffed and you glared at him. “What did she tell you?” He demanded, but you remained silent. “I can guarantee you that it’s wrong.”

“Does it matter? We aren’t together anymore, in case you forgot. Now let me go, you’re going to bruise my arm.”

“It does matter because it’s obviously hurting you-”

“Why do you care?” you snapped. “You hurt me first, and you’re hurting me now. Now let go of my arm.” He dropped your arm at this, and just stood there, but you didn’t move. “You don’t get to try and make it better when you made it bad to begin with,” and then you walked away.

—

You made it home, but just sat in your living room while you texted Tori that you would come over tomorrow to get your stuff and help clean up. It was only 8:00 p.m. The party had started about an hour ago, and you couldn’t help but regret your decision. You really wanted to go, but you just felt so unwanted. There was too much going through your mind, but the genuine contemplation of whether you should go back still lingered. It could help you get your mind off of things, but you didn’t know what to do, and you didn’t want to embarrass yourself anymore.

So you sat there, still in your Satine costume, sipping on a cup of hot tea. You fixed your makeup after the crying stopped so that you could still take pictures because you were pretty proud of how your costume turned out, even if some people didn’t. You took a few photos and posted them with the caption “the unique, the indomitable, the one and only: Satine <3” and checked to see how the party was going. You scrolled through stories and posts until you got bored, so you set your phone on the table, turned on the T.V. and drank your tea.

Your phone lit up, so you went to check it when you saw Beck’s username pop up, saying he liked your post. You rolled your eyes and turned ‘do not disturb’ on, and decided to get some better clothes on.

Before you went upstairs to take off your costume and get ready for bed, you heard a knock at the door. You didn’t think any trick-or-treaters would come by since it was later and there was an empty candy bowl by your door with the sign saying to “only take one,” but you still wrapped your sheer robe to conceal something, trying not to scar a child.

But it wasn’t a child, it was Andre. “Hey pretty lady,” he smiled. He’d come dressed as a Grim Reaper, and you had to hand it to him, it was a good costume.

“What are you doing here? There’s a party going on.”

“I’ve come to collect the Sparkling Diamond so that she can have some fun,” he said, his smile growing a bit wider.

“I have had my share of that party, Andre.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun! There’s karaoke, some pretty good food, and you look stunning in that outfit, and you should show yourself off.” You laughed at this.

“I just…I don’t want to talk to Beck right now. I can’t face him because I said things I regret and I don’t want to think about it,” you explained.

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t do anything, you won’t even see him tonight,” he offered. You contemplated the decision, wondering if it really was worth it.

“It could be fun…”

“It will be fun,” he corrected. You smiled at this. “So is that a yes?”

“Fine, I’ll go, I guess.”

He grabbed your arm and began walking before he froze and said, “Before we go…if I may…a bit more rouge? Yes?”

You let out a laugh at the reference. “Always.”

—

“Y/n! You’re back!” Cat was the first to greet you, giving you a hug. Her hair was pulled into two pigtails with black extensions spread throughout.

“I love the Daculaura costume, it's very cute.”

“Thanks! Come on, let's go dance, or sing some karaoke!” She did a little shimmy and grabbed your arm so you followed her to the dance floor. 

Some kid was already on the stage, singing some song that you didn’t quite recognize. But you didn’t care and you danced, your mood beginning to life. It felt good to just throw away all of your cares and just dance.

“Oh my god, Y/n, welcome back!” Tori gave you a hug and paused. “There’s no karaoke line! You should sing something,” she said, putting an arm around your shoulder and walking you towards the booth.

“I don’t know…I wouldn’t even know what to sing,” you stopped, looking for them in the crowd, with no luck. Thank god. “Actually…I might.” You walked up to the booth, ready to request your song.

“Ay look, it’s the Sparkling Diamond!” The DJ called. “Whatcha thinking of singing?” He needed to shout over the crowd because it was so loud.

“Can you play-” A hand fell on your shoulder. You knew this hand because it has held your hands millions of times, cupped your face millions of times, landed on your shoulders millions of times. You knew this hand.

“‘Crazy Rolling’ from Moulin Rouge, please.”

“Ooh Christian is joining the party now! The stage is all yours!” He’s Christian. He wore the costume. You knew that he knew your feelings for this song. You two would sing it together all the time with no reasoning, but it became your song in the strangest of ways.

“What are you doing?” You asked, slightly shouting so he could hear over the people.

“Apologizing,” he got on the stage and held one hand out for you to take, and the other to give you a microphone. You hesitantly accepted both.

“This isn’t really the song to apologize to-” but it was too late. The music started. You looked out at the crowd of people. The song started out slow, so the dancing stopped and they were all just staring at the two of you. You didn’t know how you felt about it.

“I remember when, I remember…I remember when I lost my mind…” You stared at him as he started. He used the costume, and damn did he look good. He wasn’t using the coat, which is understandable because it was pretty hot. The sleeves were rolled up perfectly, the first button undone, exposing the top of his chest, his ascot loosely hanging around his neck. The blue was the perfect color on him. He was staring at you the whole time, but once he started to get caught in the song, you noticed the little things he does when singing. “See how I leave with every piece of you. Don’t underestimate the things that I will do.” The way his nose scrunched at certain notes, his hands waved in the air, how he would stomp when he said a line that was intense enough, all of it was perfect. 

He continued the song, glancing up on the occasion, probably to make sure you weren’t running for the hills. “Does that make me crazy? Does that make me crazy? Does that make me crazy? Probably…” His voice was enchanting. If someone told you that he was putting a spell on you, you would probably believe them, but you wouldn’t be complaining. 

You listened for your entrance, knowing it was coming up soon, and when it came up, you let every emotion out. “Baby I have no story to be told, but I’ve heard one for you, and I’m gonna make your head burn.” You walked towards him, unsure of why, and placed your hand on his chest, pushing him back ever so slightly, a smirk crossing his face. He was watching your every move so intensely that you could feel every cell in your body light on fire. “Think of me in the depths of your despair. Making a home down there ‘cause mine sure won’t be shared.”

It had come to the part where you were both singing, and you were staring each other in the eyes. Focusing on your words rather than his, you sang. “The scars of your love remind me of us. They keep me thinking that we almost had it all. The scars of your love they leave me breathless…I can’t help feeling-”

“-We could’ve had it all.” You both sang, and you grabbed his arm as he grabbed your waist.  “Rolling in the deep. You had my heart inside of your hand, and you played it to the beat.” You knew this couldn’t be acting because your emotions were running wild. Both of you were lost with each other, every person in the room vanished.

The song rolled back to just him singing and you let him go, watching his mannerisms as he put his heart into it.

A few more verses passed and you were nearing the end, unsure of what direction you were heading in together, but you were prepared for whatever happened. “Maybe I’m crazy.” His hand snaked around your back. “Maybe I’m crazy.” You looked in his eyes. “You had my heart inside your hand.” His hand went to the back of your neck. “And you played it, you played it, you played it.” His hand now under your chin, tilting your head up. Your heart was racing at this point. “You played it. To the beat.” The song finished, and neither of you could hold it in anymore. Your lips collided and you could tell everything he was feeling at the moment. The kiss was full of passion and love, anger and pain. Everything you felt was the same for him. You let each other go, and you could hear the applause from everyone, giving an awkward bow.

“Give it up for Christian and Satine!” The DJ yelled through the microphone and another round of applause burst out. Grabbing your hand, he led you off the stage. His hand was on your back again, he wasn’t letting you go. He wasn’t risking that again. You made eye contact with Tori, who gave you a thumbs up, and went back to talking to whoever she was talking with.

“I think we should go somewhere a bit more quiet,” Beck shouted over the speakers. You agreed and made your way out the front door.

As soon as he shut the door to muffle the noise, you were ready with your questions. “What was that?”

“I…I don’t know. I knew you wouldn’t talk to me without something giving you a nudge. I know how you are, and I know that I hurt you without any explanation, but I didn’t want to.”

“I don’t understand. You didn’t want to break up with me, but you did it anyway? That makes no sense,” you said, crossing your arms. This is the part you were dreading: the conversation. You wanted to talk about it, but it was terrifying. Communication is key, and you two always were great with communicating, but this is different.

“I know, and I know there’s no excuse for what I did. I just got scared, I guess. You are practically perfect, and I felt…unworthy. Like I just didn’t deserve you. I got scared, and I ran. I should’ve just talked to you about it, and now that I’m talking it over I’m realizing just how foolish I was. I love you, Y/n. I love you so much that I can’t even comprehend it, and it’s terrifying. You’re the one that I want, forever and always. I…I can’t lose you, but I felt as though I had to.”

“Beck…you didn’t have to lose me. I never would have left you because you are who I love. The only one I love, and the only one that I want to love for the rest of my life. I know we’re young, but it’s the truth.”

“I’m so sorry I hurt you, and I don’t know if there’s a way to make it up to you, but I guarantee I will not stop trying-”

“You coming back to me is enough,” you stated, softly stroking his arm. You brought a hand up to his cheek and he leaned into the touch.

“I’m back. We are back.”

[miseries-mistress]

WE SHOULD BE LOVERS | CHRISTIAN

Synopsis: Christian didn't quite know how he ended up in the electrifying atmosphere of the Moulin Rouge when he should be at his typewriter, lost in his own story, but he had caved upon his friend's consistent begging for him to step away. Now he was subjected to a glass of mediocre alcohol, but something across the room, something that would forever alter the course of his life, caught his attention; you.  

Warnings: female reader, the reader works at the moulin rouge, sex work, christian is love-struck, little bit of angst, fluff. W/C: 3579

Notes: i promise i'll write some of ewan's less popular characters. when i wrote this, i had just watched this movie and had a ton of writing inspiration. this could be better, tbh

em masterlist

Christian could safely say his entire life revolved around love. Without love, he had no purpose, simply existing between the world of the living and existing. Without love, he would have remained in London, taking a job as any man would, completing the endless cycle of disdain without the heart to change it. Without love, Christian would be no more than any other man.

All he needed was to love and be loved in return. 

It wasn't until his eyes befell a beautiful woman dressed in what appeared to be silk for the appearance of men that he truly understood his words; you.

You stopped his heart from beating in his chest, you slowed down time, and you brought him on top of a cloud- free from the world and the misery it brought on your lives. In his eyes, you were the symbol of beauty and all things divine; in that instance, you became everything.

Your body swayed with the beat of the music, lips parted, tainted with layers of makeup, your voice lost in the sea of hundreds, or what felt like hundreds. Although you lacked a genuine smile, Christian could tell from your carefree expression that the Moulin Rouge was your home, and he was merely a spectator to bear witness to your love. 

Toulouse, beside him, nudged his ribs, but Christian refused to rip his gaze away and meet his friend's, afraid that if he took his eyes off you for a second, you would vanish into the ocean of brightly colored dancers. 

While he wanted to memorize every detail of your face with a brush of his hand, reality dunked him head-first into frigid water and back into real life. He needed a name; he needed yours. 

"Have you found someone?" Toulouse asks while Christian's eyes remain hardened on your twisting figure as you turn over on a man's lap. An unprecedented flood of jealousy sweeps him off his feet, the force of it surprising even him. That should be him with his hands roaming over your delicate figure, drawing lines across the skin sheened with sweat. His lips should be caressing your skin, pulling ragged breaths from your lips that were parted so sweetly- 

He threw his head back, chasing the lust-corrupted thoughts back into the box in the back of his mind, sealing it shut with a deep breath. A part of him didn't know where these feelings had sprung from. For heaven's sake, he didn't even know your name. Yet he found himself infatuated with your every move, yearning for your pretty lashes to flutter over to where he was seated. 

"Yes," he whispered an answer to his friend's question, watching with dilated pupils as you and the tens of other dancers lowered themselves onto their knees before their partner. "Who is she?"

Toulouse followed his friend's eye line and sighed when he saw your face. Of course, Christian would be interested in you. 

You, Harold's songbird, a woman with the voice of an angel but the heart of a sinner. Anyone who had ever been to the Moulin Rouge had heard of you, but very few got the privilege of actually meeting you, for you only held private meetings with the wealthiest due to your status. There was no way you would ever agree to meet with a writer, one as new as Christian, no less. 

"That's Songbird," Toulouse shook his head knowingly while Christian reveled over your name. Somehow that seemed to fit you perfectly. It matched your flowy, graceful voice that peaked above the rest as you twirled around the man, your hips moving to the music pounding in his ears, drowning out the sinful thoughts he tried so desperately to tame. 

Toulouse swirled the drink clutched in his hand before downing the liquor. He would find a way to arrange a meeting with Songbird and Christian, even if it was the last thing he ever did. 

—

Christian isn't entirely sure how Toulouse arranged a meeting with you. He just told Christian to go to a specific building and what room it was. Christian shook his head, dispelling those thoughts. He should be focused on the opportunity he was presented with as he followed Toulouse's directions until he was led to a run-down building. The paint was peeling off the sides, revealing the stained brick underneath as the light that was supposed to illuminate the name of it flickered once, then twice before flickering off. Women roamed the streets in corsets and other scandalously-clad clothing next to the building, and feelings began to brew in his gut when Christian realized what kind of building this was; a brothel. Despite his trepidation, he entered, slightly astounded that the receptionist didn't even bother to look up from his book, allowing Christian through and up the stairs. 

205. Christian searched the worn-down plaques outside the rooms, his mind wandering as he did. What was he going to say to you? You had never seen him before, yet Christian was preparing to confess his infatuation with you. He felt nothing less than stupid, the regret already being to bleed into his skin and seep into his bones. On top of that, you would never reciprocate his feelings, you didn't know him, and your job prevented him from doing so. 

Maybe if he just talked to you, things would work out okay. He's a poet. He could do this. 

Unbeknownst to him, you had caught his gaze locked onto you from across the room the moment you entered. You were nothing less than intrigued when you found him staring so intently at you. Of course, he must not have seen your wandering gaze, but that didn't matter. What caught your attention the most was his young and youthful face, for most of the men that entered were well into their thirties, but what pulled your attention to him was his eyes. They weren't dull or ridden with lust but glistening with an emotion you don't think you've ever encountered before. You knew you couldn't go up to him, putting aside the man driving his grimy hands over your body, but how you simply longed to speak with him. No one would ever want to talk of you. This was a brothel in Montmartre, for fucks sake. No one came here just to chat.

Christian halted outside the room, double-checking the piece of paper with the room name scribbled on it. He twisted the doorknob, and to his immense surprise, it clicked and opened, creaking on its hinges. Christian took notice of the room with brightly colored walls, varying decorations spread sporadically, and the neatly cleaned bed with freshly fluffed pillows. It seemed to capture the spirit of the Moulin Rouge, your spirit, and he thought it fit you perfectly. The door clicked shut behind him, and he set his hat on the rack by the door, his ears perking at the sound of gentle footsteps.

"And I thought the writer was never planning to show." You emerged from the curtains, your hair cascading over your bare shoulders, and he had to force his eyes away from descending any lower down your stature dripping with lace. 

"Oh, hi, I-I'm Christian." He steps into the room, watching you stalk towards him. You were glad you could hide your emotions so well because the shock would have been written all over your face. It's the same man from before, the one that had caught your eye. A part of you was saddened by the revelation that he would be gone before sunrise, disappearing into the night without a trace of him for you to cling to, but that's just how these things work, and it was even more silly for you to get your hopes up of pursuing something more than a short-lived exchange steeped in impiety. You just had to play your role, receive your money, and you would remain off the street for another day. You had to focus on that, not the dashing man with a name that rolled off his tongue so easily it sent goosebumps down your arms. 

"Songbird," you replied, and Christian felt like he was going to evaporate then and there. Your voice was marred with seduction, but it trickled with honey and Gods; even your voice was pretty. Then, you place a hand on his chest, and Christian battles the urge to step back, completely baffled by the connection. 

"What's your real name?" he inquires, breathless at the contact, his eyes roaming over your face touched with enticement, which he longs to pepper with kisses. 

The question startles you in a way nothing has before. No one had ever bothered to ask your real name, content with your cleverly crafted persona, and somewhere hidden beneath the many layers of your skin, your heart involuntarily flutters. Most men by now would be discarding your clothes with haste, having their way with you, yet this man– Christian, was actually talking to you. It was like he knew you longed for meaningful interaction with him, and you welcomed the change.  

You chuckle and pull your hand free. "You need not worry about that now, my dear," you purr, sliding your hand up Christian's chest to the collar of his shirt. 

Much to your surprise, Christian stumbles back, his eyes those of a frightened animal while they seem to meet everything but yours. Now you're confused. Isn't that what he came here for? Or unless you did something wrong? You swallow the lump that seems to be growing in your throat. You can't mess this up. Everything depends on your customers and the money they bring. 

"That's not what I meant. I wanted to know who you were because..." Christian trails off, his voice sheepish. 

"I saw you dancing earlier, and I was infatuated with you." You raised an eyebrow, pacing around the man, practically trembling with anxious energy. Did he really feel the same, or was this careful deception that you were too blind to see?

"Really now?" Christian was at a loss for words, for all his poetic speech was lost upon him. Why couldn't he think straight? He surely didn't expect, out of all things you could have said, that you would question his confession. The nagging insecurity he so fruitlessly tried to oppress wondered if he was doing this right. All he wanted to do was know more about you and fall deeper into the spiral of... love? Is that what he was feeling? He craved love, the experience, the feelings, the affections, all of it, and now in the face of it, he found it hard to piece together a couple of coherent words. Quite typical of him to mess up such a chance.  

"Yes. I saw you dancing, and I was amazed by it."

"I seem to have that effect on people."

"You were breathtaking– I mean, you are breathtaking. I just wanted to find a way to talk to you." You were growing more fascinated by the second. Did all he really want to do was talk? Did he not care about sleeping with you? No, you shook your head. Of course, he wanted to sleep with you. That's what he was paying for. You internally slapped yourself. Why would you ever foolishly think he could want anything else but sex? 

"You sure all you want to do is talk?" you suggest seductively, purring as your hands run down his side. It was undeniable now that Christian was much more charming than all the rest. Ebony strands that hung neatly and delicately fall over his pale complexion, and you fight the impulse to run your hands through them.

Wait…

You shook that preposterous thought from your mind. Christian is nothing more than a customer who will leave before sunrise only to never return. Though you had to admit, his demeanor was far from what you usually encounter. While he held an embarrassed half-quirked smile, there was a hint of cheekiness behind it, almost boyish. His eyes were a strange, impossibly soft blue with flecks of silver amidst the penetrating rays of the moon, glittering like a thousand of the brightest stars. His cheeks flush a hazy shade of pink at the question you had forgotten you asked. 

"I'm sure," he nodded stiffly. Christian debated whether to touch you, but his nervousness seemed to temporarily disappear with your hands roving over his chest. His hand moved to push back the hair that strayed into your enrapturing eyes, and your breath caught in your throat. The touch was so gentle. You've been touched before many times in your life, but you can't recall an instance where the touch felt innocent, pure. Even with the slightest bit of conversation exchanged, you felt yourself falling deeper into the velvet of his voice, entranced by the validity of his words. 

"I truly do admire you, and if it's okay, I would like to get to know you better because…because I think I'm in love with you." You chuckled, lifting his chin with the point of your finger. You've heard this confession from more men than you could count. It was refreshing from the stern and cold attitudes you seemed to encounter more and more often, but it was different, exciting even for men to believe so much into your persona of a temptress. While it gives you hope for a better feature, it leaves your male counterparts embarrassed, either stabbing away in a furry or apologizing bumblingly. 

"Thank you, Christian, but I can't love." Christian stepped back, and you barely contained your disappointment, the crease between your eyebrows deepening as he looked stricken, if not appalled, by your confession. 

"You can't love? A life without love is existing between the lines of the living and dead. A life without love–"

"-keeps me off the streets, Christian," you mused, smoothing out his dress shirt. It was endearing how passionate he was about love, a feeling you couldn't quite wrap your head around, for you've never seen what love looks like. You've heard stories from the other girls about the weightlessness of love or the singular greatest feeling of genuine joy it brings them, but you've never seen it or felt it, for that matter. Your parents were no example of what love is, as told by the other girls, and living in a brothel surely is no accurate representation of it. So what was love, really? A feeling? A sensation? A reaction? Was it like hope or lust? Or was it fear that seemed to twist inside your gut at the thought of him leaving?

"Love is what lifts us up into where we belong!"

"Love doesn't pay or bring food to the table, Christian." 

You didn't understand why you were arguing with him about love. Sure he had caught your attention, but you couldn't comprehend why you were indulging in a fantasy you didn't belong in. It was ridiculous, and if you two weren't intending to sleep together, then he was just wasting your time. You needed the money, your rent bill was due, and you were fifteen dollars short, which also happened to be the amount your customers paid for your service. You needed the money, and that was the cold, sobering truth. 

You took a step away from him, but he swung around you. 

"All you need is love, Songbird."  

"You're a writer! If you can't pay, then–"

"Give me one night," his voice dropped an octave. The silkiness of it sent you dissolving into a puddle of stricken desire on the floor. His lopsided smile never dropped; if possible, it brightened at your breathless expression.

"I can't, Christian. My life demands–"

"Then run away with me."

"We just met!"

"I don't see why that has to stop us."

"You don't even know my real name."

"Only because you won't tell me."

"There's no way because you can't pay." His smile dropped, and you could see the gears turning in his head, straining to think of anything to get you to stay. He knew you felt the same as him; he saw it in your eyes and demeanor, but your job prohibited it. If he could put the material idea of money aside, he knew you could be happy with him. He just needed one chance to get you to stay. Call him a love-sick fool, but he wouldn't give up on you. This connection, like electricity coursing through his very being when he was around you, set his soul alight, and now he was burning with that same passion. 

"Just one night, in the name of love, just one night." 

You found yourself giggling as he twirled around, finding his way back into your eyes. His irises were so expressive with a mixture of childish wonder and fantasy with swirls of adoration doting within his playful demeanor. This was not how it was supposed to go. You weren't supposed to fall in love with a customer. You needed to eat and afford your rent. You couldn't do that and the Moulin Rouge if you indulged in your fascination. 

"It's impossible." That was the right thing to do. You dismissed the thought entirely before you ran away with it because you knew that if you stayed any longer within Christian's intoxicating presence, you would never leave and bind yourself to the endless devotion of love. 

"All you need is love," he sang sweetly, his breath inches from the shell of your ear, sending an array of goosebumps down your arm. You froze. The erratic beating of your heart pounding in your ears was all you could hear before his lips parted, releasing a breath that traveled straight down your spine, fogging your head with an unfamiliar haze of an even more unfamiliar emotion. "Don't you see, darling?"

You had to stop, push the man away, and find someone willing to pay for your services. Before you knew it, the back of Christian's hand faintly touched your face, running down it briefly. His touch was as light as a feather, like he feared you would break. You could get used to this feeling of being loved by a man who only wanted you to return his affections. His hand lingered for a moment longer before returning to his side, the phantom of his touch the only reminder that it was real. You felt yourself being drawn in, dizzy under his intoxicating presence, engrossed in his sparkling eyes that seemed to dazzle even brighter under the moonlight seeping through the curtains. 

"Don't leave me this way. Your tantalizing touches breathe life into my soulless body." 

"You would think I would possess enough sense to turn away." 

His lips quirked into a crooked grin, bringing butterflies erupting from the depths of your stomach. "You would think so."

You can't... 

The bitter reality brought you crashing down from your euphoric high. You wouldn't be able to make any money, and Christian certainly couldn't support two people, no matter how talented he is. You take a step back, away from the center of the room. You can't.

"We can't. It's unrealistic, a reality we cannot afford to indulge in." You dropped your gaze. Not so deep down, you knew your words were empty, but you had already fallen too deep into the rabbit hole to climb back now. 

Christian's face dropped, his heart sinking into his stomach. As selfish as it may sound, he needed you, your love, your touch, your body, everything. He needed it deep within his soul. He longed with every fiber of his being for that feeling of being loved in return so much, so he was afraid it was blinding him. But how could the love he harbored for you be so wrong when all he wanted to do was envelop you within his embrace and whisper words of reassurance into your ear? 

"Just one night," he whispered in a desperate plea, his eyes squeezing together while you felt your back hit the wall, sliding over your exposed skin. "One night to show you where love will lift us up to."

Every thought concerning the future was haphazardly thrown from your mind leaving you breathless in the present. There was no need to worry about money, security, housing, or any of it while Christian looked at you so dearly. 

"What if I fall?" your voice comes out as a whisper as your eyes find his freshly shinned shoes. Christian's calloused forefinger slips underneath your chin, raising your head, so your eyes meet his, and you discover a sense of solace among them.  

"Then I'll catch you when we land."

[daydreamingleclerc]

let him know - mason mount

in which, while having sex, mason makes you answer the phone to your ex, and neither of you can be blamed for the show you put on over speaker. 

warnings: friends to lovers, oral (m, f), unprotected sex, cocky!mason but also soft!mason, language, teasing, sex over the phone i guess??? hasn’t been proofread.

requests are closed. 

“surprise!” 

mason’s hands removed themselves from your eyes and you took your time to adjust to the low light in his livingroom, the whole place adorned with blankets and hung up duvets that created a fort over his sofa that spread all the way to the television mounted on the wall. 

“mason, i...” 

“do you like it?” he asked, his voice full of hope as he looked at you through his eyelashes, his nose scrunched delicately. he’d offered to spend valentines day with you after you’d found yourself single for the first time in a year, and he wanted to make it special. 

“i love it,” you breathed, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, “thank you so much.” 

his hands splayed around your back and he drank in the smell of your fruity perfume combining with the honeysuckle scent of your shampoo, and it left him feeling dizzy. he thought his heart couldn’t skip another beat, but he was proved wrong when he felt the warmth of your lips on his temple, lingering over the skin after you’d left a soft kiss to the even softer flesh. 

there was an unspoken tension between the two of you, and when you pulled away it was as if mason’s subconscious had forced some words out of his mouth, “i had to make it special for you, didn’t i?” he chirped, a hand slinging to his hip as he watched you pull the makeshift duvet door apart and step inside. 

you laughed when you saw his mattress on the floor at the foot of his sofa, covered in blankets and duvets, and nearer to the far wall, underneath the TV lay an array of food and drink, and the gesture made your heart flutter. “there’s no way you own this many blankets,” you teased, pulling him in with your fingers looped in his, “you barely own four plates.” 

“hey, i own more than four plates now, thank you very much.” 

“only because you hosted christmas last year and i wouldn’t let you borrow my spares.” 

the two of you laughed, and as he towered above you, your heart skipped a gentle beat. his hair flopped around the sides of his head and his teeth shone a bright white in the darkness of the fort, and he sunk down to the pillows beside you. 

“borrowed the blankets from mum,” he admitted sheepishly, reaching over your torso to snatch a tube of pringles and the TV remote. “she’s expecting them back tomorrow, you can come see her if you want, she’s been asking about you.”

“still asking why we aren’t dating?” 

mason shot you a knowing side eye, and you giggled at your best friends facial expression. when you leaned forward to pull the snack cart towards you both, mason found his eyes landing on your bum, and he couldn’t seem to pull them away; only when he found his tracksuit bottoms getting tighter he didn’t have a choice. 

“moulin rouge or mamma mia first?” 

you turned to face your best friend, a bewildered look on your face when your two favourite movies - movies you knew he hated - left his lips. he had the TV remote pressed against his bottom lip, his fingertips tapping against the plastic gently and you squinted your eyes in his direction. 

“what’s the catch?” 

“nothing,” he laughed, amused. “moulin rouge or mamma mia?”

“moulin rouge,” you sighed, popping open another tube of pringles and settling down into his side, your head resting on his chest. 

as the movie progressed, mason began getting more confident with the movement of his fingers against your arms, running the tips up and down your skin and swirling little patterns onto your shoulder nonchalantly. the feeling between you both was mutual, that much was obvious and neither of you wanted to make the first move through sheer embarrassment, but when mason’s fingers hooked under your chin and got you to look at him, you realised this was it. his lips found yours, soft and sweet like children having their first kiss. his lips were warm and years of pent up thoughts, wondering how this moment would eventually come around came swarming back into your brain and made you dizzy. 

you pulled away first, but before mason could apologise for the brashness of his actions, your lips found his again, this time longer, needier, but still soft, caring.

your phone buzzed just as ewan mcgregor began to sing the elephant love medley, and it pulled you away from mason’s lips. when you fished it out of your pocket, your exes name came flashing up on the screen and mason’s heart sank when you shifted eagerly, bringing the phone up to your ear. 

“hello?”  

“Y/N, it’s zach,” your exes voice filled the room like water, drowning the pair of you and everything inside, “i didn’t think you’d answer.” 

“what do you want, zach?” you asked, shifting again so your back was pressed against the sofa, and mason panicked. he realised in that moment he had to do something - anything - to keep you from leaving his side. he never wanted you to go, and especially not back to zach. 

the next thing you felt was mason’s lips on your neck and one of his hands wrapping around your waist, keeping you steady. you looked down at him, furrowing your eyebrows in his direction but he simply hummed, “just relax, Y/N, do you trust me?” a nod from you was all mason needed to carry on with what he was doing, “put the phone on speaker and carry on talking, darling.” 

you brought the phone back up to your ear right as mason’s teeth sunk gently into your skin and you stifled a whimper, your free hand gripping onto the inside of his leg. 

“how’ve you been?” zach asked, a pain in his voice, and it made mason smirk. 

“i-i’ve been good,” you choked, a red flush on your cheeks at how much just a simple neck kiss was affecting you, “have you?” 

your hand inched higher up mason’s leg while the hand on your waist dipped inside of your leggings, the pad of his middle and forefinger circling your clit once, just enough to have you stifling another whimper. 

“i miss you,” zach admitted just as your hand palmed mason’s dick through his tracksuit bottoms, and mason chuckled darkly against your neck, his stubble setting a fire alight in your stomach. there was an awkward silence on the phoneline, and mason shifted onto his knees to lay between your legs. 

“that’s nice.” you blurted out, eyes never leaving mason’s when you lifted up your legs to help him pull your leggings down. mason had to fight off a laugh, to which you kicked him in the shoulder. 

“do you not miss me?” zach asked, his voice strained with upset. mason’s lips trailed along both of your inner thighs, kissing the skin before his tongue darted out and circled your clit, making you shudder. you placed the phone on the sofa cushion beside you, one hand immediately finding mason’s hair while the other gripped onto the mattress. mason’s lips latched around your clit and hooked one of your legs over his shoulder, leaving you breathless. “Y/N?”

“yeah, yeah, sorry i’m still here,” you shrugged, writhing around in mason’s embrace. “i, uh, i have a bad connection, what did you say?” 

with his free hand, mason pushed a finger inside of you and you let out a soft whimper, biting down on your bottom lip after letting out a breathless ‘fuck’. “i said, do you miss me?” zach’s voice sprang back into earshot and you grumbled. mason hummed softly against your clit and it left you whimpering into the back of your hand. 

“uh, n-no, not right now, zach.” 

“oh,” zach sighed, “what’re you up to?” 

“tell him what we’re doing,” mason teased, pulling off of your clit with a pop, and looming over your face so graciously, “that the person he was so worried about is doing exactly what he feared.” 

his lips found yours and you hooked your hands under his shirt and pulled it from his body, trying to make as little rustling as possible. mason repeated the action on you, your t-shirt long forgotten when his fingers pushed the lace of your bra down under your boobs just enough for his mouth to attach to a nipple, his eagerness getting the better of him after imagining this moment for years. you whimpered at the contact and he tutted against your skin softly. 

“is someone there with you?”

“tell him what we’re doing, baby, i know you want to,” mason teased again when your hand began to push his tracksuit bottoms from his legs. 

“i’m, uh, i’m just at mason’s,” you watched your best friend with hooded eyes as he pulled his bottoms from his legs, his dick springing up to his belly button from where he didn’t bother wearing underwear. you felt like you couldn’t form words, and mason smirked at your reaction. “there’s a few of us here watching movies.” 

“liar.” mason taunted, and hooked his hands under your head to help you lay down flat. 

“you’re at mason’s?” 

“you’re not my boyfriend anymore, zach,” you snapped, “you don’t have a right to get mad after sleeping with someone else.”

your words fuelled fire to mason’s flame, and one of his hands found yours, entwining your fingers together and waiting for a nod from you before he pushed inside of you. you whimpered at the contact, but mason’s lips were there to swallow the noise the further he pushed himself inside of you. 

“i’m sorry,” zach raised his voice, and mason buried his head in the crook of your neck, fighting off his own moan when he pulled out of you only to push back in again. “do you think we could...” 

“you’re so fuckin’ tight,” mason drawled, his hips speeding up ever so slightly to fall into a comfortable rhythm. mason’s words made you shiver, and you whimpered at the love he was showing you. 

“was that mason?” 

you moaned at the intensity of it all, mason’s dick inside of you and your ex on the phone, you couldn’t hold it in anymore. the phone line went quiet for a minute, and mason repeated the same motion of thrusts as before, the moan tumbling from your lips once more. 

“Y/N, fuckin’ answer me!” 

“i.. i - fuck, mason,” you whimpered, your free hand pulling him down by the shoulder and bringing his lips to yours, a moan escaping between both sets of lips. “you’re fucking me so good.” 

“hear that, zach?” mason grunted, a cocky edge to his tone, “i’ve waited too many years for this, now piss off.” 

mason hung up the phone, tossing it to the other side of the sofa and finally allowing you both to get caught up in one another. he slung one of your legs over his shoulder and re-entwined his fingers with yours, the strokes of his hips now deeper and longer, which made you cry out. 

“i know, baby, i know,” he cooed, “you look so pretty underneath me like this, gonna cum for me?” 

your free hand found your clit, and you circled it in time with his thrusts, crying out his name everytime he hit the spot you needed, and his head dropped into yours, lips finding one anothers as you whimpered underneath him. “mason ‘m so close,” you cried. 

“go on, baby, cum for me, i’m right here.”

your back arched off of the mattress and your orgasm hit you, exploding inside of your stomach and causing you to see stars, as mason’s name tumbled from your lips like a mantra, never wanting to forget this moment. his thrusts became sloppy, fighting the urge to cum inside of you, and you noticed. 

he pulled out of you and you got onto your knees in front of him, opening your mouth. his hand jacked himself off, and you’d barely wrapped your lips around his tip before he exploded, the moment he’d been dreaming of for years had finally happened, and he couldn’t hold himself back. 

“fuck, Y/N, you’re so good.” 

the pair of you collapsed on the mattress, your head smushed into the crook of mason’s neck as he pulled the blanket up over your naked bodies, and after several minutes of post-coital peace, you fell into a fit of giggles. 

“did we just do that?” 

“i think so,” he hummed, a sigh of relief tumbling from his lips.

“how long have you been wanting to do that?” you asked, and mason shrugged, his lips finding yours again eagerly as he helped you onto his lap. 

“i think it’s best i don’t answer that.” 

[cerise-means-cherry]

French lesbian history facts

I constantly see circulating on Tumblr the same posts about US LGBT history (often laced with innacurracies but that’s a story for another time) and it always irked me how it was always presented as this history of how all LGBT people gained their rights and somehow a universal thing that we all ought to know about.

I would like to provide a different perspective by talking about the lesbian history of my own country (because I’m a lesbian and our history is often erased as LGBT history focuses on gay men more thanks to misogyny). I would love to hear about the history of your own country, feel free to add-on !

                                           The Middle Ages :

During the Middle Ages, homosexuality is heavily stigmatized by catholicism. Pierre Abélard, an 11th century’s theologian, wrote : “Sodomy is against the rules of nature, which created the genitalia of women for men’s convenience and not in order for women to live with other women”. For him, sodomy didn’t only mean anal sex between two men but all sexual acts which had no reproductive finality. Female homosexuality was seen as immoral but wasn’t really taken seriously at the same time because women weren’t fully seen as sexually developed beings capable of autonomous desires.

Pierre Abélard’s wife Héloïse warned him against the dangers of nuns having desire for each other between 1132 and 1137 : “ To lose a woman, there is no stronger weapon than feminine coaxing. And corruption crawls inside their hearts under more insinuating caresses.”

The first known law against female homosexuality appears in the Orléans code between 1260 and 1270 : “A woman who does it must lose a member each time , and the third time she must be burned.” Sex between women was seen as even worse if it was performed with a penetrative object, because it was seen as “stealing” masculine attributes. 

We know the story of two women during the Middle Ages : Jehanne and Laurence. In 1405, they were vineyard mates and courted each other. They had sex multiple times but Laurence decided to end the relationship which angered Jehanne who tried to stab her. They were both arrested but Laurence was released after 6 months in jail because she pled for forgiveness and was seen as the victim. We don’t know what happened to Jehanne.

                                            Renaissance

Feminine homosexual desire was believed to be caused by intersexuation. Intersex women with bigger than average clitorises were diagnosed as lesbians. Masturbation was frowned upon amongst women because they thought it would cause clitoridial growth and therefore lesbianism.

Little is known about lesbians during this era.

                                     18th-19th century

Isabelle de Bourbon-Parme was a princess (Louis the XV was her grandfather) who exchanged passionate love letters with her husband’s sister Marie-Christine.

Under Napoléon, Germaine de Staël was a baroness and writer who had a relationship with Juliette Récamier, another writer.

During the 1890s many men began producing art about lesbian relationships (mostly poetry and paintings) but they were often a fantasmagoric and fetishized version of what lesbian relationships were like. A famous painter from that time, Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec chose to depict real life lesbians.

    One of his favorite models was Cha-U-Kao (second painting and photography) who was an openly lesbian clown who performed in the Moulin Rouge who was believed to be in a relationship with the dancer Gabrielle. It was a very difficult time for lesbians who often had to prostitute themselves to survive as they had no husbands and being paid as a woman offered extremely limited prospects.

Many bars, restaurants and cafés began to be attended by lesbians, for example Le Hanneton and Le Rat mort.

Homosexual women were not always called lesbians yet at the time and were often refered as “damned women” as can be seen in Baudelaire’s poetry. 

                                    Early 20th century

Liane de Pougy is another cabaret dancer who had to prostitute herself to survive after escaping her husband who had tried to murder her. She published in 1901 a book titled Idylle Sapphique where she talked about her love story with the american Nathalie Barney, who was well known in France for her rediscovery of Sappho’s poems.

The writer Colette and her lover Mathilde de Morny began playing lesbian dramas in Parisian theaters but faced strong censorship. Later, Colette published The Pure and the Impure where she described the french lesbian community of her time with its good and bad sides.

WWI allowed lesbians to express themselves and be in relationships more freely as men were away.

The 1920s saw the opening of many lesbian bars in Paris, for example Le Fétiche or Le Boudoir de l’Amour.

During WWII, lesbians are active in every sphere of society, whether they collaborated with the state of Vichy (like Violette Morris) or they were part of resistance (like Marie-Thérèse Auffray, Thérèse Pierre, Andrée Jacob, Éveline Garnier and Rose Valland).

The Vichy state made homosexuality illegal again for men and women under the age of 21 as part of their natalist ideology. Heavy repression and homophobia would then continue even after the Liberation.

                                          From 1950 to 1999

In the 50s, censorship in the media prevented any form of lesbian representation in art. The writer Violette Leduc is forced to erased parts of her books which she could only publish in its original version Thérèse and Isabelle in 1960.

All the lesbian bars have completely disappeared and the only places for homosexual gatherings are centered around men. Some of them even display “lesbian BDSM representations” targeted towards men and avoided by lesbian and bisexual women.

May 68 was an important time for revolt and promised more sexual liberation but lesbians didn’t get to participate much because of the misogyny and homophobia of the protestors.

In the 70s, the feminist movement of the MLF (Movement for the Liberation of Women) is created and many lesbians are part of it. They decide to interrupt yet another homophobic radio emission and create the Homosexual Front for Revolutionary Action and allow gay men to join them. 

However, gay men begin to outnumber lesbians (as it was seen by them as a place for sexual encounters and not only a political movement) and evenif they were the one who created it, they soon get silenced during reunions as gay men consider themselves to be dominant over them.

 They decide to separate from the movement and to create their own : The Red Dykes. The same situation happen with the MLF which rejects lesbian feminists in favor of straight feminists and the radical left who consider lesbianism to be “bourgeois” ideals incompatible with anti-capitalism.

Excluded from absolutely every corner and rejected by their own (both the homosexuals and feminists), a movement centered on lesbian feminism sees the light and attempts to connect many French cities together to create a sturdy network. Due to the trauma of alienation from the other movements, Monique Wittig writes that “lesbians are not women” and invents political lesbianism. Lesbian feminism is however broadened by other women like Nicole-Claude Mathieu, Colette Guillaumin and Christine Delphy.

Many lesbian journals and magazines are published during the end of the 70s and the beginning of the 80s. They slowly begin to consider leftists movements to be inadapted to their needs and begin to leave them.

The 90s are a renaissance for french lesbians who create many associations and networks catered to them and connected together. They fight for lesbian visibility, lesbian rights and the protection of lesbians who flee their homophobic countries to join them. They coin the term lesbophobia. However, they’re soon to be replaced by LGBT and queer movements which fights alongside them for the civil union granted in 1999.

                                    The 21st century (2000- ?)

These political changes create a shift in lesbian spaces from politics and arts to bars and clubbing. An intergenerational break occurs with lack of transmission from older lesbians to younger lesbians. Lipstick lesbians and androgynous lesbians are glorified while butches are slowly excluded and alienated.

The 2010-2020 period marks a turning point with the LGBT movement growing stronger and gaining many rights : same-sex marriage and adoption in 2013, access to sperm donations and laws against conversion therapy in 2021).

However, french lesbians are beginning to feel and face exclusion inside the LGBT movement once more as heteropatriarchy slowly stopped being challenged. Since december 2020, lesbian associations begin to appear again. When I went to the radical pride of Paris this summer (June 2021), I saw a mural sign with written on it : “Every lesbian kiss is a revolution” ♥