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strawburrymstakes · 1 year ago

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Growing Up (FFXIV)

You know, looking back on it now, Gridania wasn't all too bad. You had your fellow merchants and guildmasters. Some with attitudes or chips on their shoulders, respectfully. But you never had anything too troublesome to worry about. Dad and I kept to ourselves and our business. We sold Limsa imports to Gridanians at competitive prices. We woke up, made each other breakfast in our humble kitchen, and said good morning to Fufucha as we casually made our way towards the Shaded Bower. We'd set up the same booth, open up shop before the rush of adventures came in. We sold our wares, steady income, a pretty consistent supply and demand. We closed shop by nightfall; went home and cooked dinner in shifts. Dad always went to bed first, leaving me to clean up. Go to sleep, wake up, breakfast, "Good morning, Fufucha!" Open shop, sell imports, close shop, make dinner, go to bed.

Over and over.

Then one day, before lunchtime,

I met an adventurer who was buying some fabric for a robe she was planning on crafting. She looked like me. Well, not exactly me, but a roegadyn woman. She told me some of her stories: of mighty dragons from Coerthas and wondrous treasures. This planted the seeds of adventure in my mind. While I slept I could only dream of galavanting across the lands upon a trusty chocobo, helping others, slaying nightmarish voidsent, just like she did! In idle moments, I would pine for a break from this redundant course. Any time an adventurer came up to our counter I would jump at the chance to speak with them: to listen to their stories, no matter how long or short the tale. However, all cautioned me in a similar way: "this life is not for everyone."

I was 19 when I decided to leave home. "Where will you go?", dad asked.

"What do you expect to find?"

"How will you get there?"

"Everything! Anything! The whole world!" I replied. The conversation went on through the night. Neither of us slept. We just kept talking, discussing, and debating. "I guess it's time I told you," he sighed as he got up from the dining room chair. He walked over to the broom closet and pulled out a sword I'd never seen before. Dad wasn't the combative type. I've never seen him wield so much as a butter knife against anyone. But he carried this sword to me as if he was any other well trained wood wailer. He handed the sword to me. The blade clearly showed age, but somehow remained as sharp as a razor. The hilt was weathered and the leather handle was stiff from its past owner's grip. The pommel was of particular interest to me: it was formed in the shape of a familiar fruit.

"Strawburry," my father started. "This belonged to your mother. Before she left us."

I looked up at my father, bewildered with tears starting to flow from my eyes.

"If adventure is what you seek, then I ask that you seek her out first. My hope is that she will guide you. Perhaps even train you."

I said no words as I embraced him.

"Thank you," was all I could get out pushing past the flurry of feelings.

"Where would I find her?" Courage started brewing inside me, preparing me for my quest.

"I don't know," father looked down, dejected that his memory, tattered and waning from age, had seemingly failed him. "We didn't leave on the best of terms, I know that…"

This did not deter me. "I'll start at Limsa. Perhaps she is still there? Or maybe someone there knows?"

It was the first, and last time before I left, that I saw my father give me a smile that was both happy and sad.

It was no small task, but I convinced Dad to hire an assistant to take my place. On our next shipment from Limsa, I bartered with the coach of the shipping wagon to take me back to Limsa. They agreed, and I took what things I knew I would need with me: a week of rations, water, rope, the necessary things any component adventurer required; but most importantly my mother's sword. Sheathed and strapped to my back, I embarked on a quest that would take me all over Limsa Lominsa. At times it felt like a wild goose chase. Running after rumors and hearsay of a once-legendary roegadyn battle master.

I almost gave up on my quest as I sat on the shores of Costa Del Sol. I could see families in the distance enjoying the beach nighttime festivities. A hyur child was learning to walk upright in the sand with their mother while the father grilled up the catch from their latest fishing trip. The smell of fire grilled fish reminded me of when Dad cooked fish some nights. He would get them from time to time with the imports. I couldn't help but see myself in that girl. I started to sob as the faded memories resurfaced; of my own mother teaching me how to walk when I was that little. Why! Why did she leave us? Why did she leave me!? Momma! Momma!

"Excuse me," a voice from behind me snapped me out of my spiral. I didn't recognize the woman's voice, but it sounded like a hurricane of god-like rage was being held back by mortal form.

"That's my sword!" They tackled me to the ground. I thrashed wildly to get them off of me, but they pinned me down and pressed me into the grainy sand. The tide had just pulled in and was about to come crashing back. If I didn't do something quick, it was likely that they would try and drown me to take back my mother's sword. I had to think of something I could do. Physically, I was restrained…but not verbally. I could still use my wits. I could still piece together who this attacker could be.

"Mom! It's me! Your daughter!" I shouted as loud as I could, possibly startling the hyur family nearby and ruining an otherwise wholesome moment. I felt the pressing weight disappear. I could hear footsteps treading sand as if running away from me. I spied the figure of the assailant and chased after them. I ended up at some kind of alcove with a waterfall.

"Mom!" I called out. I hoped I was right to call her out with that title. I scanned the area for her, but she hid herself well.

"What do you want?" She cried out. "You come to kill me?"

"I came for answers! I want to know why you left Dad. Why did you leave me…" my voice softened as I soon located the storied heroine behind cover. "I want to become an adventurer like you!"

She stood up calmly as our eyes met. She had familiar features, it was like staring into a reflection; another battle hardened version of me: older, wiser, stronger, and – without a doubt – powerful. Her pose suggested a wild uncertainty in my intentions, leaving her the option to engage in combat with me here or flee to an optimal location. It was then that I presented the sword to her. I unstrapped it from my back and with both hands extended I returned the weapon of glory to its rightful owner. She cautiously stepped forward, inspecting the sheathed sword. I could feel her intimidating aura permeate my very being. I tried not to show weakness to her as she pulled out the sword to reveal the blade. She looked over the weapon in total, carefully tracing down the aged blade still keen with purpose. I watched her reviewing the blade, anticipating her to dive deep into nostalgia of battles passed. Maybe she would regale me with a fantastic tale of heroism that would inspire me. Perhaps she would take me under her wing and train me to use the sword, just as she did so long ago.

She took the sword, blade in one hand and handle in the other, and snapped it in half over her knee.

I was petrified. All that emotional turmoil, all my efforts, every wearisome day that I pursued her lie shattered in the sand.

"You're wasting your time, dear." She turned her back on me and started to leave. "Go back to Gridania."

I clenched my fist. "No!" I pointed an accusatory finger at her, hoping to elicit some kind of empathy for the hardships I endured. "I did not come all this way just for you to toss my ambitions aside! Do you have any idea how hard it was just to find you? The kind of pain I've felt in your absence?!"

She stopped and turned to me. "It's never easy, dear." She stepped closer to me. "My absence should've taught you that life is never easy. That the world is cruel and uncaring. You've learned nothing. Go home, dear. Live a quiet life."

"So that's it? Just destroy your past and not even give your own daughter a chance after all these years!?" Tears streaked hot down my face.

Her brow furrowed. "Exactly."

I let my emotions take control and I threw a punch at her. She dodged effortlessly and swiftly karate chopped my throat. I stumbled back, trying to catch my breath. Everything was beginning to be too much and I ended up on my hands and knees. She knelt down to my level; just hovering over the remains of her once glorious weapon. Her last words to me were like snake venom to my veins.

"Listen well, and remember my words, Strawburry: an adventurer's life is an onerous task. It is a lifestyle that ends when you die. It's never easy, dear."

#ffxiv #ffxiv wol #femroe #ocs #WoL backstory time

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demon-girl-izalith · 10 months ago

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As a queer Christian here I want to add a bit about how my religion has caused these issues and how it's affected me and other queer Christians personally

Normative Christianity has a SERIOUS issue with just casually doing sexual violence to just so so many peoples from natives to trans people to literally like all women. It's disgusting.

I have here yet another relevant banger quote from one of my favorite queer theologians, Marcella Althaus-Reid on the way purity and Totalotarian-Theology has nestled it's way into the center of Christian (particularly Roman Catholic) thought: "Theology can see blood in wine but not blood in blood. The Vatican can see tears in the eyes of the statues of the Virgin Mary, or sweat on her robes when considering the legitimacy of a claimed apparition, but cannot see a trace of semen on her skirts." (Althaus-Reid, The Queer God)

As a queer Christian I am of the firm belief that reclaiming and queering the religion is one of the best ways to combat this. Althaus-Reid talks about how God has been closeted, how the god of the lower classes was seen as "impure" and so the god of evangelical and many modern Christians is made in opposition to these. It's defined in a similar way hegemonic masculinity is defined as the antithesis of femininity. Gay and slutty god has been thrown into the closet. We need to make some drastic changes to our theology to account for the experiences of all people, especially the poor, the gay, and the oppressed. That's like, the whole point of the "preferential option for the poor". So when asked if I believe Mary was a virgin, honestly, I'm not so sure I think we should insist she is. And I'm not just talking about faith and miracles. That's another conversation. I'm speaking from a purely utilitarian theological lens. What do we gain by making that claim really? Like, what is it about virginity that's so "immaculate"? It's an old metaphor and we need to drop it in favor of more fruitful ones because clearly this is hurting people. To any Christians reading this; our metaphors have become stale af guys, the theology we seem to have given to the masses islike, the fast food of theology... let's do better?

Reclaiming sexy lesbian nuns or an "impure" depiction of Mary or Jesus is part of my religion; I think the metaphor is a better fit for human experience, I think it's fundamentally more divine. More human. Purity culture is SO midcentury. Bad bitch nuns wear thigh highs and goth makeup and god says "yeah bitch, slay".

they’re doing slutty nun discourse on twitter

#queer theology #religion #reblog #Marcella Althaus-Reid

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ahsokasupremacy · 2 years ago

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being anakin is so funny in like the worst most awful way. he’s a literal chosen one demigod child of a prophecy but the reason the jedi council has never found him before is because he lives on a hot ass dry ass sucky ass desert planet in buttfuck nowhere on the outer rim. when qui gon meets him as a nine year old, he’s just casually like yes my mom and me are unpaid laborers yes this normal. also we have bombs in us and if you try to leave your body goes kaboom :)) then you think maybe qui gon is gonna do the right thing and free him but actually anakin, the NINE YEAR OLD is the one who saves them. and it’s by fucking podracing his hyperfixation literally comes in clutch and saves his own life. and then qui gon’s immediate reaction is “oh shit, someone should enroll this demigod kid in space wizard first grade.”

when he’s nineteen he literally jumps straight out of a window to chase down padme’s killer. he tells obi-wan that he always wanted him to be his father (to which he gets rejected and brother-zoned). literally padme even rejects him too like both of the most important figures in his life are like ew anakin no. also if you really think about it he’s the third wheel here because padme and obi-wan are actually good friends and much closer in age whereas anakin was like an annoying little brother to them. all this is despite the fact he is supposed to be THE MAIN CHARACTER in HIS MOVIE!! and then, he somehow manages to hunt down a SHAPESHIFTER. you would think that, the shapeshifter being able to change and hide their form and anakin being unable to disguise his very obvious jedi robes, this would be an easy win for the shapeshifter. oh yeah also all of this all happens literally in the same night. then like, a week later boom he’s married to padme.

later in life when he’s in the suit, everything is literally his own personal living hell. he can’t sleep or eat and the only times when he falls asleep, all his dreams are garbled nonsense overstimulating noise and a supercut of his worst moments. and then he just wakes up from that bone-chilling soul-wrenching horrifying nightmare and is like “oh well time to go to work at my dead-end job 😒 another day another slay time to kill some younglings 😐” as if it’s nothing

#anakin skywalker #sw meta #my post

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writingtoforgetreality · 4 years ago

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Blind (Sam Wilson x Reader)

[Marvel-Masterlist]

Summary: You had to attend one of Sharon’s parties in Madripoor. Which left you no choice but to wear one of her dresses. The one she suggested for you made you incredibly uncomfortable. After all, you were not really happy with the way you looked.

Words: 2,681

Warnings: language, angst, fluff, insecurities, self-esteem issues, struggles with body image, if one of these warnings trigger you please DO NOT read!, take care of yourself <3 you are so damn beautiful!, TFATWS spoilers, REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

If you like my work & wanna support me: a coffee would be highly appreciated! ❤

“(Y/N)? Can you come over real quick?” you heard Sharon yell from the other room. Following her voice, you entered her bedroom where she was waiting for you.

“What’d you need?” your head tilted to one side. The others were getting ready for the party & you still hoped you could somehow avoid your attendance. Being surrounded by tons of drunk people was not necessarily your favorite activity.

“Found a dress for you.” she pointed to her closet where a beautiful gown was hung up. The colors were not too bright, subtle enough to blend in but still stand out. It was short enough to gain others’ attention but not too short to be mistaken for a cheap chick. Long story shot: it was gorgeous. And that was where the problem began. While the dress itself looked fantastic, you knew that you would not live up to it.

“No.” was all you said. Sharon’s eyebrows perked up.

“No? What do you mean “No.”? You don’t like it?” she was confused because she could imagine you looking flawless while wearing this dress. Yes, she was aware that you were not the biggest fan of getting all dolled up. But then again, the few times she had seen you do that, you were owning everything & anything.

“It’s pretty.” you smiled a little. “Just, not my cup of tea, I guess.” you shrugged, trying to hide the fact that you were lying to her face right now.

“Bullshit.” she scoffed. “I chose this one because I knew you’d love it. I know you better than that, (Y/N).” she eyed you up & down. Sighing loudly, you took a seat on her bed & put your head in your hands in frustration.

“Do I have to attend?” you muttered, silently hoping she would let you ditch the party.

“Please tell me you’re not being serious…” Sharon crossed her arms over her chest, body facing yours as you still somewhat hid yourself.

“What’d you need me for anyway?” you threw your hands up in confusion. “Like, you got Bucky, Zemo. Hell, you got Sam. You won’t need me.”

“Hmm.” she hummed as she observed you more closely now.

“What now?” you questioned exaggeratedly. Standing up, you approached the dress & brushed one of your hands over the material gently.

“I see where the shoe pinches.” Sharon stated & you turned around, eyebrows furrowed.

“Yeah? Where? ‘Cause I don’t know myself.” you bickered. Why could she not just cut to the chase?

“This is about Sam, isn’t it?” she asked casually & you almost choked on your own spit. Coughing to cover it up, you straightened your back to regain your composure.

“What has a stupid dress to do with Sam?” a dumbfounded expression made its way onto your face. Sharon shook her head & chuckled at your obliviousness.

“You still haven’t told him, huh?” her eyes locked with yours & you hated how your heart skipped a beat just because she called you out on that.

“Haven’t told him what?” you decided to play dumb for a while longer. Sharon rolled her eyes at you & sighed out loudly.

“That you’re in love with him.” she made it sound like a straight up fact. Your eyes focused on your shoes, not being able to face the woman in front of you any longer.

“Love is a pretty strong word.” you chuckled awkwardly. “Besides, a minute ago we were talking about the dress you picked out for me.”

“So you’ll wear the dress?” she smirked at you enthusiastically.

“Really? Did you just say that to get me to agree on that?” your finger pointed to the robe. The only response you got was a simple shrug. Sharon then turned around & left you alone. Alright, message received. You had to start fixing up your appearance. Though you were not sure if your efforts were even worth it. No matter what, you were sure you would feel insecure the moment you put on that dress.

When the struggles with your body started? Well, you could not exactly remember a time when it was not there. Maybe it was because you had always been surrounded by people much prettier than you. More popular than you. More liked than you. Only when you became a part of the Avengers did those feelings disappear a little. As a superhero, nobody cared about your look as long as your abilities were good enough to save the world. Your team did not know about any of this, of course. After all, it was your own mind who played tricks on you. No one but yourself could be blamed. So when you looked in the mirror & saw yourself wearing that beautiful dress? It was not beautiful anymore. Not on you. Not when you were the one who showed it to the world. Or to the people in Madripoor. You knew you should not care about other people’s opinions. But you were your own worst enemy. And your mind told you the exact same things that the others thought. The only thing you noticed was how wrong it all looked. How your body was not good enough. Not for yourself & not for anyone else. And definitely not for Sam. Not that you were into him or anything. Even if you were, he was literally the most handsome man you had ever laid eyes on. He could have anyone. So why would he settle for someone like you? He deserved so, so much more. So much better.

“(Y/N)?” someone’s knocking brought you back to reality. “Can I come in? It’s Sam.” oh no. Would he laugh at you when he saw you like that? Possibly.

“Um…Just-Just a second.” you yelled & searched through Sharon’s closet in hopes to find some sort of coat to cover yourself up as much as possible. Jogging over to the door, you shakingly raised a hand to the doorknob, twisted it to one side, & opened it with a tiny creak. Peeking out, you found Sam in a black turtleneck. And damn, he was hot. Unfortunately, you were not successful in finding a jacket so you were left in the dress only. Hence why you only opened the door a crack.

“You gonna let me in or…?” Sam teased, a smirk playing on his lips.

“S-Sure, sorry.” pushing the door further open, you turned around right away, too scared to watch his reaction.

“You look gorgeous.” his comment made you stop in your tracks. Sure he was lying. It was simply something you said to co-workers when missions like that were on the agenda. Spinning around, your eyes met his, the smirk replaced by a sheepish smile. Almost like he was uncomfortable talking to you. Of course he was. After all, he just lied to you about your look. But it was nothing new. You were used to it by now. Shaking off the bad thoughts internally, you coughed quickly & continued your conversation.

“You don’t look too bad yourself, Wilson.” you winked & were surprised by how well you actually handled this situation.

“Sharon said she picked out a dress for you. Said you weren’t really feelin’ it.” he stated & you raised your eyebrows. God, Sharon could be a pain in the ass sometimes.

“Uh-huh.” you hummed, hoping Sam would drop this topic. But he did not.

“I’d say you slay it.” he came a little closer but stopped when he noticed you taking a step back.

“You’d be the only one.” you mumbled to yourself. It was too quiet for him to understand you which was why he spoke up again.

“What was that?” one of his eyebrows raised but you brushed him off with a wave of your hand.

“Nothing…” you said monotonously. Clearing your throat, you directed the conversation to the upcoming party. “You guys ready?”

“Um.” Sam shot you a curious look but you ignored it. “Yeah, we can head there now.”

“Good, I’ll come in a second.” your back faced him.

“You okay?” something was off about your behavior & Sam could not tell what it was. It was uncommon to see you so shy & uncertain. Usually, whenever you were on missions, you were a badass, not letting anyone tell you what to do. Now, though? It was like a different person was standing in front of him. Someone who was incredibly uncomfortable. Trembling hands you desperately tried to hide by hugging yourself. Failing to keep eye contact. Voice cracking when you talked to him. Something was wrong. And he knew he should let you be for now. Seemed like you needed time to yourself. So he exited the room without another word.

Loud music, people shamelessly grinding on each other without a care in this world. Alcohol, you figured. Alcohol did that to people. Sharon was next to you, in a corner where nobody else decided to head off to. After all, the dancefloor was the main attraction. Your insecurities were acting up. Constantly pulling down your dress to avoid showing too much of your thighs. Sharon noticed but did not comment on it. Your arms were crossed over your chest, hiding your upper body inside the gown. Whatever you were doing, you wanted to hide. Unfortunately, a coat did not go well with your outfit. So that left you with basically no material to cover up. The woman next to you excused herself when she detected a familiar person in the crowd. Nodding at her, you took the chance & made it out of the party only a second later. Heading outside where the cool breeze grounded you a bit. You hated yourself so much right now. You hated your body. You hated your dress. You hated Sharon for choosing an outfit for you. You hated the loud voices in your head that told you that you were not good enough. Not pretty enough. Not lovable. Your appearance was by no means pleasing. You knew that. And this stupid dress underlined every insecurity you had.

A coat was put over your shoulders & you could not help but flinch.

“You’re shaking.” it was Sam who found you out here. Immediately, you calmed down when you noticed that it was only him. The comfort of his jacket brought you warmth. And it gave you an opportunity to hide more of your skin. Win-win situation. Leaning against the cold brick wall, Sam joined you a moment later. Your face did not meet his, though. Wilson would notice something being wrong with you. He knew you too well.

“I’ll head back inside in a minute.” you assured him but he had none of it.

“You’re gonna tell me what’s wrong now?” Sam’s head turned in your direction but you kept your gaze straight forward.

“I’m fine.” it came our harsher than you meant. Closing your eyes, you sighed because Sam did not deserve your rudeness at all.

“Sure thing. And I enjoyed Smiling Tiger’s favorite drink.” he replied sarcastically & managed to lift the corners of your mouth a little. “Talk to me.”

“I’m just being stupid.” shaking your head, you scoffed at yourself. Usually, you were better at hiding such things.

“It ain’t stupid if it bothers you that much.” Sam pointed out. Your head turned to face him & you had a hard time finding the right words.

“Just…” your hands gestured wildly but ended up at the hem of the material hanging by your thighs.

“The dress?” he asked & you nodded. “What about it?”

“Ugh.” you threw your head back. “See, I’m being stupid.” his hand grabbed your wrist gently when you wanted to head back inside.

“No, wait.” his voice was softer than before. “What’s up with the dress? It looks great to me.”

“It is. Great, I mean. Just not on me.” your rambling could not be stopped & before you knew it, you were spilling the beans to Sam. He was taken aback by your declaration.

“Wait…Is this the problem here?” he gestured to your figure & it took everything in you not to break eye contact. “(Y/N), you’re absolutely stunning in that dress.” there was sincerity behind his words but you could not hear it right now. Hugging his jacket a little closer, you hoped Sam would stop staring at your body so intensely.

“Could you stop? Please.” he almost did not hear it but the night in Madripoor was calm. All that could be heard was the muffled beat from the party.

“Who the hell made you think like that?” Sam started growing angry. Not at you but at whoever managed to plant these thoughts into your head. Shrugging, you averted your gaze from him.

“I mean…it’s kinda obvious, isn’t it? Look at all those beautiful people, Sam. I could never compare to them. Never. My body…i-it looks awful, I know that. That’s exactly why I never wear shit like that.” you pointed to your dress, scoffing lowly. “I wish I didn’t look like that. I wish I-“ Sam, being done with whatever you were saying, interrupted you.

“Listen, this is what you’re not gonna do.” he stopped briefly to gain your attention. Only when you looked at him again did he continue. “I don’t know why you see yourself in such a bad light. I don’t know because to me, you’re the most beautiful woman in this damn universe. And it hurts when you talk so bad about yourself. This…” he stepped closer, resting both of his hands on your waist, squeezing lightly. “This is perfect. There’s nothing wrong with you or your body. What can I do to help you see yourself the way I see you?” the last words were whispered. Your eyes widened at Sam’s confession. Sure he was drunk. Why would he tell you all of that?

“Stop that.” you tried pulling away from him but he would not let you. No, he only hugged you closer to his body so your chests were pressing against each other. “Sam, I’m being serious.”

“So am I.” he wasted no time with his response. “When I saw you earlier today in that dress? Damn, I didn’t even know what to say.” he chuckled to himself at the memory & you could not hide the small smile spreading on your face. That was the point where he knew he had you. “But, you know, duties. Couldn’t skip this party. But I wouldn’t have minded skipping it.” Sam winked at you.

“I don’t know what to say. I-I don’t know if I can trust you. Not when it comes to this.” you were completely vulnerable in front of him. Sam then realized that words were not going to change your way of thinking. And he could not change your way of thinking in one night. What he could do, though, was making you feel gorgeous. With simple actions, compliments, looks. And he made it his job to succeed with all of that. His hands came up to cup your cheeks, thumbs brushing over your soft skin delicately. He was slow with his movements, giving you enough time to lean back if you did not want this. But you wanted this. And the look in your eyes was enough confirmation for him to press his lips against your own. The kiss was not what you expected it to be. You always thought that the first kiss you two shared would be passionate or heated. But this one? This one was filled with so much gentleness, so much emotion, so much admiration that had you weak at the knees. Sam smiled into the kiss when he realized you melting into his touch. To him, you really were someone special. To him, you were the only person he focused on in a crowd. You were it for him. Now, he just had to convince you that he was the one for you, too. But it was a challenge he gladly accepted. If it meant that he got to have you, he would do anything.

Published (04/18/2021) by Cathy

Tags: @bibliophilewednesday, @wanniiieeee (thanks for your support <3)

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avengershumanresources · 4 years ago

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blood 6 - Strange/Stark!Reader

Relationship: Dr. Strange/Princess!Stark!Reader

Rating: M

Warnings: Adult Themes, eventual smut, adult language, implied sexual violence, general violence

Synopsis: Reader is the daughter of the legendary King Anthony Stark, Uniter of Lands, The Iron Defender, and leader of the realm. When the king disappears during battle, hope is lost and he is presumed dead.

When the late king’s uncle, Obadiah, takes the throne until your brother Peter is of age, he quickly arranges a marriage for you with a wicked king in a neighboring kingdom.

With the realms politics in question, and rumors of an upcoming siege to overthrow Peter’s rule before it starts, you quickly learn who is loyal to the crown and who is not.

part 5 - part 7

Masterlist

Chapter Playlist

6 - a promise

Violet was uncharacteristically tight lipped as she dressed you the next morning. Part of you worried that the nosy maid had seen you on the balcony the night before, but you quickly remembered she’d gone to bed early after drinking too much.

She kept sending pitying glances in your direction, and you couldn’t for the life of you figure out why. Smoothing out your skirts, she grabbed the knife you’d hidden under your pillow and tied it securely at your side.

“For good luck?” she joked, though that pitying look crossed her feature as soon as the words left her mouth.

You’d been struck dumb, expression bewildered as to how she knew about the dagger.

“James,” she replied simply, patting the weapon for safe keeping.

The implication was both comforting and terrifying.

How much influence did her two friends truly possess within the castle walls?

Accompanying you to breakfast, Violet stopped you outside of the dining hall, hand tightening around your forearm.

“Please keep your head,” she whispered, glancing nervously around them. “No matter what you find on the other side of this door.”

It was an ominous warning, but you kept it in mind while she pushed open the door,’leading you inside.

For a moment, you were certain your heart had stopped working from pure horror alone.

King Brock Rumlow sat by your uncles side, laughing as a plate of meat and eggs was placed in front of him.

“My dear, it’s so wonderful you could join us,” Obadiah stood and motioned for you to sit across from Brock at the table. “Did you sleep well? I imagine you might have stayed up bubbling with excitement.”

“Uncle,” you greeted tensely, feeling Violet’s form freeze at the casual exchange. Keep your mind. You needed to stay calm.

Calm, even though your father’s murderer was smirking at you, only meters out of your grasp.

“Princess, I’m sure you’re familiar with King Brock Rumlow,” he motioned to the king who stood and bowed his head.

“Your highness,” he reached for your hand and pressed a kiss to your knuckles, lingering a moment too long for your comfort. “I’m sure this has been such a confusing and terrible time.”

You bit your tongue, swallowing down any backlash that stirred.

“Rest assured, King Brock has a very reasonable explanation for everything,” Obadiah invited the group to eat. You took your seat, trying to ignore the way Rumlow’s eyes devoured you. Like a lamb to slaughter, he looked positively ravenously at you.

“Your highness, it’s been a terrible misunderstanding,” he explained with a long sigh. “The Asgardians had been ordered to attack the border villages and I sent my men to help. There was skirmish and your father was murdered by that brutish Thor Odinson. They threw his body into the river before retreating. There was nothing we could do.”

Liar.

“You see? He was trying to defend the king,” Obadiah tilted his water goblet in your direction. “And to think, those barbaric Asgardians had the audacity to stand and mourn with you.”

Liar.

“I’m...” you never had been a very convincing actress (Peter had always told you so), but the performance you put on that morning would have rivaled the great Bard himself. “That is certainly distressing news.”

Obadiah eyed you, the reaction catching him by surprise.

“Brock has come to formally apologize for the confusion,” Obadiah started, watching you carefully for the slightest slip up. “He’s asked me for your hand as a means of reconciliation between the kingdoms.”

Your stomach dropped out, your lungs stopped moving, and you were certain both bellmen could hear your heart hammering anxiously against your chest.

Marriage... to that monster. The man you knew slayed your father. The man whose rumors of his late wife followed behind whispers of death and deceit.

Obadiah wanted to marry you off to him, for something. He had to have gotten something.

Your father out of the way, your brain supplied helpfully.

“With King Brock’s help, and the Kree army to the north, we will finally be able to stop those damned Wakandans and Asgardians from breaching our trade routes.”

Fingers tensing around your dining knife, you forced a smile on your face.

“Really?” you asked, throwing as much enthusiasm as you could stomach in the question. “Me? Married to a king?”

Obadiah paused, furrowing his brows, but Brock seemed unfazed.

“You’ll be my queen and we will rule this entire region,” he reached across the table and took your hands. “We can make the arrangements post haste.”

“Why not a fortnight from today?” Obadiah suggested, a cruel smile spreading over his face. “I’ll start the servants on things today.”

“If you insist,” Brock laughed, an empty sound that stabbed deep into you. “What say you, my dear?”

You turned to your uncle, a cold mask over your true thoughts.

“Must we wait a fortnight?” you asked, your lip jutting out in a pout. “Surely a more intimate ceremony can be put together in the next week?”

You could tell Obadiah was trying to guess your plan, the king trying to call your bluff but agreeing wholeheartedly.

“Such eager lovebirds,” he bellowed with another laugh. “Bring the wine, we have much to celebrate today.”

You managed to get through the breakfast, face hurting from all the forced and held smiles that fought against your cringing.

After the meal ended, you excused yourself to lay down for a a while, the excitement having tired you out.

Instead of your chambers, however, you hurried to the observatory, praying to the gods that Stephen was inside.

You found him curled on one of the cots, red cloak strewn over his shoulders, deep asleep. That peace was broken once you tried to quietly shut the door. His eyes flickered open and he took you in with a sleepy smile.

“Your highness,” he greeted, sitting up while you moved to sit across from him. Sensing your sour mood, he reached tenderly for your hands. “He told you.”

“You knew?” you asked, broken that he would keep such pertinent information from you.

“I found out early this morning,” he admitted. “I spent the evening trying to think of a way to make it right, but have kept coming short.”

“I don’t believe that,” you smirked toward a book open to a page detailing the effects of belladonna.

“I realized murder would be frowned upon,” he murmured. “And I think the court would be suspicious if the king and his allies turned up dead all at once.”

“They’re blaming Asgard for my father’s death,” you explained. “They intend to invade after the wedding.”

“How long do we have?” he asked, eyes scanning your face for a hint of good news.

“I uh, I may have made a mistake in that regard,” you replied, expression contorting in guilt. “Initially it was a fortnight, but Obadiah didn’t seem to believe that I would comply. So I suggested seven days.”

“Why would you need to be compliant?” he asked.

“I don’t know, Violet told me to keep my temper under control, so it seemed like the smart thing to do,” you threw your head back in exasperation.

“You aren’t wrong,” he replied, quickly explaining the dilemma Peter had outlined the night before. “But a week means our timetables must move up.”

He grabbed a piece of parchment and a quill, quickly scribbling a message and holding it in his palm. It disappeared in a poof of smoke.

“What was that?” you pressed, following him with your gaze when he stood up and paced the room.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” he assured her. “Just trust me. There are many forces at work. Don’t make any more moves without first telling me. Promise me.”

You tilted your head, reading his exhausted expression and nodding your head slowly.

How could you not trust him?

He smiled, a sight that sent your heart rushing, in a good way. Moving toward him, you cupped his cheek and stood on your toes to give him a soft kiss.

“Careful princess,” he growled as the kiss became more heated and he stumbled back into one of the chaise’s, your body pressed flush against him. “Don’t start what you don’t intend to finish.”

The warmth inside of you screamed to finish the job, but his warning hit a more rational part of your brain and you pulled away in disappointment.

“Soon,” you promised in a terse whisper, wishing you could ducal your head into a cool pond.

“I have every intention of keeping you to that,” he replied, shifting slightly and adjusting the front of his robes with a sigh. His face flushed, pupils dilated.

Gods you could have had him then and there.

Another folded piece of parchment appeared on the table and you quickly snatched it up, reading over the familiar handwriting before Stephen could jump up from the chaise.

“You’re working with Loki?” you asked, holding up the paper. “You do know it’d be suicide for him to show his face in this kingdom.”

“The guard is on our side,” he explained briskly, grabbing the letter and reading it over. “We need to delay this as much as possible. If he challenges Brock to a duel, the law dictates the match must be honored.”

“Were you not the one worried about Brock’s sudden influx in power?” you asked incredulously. “He’s up to something sinister. Loki will get himself killed!”

“I said trust me,” he countered sharply. “Please, princess. I’m doing this all for you and we need a little more time. Besides, it will get Loki into the castle undetected by Amora.”

You’d almost forgotten about the enchantress. Brock spoke highly of her during breakfast and you’d had the pleasure of meeting the blonde haired woman at the end of the meal. Even from a distance, you could sense there was something wicked about her.

“You will be careful?” you asked, knowing that even if the reassurance was empty, it was something.

“We will do our best,” he promised quietly, both of you knowing full well he was lying.

(—)

Natalia hated wandering to this side of the forest. She knew she could reasonably fight off any ne’er do wells or rogues, but she also knew that the mystics and magic users liked to use the thick foliage coverings as a means of hiding from the public.

Not everyone could serve in a castle and villagers were fickle, superstitious folk.

Still, it was where Michelle had told her to meet with Wanda, the sorceress having passed the message long in hopes of the pair crossing paths.

“My cottage is just around the meadow,” Wanda chimed up, breaking Amat’s train of thought with an amused smile. “You’re early.”

“I wanted to make sure the area was secure,” Nat replied, her fingers dropping from the dagger she’d been about to pull. “Quite a way of passing along a message.”

“I needed to ensure its discretion, I apologize for the roundabout means,” she answered sincerely, moving toward a small cottage and opening the door for her guest. “We have much to discuss.”

“Couldn’t you have passed it along the princess or Strange?”

“It’s not yet the time for them to know,” she hummed, snapping her fingers and igniting the fire under a tea kettle. That had caught the assassin’s interest and she waited until Wanda continued. “You’re aware no body of the king was found?”

“They buried an empty box,” Natalia nodded, glancing at the teacup places in front of her. “The leading rumor is he was thrown in the river and the Kree are holding onto the remains.”

Wanda pulled a few herbs from her pantry, pulling the kettle from the fire with a wave of her hand and floating it over the red heads cup. The hot water fell from the air, passing through the herbs, and landing into the cup as a freshly brewed tea.

“There are many whispers about the fate of the great Iron Defender,” she agreed softly, taking a sip from her own cup with a satisfied smile. “But, what I want to tell you is the truth of the matter.”

“Which is?”

“I’m amazing at dramatic entrances,” a voice cracked, opening the front door of Wanda’s cottages and grinning at Natalia. “Natalia, it’s been quite some time since you were stealing rolls from the kitchen.”

King Anthony Stark himself stood before her, perfectly healthy and strong.

“How?” she blurted out with a wide eyed look between the pair. “Clint saw you pierced through the chest with an arrow.”

“Did he?” Wanda asked, a twinkle of crimson flickering through her eyes. “The men saw what the king wanted them to see.”

“I needed to ensure my enemies thought I was dead,” he explained, settling at the table across from her. “I knew Brock was planning something across the border and once Odin warned me that Amora had taken the place of Mordo, I needed to act to protect the kingdom and my family.”

“You need to remove Obadiah from the throne, he intends to-,” Nat started but Tony nodded slowly at her words.

“I’m well aware,” he stated. “I knew he’d been corresponding with Brock for some time and that there would be a plot against me. I needed to make sure my enemies were all exposed in a fell swoop, but Wanda mentioned the engagement and I was forced to move my plans forward.”

“Plans?”

“I had hoped to move when Obadiah refused to give up the throne on Peter’s birthday,” he explained. “But, given what Brock intends to offer for my daughter’s hand, we can’t wait any longer.”

“What do you mean?” Natalia furrowed her brows. “You don’t mean to move on him now, do you? That’d be madness, not without our allies.”

“Who said I didn’t have allies?” he grinned back at her. “Black Widow, you’re not the only one with a large web. I’ve secured Wakandan and Asgardian support, as well as the support of the southern Kree empire. Steve has been working under my orders to determine the loyalty of the guard. Everything is ready to be put in motion, so long as Brock doesn’t mobilize his troops before the wedding.”

“Did you expect this?” she asked, dumbfounded by all of the information.

“I had expected to deal with them separately, but this makes it convenient,” he shrugged. “But I need you to ensure the safety of the princess and my family.”

“It’s being taken care of,” Natalia replied. “Strange and the others have come up with a plan to get them all to safety. The queen and Morgan will be moved to Kamar-Taj and the princess will be taken to Stephen’s family home.”

“Has he come to his senses, yet?” he asked with a snort.

“Very recently,” Natalia chuckled. “So he has even more to lose with a successful marriage. I’ve never seen him quite this motivated.”

“And what of Peter?”

“He wants to fight,” she explained. “The others are encouraging him to wait, but already some men have sworn allegiance to him. Some of the major houses are beginning to start preparations for civil war.”

Tony considered her words, fingers twirling around the edges of his beard as she spoke.

“This is good then,” he decided. “With Peter rallying the families against Obadiah, he has less claim to the throne.”

“Unless Obadiah catches wind and has him executed on the spot,” Wanda supplied dryly. “We must continue to work discreetly.”

“We need someone inside of the walls to help coordinate from within,” Tony explained.

“Why can’t Wanda do it?” Nat asked and Wanda let out a frustrated sigh.

“Obadiah is keeping out all magic keepers except Stephen and Amora, since he is the Master Sorcerer of the castle and she’s a royal guest,” she shook her head. “It’s an effort to prevent any threats against the royal family.”

“The irony was not lost on us,” Tony added with a small smirk. “I can pay you handsomely- after I reclaim my throne.”

“Wouldn’t that be humiliating?” Natalia teased. “All this work and you lose the throne in the end?”

“That ultimately depends on what you say,” he urged and she bowed her head, offering a hand to shake.

“I want a large parcel of land,” she insisted. “And a title.”

“What about James?”

“I suppose he’ll need a title too,” she paused. “Perhaps another parcel for him as well?”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

(---)

“It’s quiet,” you whispered, back against cool grass, fingers intertwined with Stephen’s as the two of you gazed up at the night sky.

“Mandatory curfews,” he murmured. “We’d do well not to attract the guard.”

“Then we’ll just have to be quiet, won’t we?” you rolled toward him, propping yourself up on her elbow and looking down at him with a sly grin.

“We must be absolutely silent,” he agreed, leaning up and cupping your face. Slowly he pulled you closer until you were practically onto of him. Pulling you even closer, you tumbled a ways down the small hill before stopping with a soft thud on the ground below.

Exchanging bewildered looks, you both burst out laughing. You reached forward to pluck a few leaves out of his hair when he caught you by the wrist and kissed you passionately. A moan escaped you when he nibbled on a more sensitive part of your neck, the chill sending shivers everywhere.

“Don’t do that,” he warned, the nibbles becoming small bits, his kiss becoming more desperate and hungry. “I can’t promise to control myself.”

“Then don’t,” you managed through a whimper when he slipped his hands under your corset. He teased, fingers lightly maneuvering over the sensitive skin. You were about to rip the damned thing off yourself when he stopped.

“Are you trying to be cruel?” you asked, face drained of blood and clothes disheveled.

“Something’s coming-,” he scrambled to his feet, drawing up a portal and sealing it shut just before a blast of fire struck. “Someone knew we were there.”

“Impossible,” you shook your head. “You’ve disguised your magic, and the wards around the room are some best rune work I’ve seen in ages.”

He paused, catching snippets of what you were saying.

They hadn’t tracked his signature- they’d tracked yours.

He grabbed your wrist and wrapped his palm around it, muttering a spell and pulling away.

The rune Loki had cast over you had almost faded away.

“What is-?” you started but he was scrambling across the room looking for something to prick the end of his finger to get a little blood.

Spying a needle on your armoire, he grabbing the tiny object and prodded his fingertip, a small bead of blood appearing.

Approaching, he frowned in thought. He needed to be careful. Too powerful and the seidr wouldn’t be able to protect you. Too weak and the seidr would eat through too quickly and its uncontrolled power in your untrained body could wreak devastation the kingdom over.

“Why are you renewing a seal?” you asked, recognizing the symbol on your wrist with pointed interest.

Why were you such a dedicated student? You’d read almost all the texts he had read in his life, often asking thoughtful questions about the material he hadn’t thought of.

This was a basic power sealing rune that had been added on and changed slightly in terms of the magic involved.

“What are you trying to seal, Stephen?” you repeated tersely, eyes narrowed at him.

(---)

7- a king

TAG LIST (message to be added!):

@ayamenimthiriel @ladynothing

@im-a-bi-disaster-help @idkwhatthisislol

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clocks-are-round · 1 year ago

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typically i draw sarge wearing camo pants with bright red (potentially red team merch) on top that completely spoils any potential camouflage benefits. idea: he sleeps in a santa costume because he thought they were red pajamas. grif: is that… a santa suit? sarge: what? grif: sarge, you’re dressed up as santa right now. sarge: oh yeah? well then merry christmas, have some buckshot *shoots grif*

simmons wears polo shirts and dress pants because he wants to look nice (and a headcanon i have just decided is he hates jean texture— special thanks to all the autistic simmons headcanons out there and also as an homage to my partner who also hates jean texture). if he wore sweatpants he’s certain he’d die of mortification. he absolutely wears those matching two piece pajamas at night. long sleeves/pants so skin isn’t showing and once he gets the prosthetics he ties that sleeve/pant leg in knots when he sleeps so they don’t flail/tangle around him/slap him in the face (if anyone knows if this is ridiculous in a negative sense rather than practical let me know. i do not use prosthetics and therefore don’t know if this would make sense)

donut wears flashy things, but is probably at least somewhat coordinated (though he thinks he’s more skilled at it than he actually is and sometimes he’ll wear something that’s a trend or a reference to something and it looks godawful to everyone else). he sleeps in kinda skimpy and expensive looking underwear and it is only barely tolerated because he wears a robe once he gets out of bed

grif is the sweatpants king. tshirts, tank tops, short sleeve button ups, hoodies, whatever. his clothes do look pretty alright— if you ignore the stains he definitely knows how to color coordinate (years of helping his sister— who cared very much— pick outfits for school). sleeps in his day clothes because why not? simmons often ends up doing his laundry for him because he can’t stand the piles of dirty clothes on the floor

doc is the type to wear cardigans and coexist patches

caboose is a t-shirt kind of person but i imagine he wears any kind of casual clothes. i don’t think he’d make a fuss about wearing a skirt either. in my personal headcanon gender norms aren’t as strict on the moon and he got lots of hand me downs from his many sisters anyways. whatever he likes and feels good. probably wears comfy pjs with bunny slippers or some other cutesy kind of slipper

tucker is probably a bit more looks over comfort than caboose. he probably gets pretty self conscious about standing out in a negative way so he tries to avoid looking “girly” or ��nerdy”. has tboy swag despite being cis (i’ve never been very good at understanding/writing tucker so take this with a grain of salt). canonly sleeps in the nude

church is iffy about his entire wardrobe. why the hell would he buy that?? but whatever. wears the most basic of the clothes “he brought” to blood gulch because some of the options are god-awful. usually jeans and a button up shirt over a t-shirt i think

kai is stylish but needs help to coordinate colors so she has a list of what goes well together for when she cares about that sort of thing. when she doesn’t consult it things get a little wild in the color department and it’s very her

tex dresses like a stereotypical butch lesbian and fucking slays. whether she’s dressed like a biker or lumberjack, she’s pretty secure in her womanhood— her womanhood is just pretty masc presenting and pronoun indifferent. he/she tex ftw

wait hold on i need to think of this now. what do u think the rvb characters would wear as regular clothing without their armors. theres a surprisingly small amount of fanart out there that seems to mind. what do these bitches wear

#red vs blue

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nerdypanda3126 · 4 years ago

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Playing with Fire – Ch. 4

Luka's friend comes to visit and brings with him something that will help Marinette and Luka share the fire without having to touch each other, but it has an odd side effect for Marinette—she realizes that she likes being close to Luka, and what's more, he likes being close to her, too.

Okay so, if you haven't already, please please pretty please go read The Great and Powerful Sorcerer Stone by the lovely @verfound. I leaned pretty heavily on it to write this chapter (and it's a really fun read 😁)

Read on Ao3

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

When they walked out, Marinette didn’t see anyone, but she did hear a steady string of curses from somewhere near the tree line, along with a tree creaking under weight it wasn’t meant to hold. Luka snickered again and told her to wait as he pulled away, transforming instantly and prowling towards the racket.

“We talked about the booby traps, kid!” The voice grouched, clear enough for Marinette to hear. There was a quick snap of rope, another yelp, and a thud, quickly followed by Luka’s hissing laughter.

“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up. What took you so long, anyways?”

Luka loped back into view, leading an odd looking man with bright purple hair stuck up in all directions, metal looped all the way up his ears, flowy black and violet harlequin robes over black and yellow striped hose, and an angry scowl. He was rubbing his backside, as if he’d fallen on it.

Marinette’s face flamed into a blush when she noticed the direction they were coming from and figured out what had happened. The snare she’d set up. Luka’s friend had triggered it and gotten stuck in the tree. But her blush cleared and a grin broke across her face instead as she realized who it was.

“Jagged!” She ran towards him and hugged him tightly around the waist.

“Hey! It’s the baker’s girl!”

He returned her hug and swept her off her feet to spin her briefly as she giggled the whole way. Just like every other time he’d come into the bakery since she was almost fourteen years old. He’d become a family friend after he helped her parents put out the fires—figurative and literal—between her and the mayor’s daughter.

He only stopped through the village occasionally, but every time he did he always bought up enough bread to feed an army, tucking it away into enchanted pockets. And he always had the best stories, even if he insisted on singing some of them along with his “cursed” mandolin that never sounded quite right. She’d grown to love it though, and she liked to think it was a sound from some other world.

Luka snorted, engulfing them both in a plume of smoke. Marinette waved it away from her face as Jagged set her back on her feet. When the smoke had cleared, Luka was scowling, but not at her. At Jagged. He had a challenge in his eyes that Jagged waved off along with the smoke.

“What, you think I made all that bread I brought you?”

“That was for Luka?” Marinette asked brightly.

“Course! Case you hadn’t noticed, he’s a scrawny little thing. Gobbled it up as soon as he saw it, every time. A’int that right, kid? And the questions! You wouldn’t believe, he’d pester me until I told him all about—”

Another snort, laced with sparks this time, was aimed at Jagged. He danced away, patting out the embers that landed on his robes.

“Geez! Don’t have to get all moody on me. How’s that for gratitude, eleven years I've been bringing you anything you ever asked for, taught you everything you know, never asking for nothing in return, you think you could say thank—” He cut off with a yelp as Luka sent another shower of sparks his way.

Marinette rushed to Luka and threw her arms around his neck, cooling his fire. He was still irritated, but he put his arm around her waist, returning her embrace as if to let her know it wasn’t directed at her.

“You’ve never had an issue with the plundered gold I gave you, either, so don’t act all innocent,” he grumbled at Jagged.

“Gave being the key word there.” Jagged snapped back. “These were new, too!” He whined, pointing out the scorched holes his trailing sleeves now sported.

“Serves you right. Eleven years and you still haven’t learned not to taunt a dragon.”

Marinette glanced up at Luka and he was smirking, apparently pleased with himself for ruining something of Jagged’s. Almost like this was an entirely normal interaction for them.

“Guess you don’t want what I brought, then? Fine, I’ll just be on my merry way.” Jagged spun on his heel and made to walk down the path. “Bet the king could pay better for all this junk anyways, I mean, not that he needs it, but, hey, if you don’t want it…”

Luka sighed and shook his head. “Whatever you’ve got, I’ll take it.”

Jagged stopped mid-step, but didn’t turn around. Luka’s grip tightened on Marinette’s waist.

“I’m sorry about your robes,” he added, begrudgingly. “I’ll give you a little extra to have them mended.”

At that, Jagged spun back around, grinning, and pulled his mandolin off his back. The neck had cracked in half, apparently as he’d fallen from the trap, and his grin slipped to an almost comical grimace as he brandished it at Luka.

“This! This is why I said no more bloody booby traps! Can’t you just burn ‘em to a crisp and be done with it? Ya great, overgrown lizard, I swear, every time I've got this thing just the way I want it you just—” He kept muttering to himself as he fitted the wood back together carefully. When he took his hands away, it was magically all in one piece again. He shook the repaired instrument at Luka as if it were a sword instead of a piece of hollow wood with strings strung across it.

“You’re lucky this wasn’t my neck!”

Luka squeezed her to his side again, and his wicked smirk had come back. “Well, at least this time, I wasn’t the one to blame.”

Jagged’s eyes and the makeshift sword snapped to Marinette and she blushed all over again. “It was meant for a rabbit,” she muttered.

For the first time, Jagged seemed to realize how close they were standing, and the way their arms were looped around each other’s waists.

“I told you, kid! I knew she’d stay! And you were worried, psh, I’ve known the baker’s girl too long. She couldn’t slay a butterfly!”

Luka tensed beside her. “She hasn’t made any decisions yet, Jagged.”

Jagged just shook his head at Luka, grinning, and dug in the neck of his robes to produce two silver chains, with smooth matte black stones dangling from them. “I’ve been saving these for when she made it up here. Don’t ask me how I got ‘em—” he tossed a wink at Marinette at that “—but they’re very special.”

He set his mandolin on its end and admonished it to stay and it stood on its own, upright, at his side. With his hands freed, he carefully pulled the chains off his neck and laid the gems in his palm for them to look at.

“Heartstone,” he announced proudly. “Best thing for a soul bond like the one you’ve got. It’s one stone, split in two, so they resonate with each other.”

“Jagged—” Luka warned, right as Marinette asked, “What do they do?”

“Well, since you asked,” Jagged said pointedly, shooting a glance at Luka before continuing. “They act as a sort of container if you will. Makes it so you don’t have to cling to each other for dear life like that.”

He slung one chain around Marinette’s neck and pressed the other into Luka’s hand since he refused to bow his head to let Jagged put it on him. As soon as the stone touched Luka, Marinette’s flames were pulled into her half of the stone so it crackled happily at the base of her throat, and there was a bright blue glowing underneath Luka’s fingers, too. He shivered as his scales slid over his forearms, but he stayed on two legs. Marinette pulled away from him gently, more to test the heartstones than from a need to separate from him.

Even though they weren’t touching, they stayed the way they were.

��They work!” She shouted, more from surprise than anything else.

Luka was gripping the stone in his hand so hard his knuckles were white. “She hasn’t made her decision, yet,” he said quietly, although there was danger hidden in his low tone. “Jagged, you can’t just—”

“Sure I can, m’b’y!” Jagged stood in between them and clapped Luka on the shoulder. “We’re friends, after all, ain't we? I can be generous every once in a while.”

“Luka, if you don’t want them—” Marinette started.

“It’s not about me, Marinette,” he said, still in that small, quiet tone. “It’s never been about me.”

Jagged rolled his eyes and clapped Luka on the back of the head, making him stumble forward before he turned to glare back at Jagged, his eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. Jagged examined his nails nonchalantly.

“It’s a gift,” Jagged said, with a threat laced through his casual tone. “Take it, leave it, hurl it into the woods if you want, makes no difference to me.”

Luka’s eyes slid over to Marinette. She was standing behind Jagged, watching the two of them face off with her hand over her mouth. He glanced at the gem hanging around her neck, then back up to her face. Something vulnerable was flickering across his expression despite his tense posture. Hope? Fear? He was so closed off that she couldn’t tell which. Maybe a little of both. Afraid to get his hopes up.

“I’m staying,” she said, loud enough for them both to hear her. “My decision is made, Luka, I want to stay with you.”

The fight drained out of him and the tension between the two of them dissipated as quickly as it had started. Jagged pulled Luka into a quick hug, ruffling his hair as he did, then let him go to grab his mandolin.

“Great! That’s all settled, now we can celebrate!” He tuned it to whatever incorrect notes he seemed to deem appropriate before he started yowling along to it, partly singing, partly shrieking. Marinette winced as Luka gravitated back to her side.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he murmured in her ear. His hair was sticking up where Jagged had mussed it. With a grimace, he put the chain around his neck to match her.

She reached up to run her fingers through his hair to fix it. When his eyes met hers again—those serpentine slits in the center of that bright blue—the fire around her stone sputtered erratically at the same time her heartbeat kicked up a notch. She pulled her hand away shyly.

“Taking time to think about it wouldn’t have changed my decision. And Jagged meant well, I’m sure. These do really seem to help.” She looked down and slid the pad of her thumb over the smooth black stone. The fire played over her fingers as she touched it, but stayed contained.

He hummed in response and turned his eyes back to Jagged’s performance. He was going on as if he were playing for the whole village, even though not even the two of them were listening. There was an odd sense of peace that had washed over Luka. Like her decision was the last thing keeping him on edge and now that she’d made it, he could let himself relax.

His words from the other night came back to her. “I’m still half-expecting you to murder me in my sleep.” Teasing in tone, but a grain of truth had been nestled within the joke. She wondered if he had even been planning on fighting back had she decided—

Resolutely, she reached out to loop her arm through his so she could lean her head on his shoulder. Like the other times she’d shown him affection, he stiffened at first, and she felt him look over at her. But then he laid his hand over hers and sighed against her.

When the sun was starting to set, Jagged finally laid his mandolin aside and pulled a veritable feast out of his enchanted pockets, complete with a grass-stained blanket that he laid out for them as if he’d done it thousands of times. Marinette sat close to Luka, still not entirely trusting the heartstone, but the blanket didn’t burst into flames and neither did she. She giggled and looped her arm through Luka’s again, leaning into him because she could and not because she had to. Luka’s mouth twitched into what could’ve been a smile and his thumb skated across the back of her hand gently.

But when she caught sight of the bread Jagged had brought with him, stamped with a terribly familiar signature, her breath hitched and Luka tensed up again beside her.

“You saw my parents?” she asked quietly.

Jagged shared a loaded look with Luka and they had a silent battle between them. Luka shook his head the slightest amount and Jagged frowned.

“I did,” he answered her. “They’re all good, even managed to teach me a thing or two while I was there. Although…” He trailed off, breaking the bread between them as he did.

“What?” Marinette asked. Luka’s hand wrapped around hers and he gave her a small squeeze. “What’s wrong?”

Jagged glanced up at Luka one more time before he met Marinette’s eyes. “They’re in mourning.”

“Mourning? What—” She felt her eyes widen as she caught his meaning. “They don’t know I’m okay. Luka, they don’t know!” She shook his arm frantically, but he was as unmoving as stone.

“The tailor’s boy seems to have a notion of avenging you.” Jagged was speaking to Marinette, but his eyes had flicked over to Luka’s. “Some misplaced version of chivalry or valor, but he’ll be making his way up sometime soon.”

A heavy pall fell over the two of them. Marinette looked between them, aghast, and the happy blue flame consuming the stone at her throat turned white and started crackling.

“But we can talk to him!” she cried, startling them both. “He’ll see I’m okay and I can explain and he won’t come here and Luka won’t have to—” She sucked in a sharp breath.

“Marinette—”

She shook her head. “You can’t, Luka.” Her voice broke on his name and he grimaced again. “He’s my friend, and he doesn’t know, and… you just can’t.”

She fought against the tears that were gathering at the corners of her eyes, glaring at him fiercely instead. He looked from her to Jagged. Jagged just shrugged, and Luka sighed.

“You’re right. And I won’t. I promise.” He squeezed her hand again to emphasize his point. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes before he spoke again. “We’ll go to your parents. Explain things. Hopefully stop your friend from doing anything he’ll regret. And then we’ll come back here.” When his eyes opened again, they fell on her, and even though his gaze was filled with warmth and certainty, it was almost like his features were drawn tight. “Okay?”

“Thank you,” she said, and she stretched up to kiss his cheek. He jolted when her lips touched his skin, and she pulled away, blushing, but he kept his hand wrapped around hers and gave it another squeeze to let her know it was okay.

Jagged cleared his throat, but he was smiling as he started yammering on about other things. Some of it Marinette understood, but Luka was right, he talked a lot about the things he’d “Seen.” As he strummed at his mandolin, even in between bites of their supper, he ranted to her about “perfume ads” and “charts” and “baby-faced newcomers”—whatever any of that meant.

Luka smiled at her and gestured with his head. She held up the sign he’d shown her and Jagged seemed to like it because he stood and started playing his mandolin in an odd, fast, shrieky way she’d never heard him do before. When he played like that, the out of tune notes almost blended together and sounded… okay? If she listened with a kind of mental squint, that is.

After supper, Jagged pulled more things out of his pockets, this time a bundle of books that he’d thought Luka would like and new clothes, although he apologized to Marinette that he hadn’t brought any for her. She shrugged and told him that since they were going to the village anyways, she could pick up a few things while she was there. Luka subtly pressed some gold into Jagged’s palm as they shook hands and Jagged grinned, tucking the coins away without saying anything about it.

As Luka rattled off his list for next time, Jagged winked at Marinette when he mentioned pillows. She blushed all the way to the roots of her hair.

The moon was out by the time Jagged was leaving the clearing, and he waved back at them before he disappeared into the trees. Somewhere in the distance, a branch thwacked against something solid and a loud twang of strings echoed through the clearing, followed by Jagged’s cursing.

Marinette hid a giggle behind her hand and Luka chuckled with her. An awkward silence followed as they both paused to look at each other. The stone at Luka’s throat cooled to a dull red, flaring orange in time with his heartbeat as a smile warmed his expression. At the same time, hers flared white as that smile made her stomach do a little flip.

He tucked the bundle of books and clothes under his arm, then threw out a hand for her, inviting her to take it, and she did. Although when his fingers laced through hers she felt like she’d swallowed a thousand butterflies. Every step up the tower made her blush more, but she couldn’t for the life of her figure out why. The only thing she could blame it on were the stones around their necks, making their connection blatantly obvious. He’d said it before, they shared the fire, and he’d helped her channel it before, but this was… different.

Maybe because there wasn’t a need for them to be holding hands anymore, but she realized that not only did she still want to, but apparently so did he.

When they reached the room at the top, he set the bundle down on the chair before he turned to her and slid the chain around his neck up over his head. He held onto the stone, though, as if asking if it was okay if he broke the resonance between them. She gulped and nodded. He set it resolutely on the table, where it became a lump of black stone again and her fire fled from her and arced across to him as he transformed fully.

Her hand was still on what was roughly his shoulder and he let out what she felt was a sigh, then settled into what she recognized as his sleeping position. Curled tightly around himself, but with a small space now for her to step into. She was kneeling next to him, hesitating, when he looked over at her expectantly. He blinked at her, and the tuft of hair at the end of his tail flicked against her ankle. She didn’t know if it was because she’d spent some time around him, or if the heartstones had deepened something between them, but she understood that he was asking if she was okay.

She looked away to hide the blush that crept onto her cheeks as her fingers dug into the thicker scales at the back of his neck. When another concerned flick ghosted across her skin, she shivered before she took a deep breath and smiled at him, settling into place in the curve of his stomach while also pushing a small, insistent thought to the back of her mind.

“Different,” it whispered, “Something’s different.”

#miraculous ladybug #ml fic #mlb fic #LBSC Exchange 2021 #lukanette #lukanette endgame #marinette dupain cheng #luka couffaine #jagged stone #dragon!luka #cursed!marinette #sorcerer!jagged stone #fic title: playing with fire

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canary3d-obsessed · 4 years ago

Text

Shen Wei Serving Lewks, Part 7

(Masterpost)

Look 30

Swamp coat...no wait, hang on.

Upon close inspection, this is not Swamp Coat, but a different loose trench coat in Swamp color. What the fuck, Shen Wei! Borrow one of your boyfriend’s coats again, pretty please?

Both times this tunic/coat outfit has appeared on Shen Wei, Zhao Yunlan was wearing this gorgeous tailored denim number, with perfectly fitted shoulders and a nipped in waist. Sigh.

Anyway, Swamp Coat 2.0 is nicer than 1.0, and Shen Wei is wearing it with a with an immaculate super-casual loose white tunic with a band collar, so he looks beautiful even though this ensemble is decidedly meh.

As Shen Wei and Zhao Yunlan get closer, Shen Wei’s wardrobe becomes looser and more casual, which is probably good for his psyche so...okay.

In addition to layers of loose fabric, this look features a checkered nosebleed hanky and the angriest face he has ever turned on Zhao Yunlan.

Along with definitely not kissing

(More behind the cut!)

And definitely not having a massive grope session like the last time Shen Wei got between Zhao Yunlan’s knees on this lab table.

Once the anger passes, however, this is a very good look for making out in a taxi with a boy who has excellent taste in coats.

Bonus Look 2: ZY’s Turn to Be Angry

This look belongs to Zhao Yunlan, who is wearing a single soft layer with a wide exposed neck so he can have an intense argument and hand touching with Shen Wei. This is Zhao Yunlan’s at home look, without the extra layer (vest or jacket, in a tough fabric) he always wears except when he’s alone with Shen Wei.

Shen Wei is like, no it’s fine honey, slicing my arm open is just a thing I do so I can eventually die spectacularly. Also I drained my life force for you, don’t make a big deal of it you know I hate when you make a big deal of things.

For once Zhao Yunlan gets to be the overprotective, upset partner in the relationship and also maybe the big spoon for a change. In keeping with his personality, he expresses himself explosively...

...while Shen Wei quietly leaks out emotions like the black smoke leaking from his wrist.

This is Zhao Yunlan without his armor, his swagger, his smile; this might be the only time he is as vulnerable with Shen Wei as Shen Wei (always) is with him.

Look 31

Shen Wei wears his blue double-breasted wedding crasher suit to begin his long, long relationship with this pillar.

This look features chains, more chains, and long conversations with ridiculous smoke effects.

Bonus Look 3 - ZY Rescue Trench

Now THAT is a trench coat. Do you hear me, Shen Wei's Swamp Coats?

Hilariously, we are meant to believe this superbly fitted coat with its itty bitty waist and this perfectly sized gun belt are what Zhao Yunlan took off of this schlubby guard. Zhao Yunlan DOES have magic powers!

This is a good outfit for convincing your lover to give up his relationship with a malevolent pillar and come home with you.

Did I hastily photoshop Smoke Dude out of that rescue picture? I did.

Is this just a gratuitous picture of freshly-unchained Shen Wei looking upset and Zhao Yunlan comforting him? It is. Shout out to all the H/C fans!

Look 32

This look is a grey suit with a white grid pattern, and striped red and blue accent fabric on the pocket and under the collar. This was briefly featured way back in the trauma cake arc. Here Shen Wei is also wearing a fresh cravat in grey tones.

Shen Wei had been wearing a narrower range of outfits lately because he doesn't have enough drawers at Zhao Yunlan's place, so he must have made a brief stop at his apartment to get some more things.

At home with Zhao Yunlan, Shen Wei wears this look with a bare face and neck, chilling in his white shirt with the collar stiffeners. I'm going to call them that forever; you can't stop me. Note how the shirt has darts (the vertical seams from his shoulder blades to his waist) so that it fits perfectly across the back.

This is a good look for lovingly preparing fresh fruit for your candy-addicted beloved and then watching him while he sleeps.

Shen Wei’s ass is now chainless, alas, but these trousers are doing yeoman’s werk work.

While Zhao Yunlan sleeps, Shen Wei takes the opportunity to check up on his special pendant necklace that he bought at a bong shop when he was in college.

Back in the full ensemble, Shen Wei is ready to have a haberdashery throwdown with his jerkass father-in-law, who normally has serious game in a plum coat and patterned vest.

Today Pop Zhao has unexpectedly said “fuck it” and worn a brown sweater and beige trench.

Don’t encourage Shen Wei’s boring taste in coats, Pop Zhao!

After easily winning the best-dressed award at tea, Shen Wei accessorizes his look with cheekbones that could cut glass, and his best “oops, busted” face when Zhao Yunlan sees him hanging out with the parent ZY hates so much that he has the same job and facial hair as him.

That leads to a wonderfully layered interaction, in which Shen Wei just kind of stands in front of Zhao Yunlan refusing to engage with his need for control, while Zhao Yunlan roasts Shen Wei for being untrustworthy...and then offers him a ride back to the office.

Guardian is so good at capturing the constantly-fluctuating state of a deep relationship, in which you can be fighting on one level and totally fine on another level; where you’re going to have a donnybrook with your lover but first you’re going to get a decent meal into them.

Skipping!

We’re skipping over the increasingly bloody tee-shirt ensemble that appears in the final episodes. That look says, “anti-gay narrative tropes suck.”

Instead, check out this beauty that Shen Wei wore for one poorly-lit scene early in the show. This is the only time he wears a fully-matched 3-piece suit and he SLAYS in it. And then puts it in mothballs forever.

I guess when you’re wearing an outfit the first time your sweetheart breaks into your apartment and disorganizes your panty drawer, you only want to wear it for the most special occasions after that.

Look 33

After a bunch of unnecessary yet compellingly-acted death, Shen Wei and Zhao Yunlan meet up outside of time and space in a Windows 95 screensaver.

[That is a Gen X joke. OP is old.]

Shen Wei’s look for this meeting is the same one he wore the day they met in the modern world - the double-breasted 10-button vest, with arm garters and now also (SIGH) tears in his eyes. Instead of that, here is an infinite loop of Shen Wei and Zhao Yunlan talking over dinner in their kitchen, because screw Episode 40.

Look 34

Exiting the screensaver, Shen Wei and Zhao Yunlan fall out into the AU of your choice, because they realize that they left the wormhole together last time so it shouldn’t be too difficult to leave it together this time. They can just hold hands while they leave, for fuck’s sake.

In the AU of your choice they get married in these beautiful suits, as seen in Bazaar magazine.

Shen Wei’s look here features tousled hair and the glasses-free look he prefers when he’s with his true love. This is the first black suit we’ve seen him in, and he’s doing fine work in it, particularly with the gold bola thingy he’s wearing at the collar. Zhao Yunlan is so hot here that only Shen Wei dares to touch him.

Look 35

For the beach party they throw for their AU friends and neighbors a month after the wedding, (also courtesy of Bazaar’s photoshoot) Shen Wei chooses this short-legged suit with white canvas shoes, a lovely display of calf and a sprinkling of leg hair.

This look says, I love you forever and I'm pretty sure I can give you a spinal adjustment using only my leg muscles.

Shen Wei has replaced his bong-shop pendant with a tasteful diamond bar necklace, which was an apology gift from Zhao Yunlan after ZY intentionally accidentally set fire to Swamp Coats 1 through 4.

Near his heart Shen Wei is wearing a tie pin (sans tie) that’s made out of a lollipop stick.

Preview

The next post features Shen Wei’s cosplay looks including Black Robe Envoy and Ye Zun!

#guardian #weilan #zhu yilong #bai yu #shen wei #zhao yunlan #guardian spoilers #shen wei serving lewks #canary3d-original #zhen hun #menswear #c-drama #bl drama #my gifs #my stills #guardian memes #guardian gifs #bazaar does the best fixits #goddamn typos

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yououui · 4 years ago

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First of all, congrats for your 900 followers, you deserve them ❤🎉 related to the KF prompts, what about Kurogane being a warrior elf and Fay being a mage. They both have had very long lives and have been friends for a very long time too, but have little to no experience in romantic love for any reason you wish lol. (They have experienced family love, love for their friends and other types of love though) and Kurogane accidentally says something that makes Fay's heart skip a beat and blush. Kurogane doesn't notice what he says until he sees Fay 😂 what happens next is up to you 😊

Quiet footsteps, expertly avoiding any twigs or dry leaves. Arrow nocked, bow raised, he gives one quiet breath to steady himself as he aims for the deer and—

“Hyuu~ what good form!”

The deer’s ears perk up and it promptly dashes away. Kurogane lowers his bow and looks above him into the foliage of the forest with a scowl and a pounding in his temple. “Oi,” He snaps as he returns the arrow to its quiver and the bow to its place on his back. “Get down here so I can beat you up properly.”

Without even a rustle in the leaves, pale silks and wispy hair appear above Kurogane. Hanging upside down, his knees hooked over a branch, Fai grins happily at Kurogane without a single care for the threat just thrown at him. The hair that usually frames his face is hanging down, exposing his pale forehead, the rest of it pulled up to the top of his head and secured with a ribbon to match his expensive robes. Taking the bait hanging in front of him like a rope, Kurogane grasps the wavy golden locks and gives a tug.

Fai whines and waves his hands around his head to swat Kurogane away. “Hey, that hurts!” The mage pouts.

Kurogane only scoffs. “Lucky I don’t do more to you. You cost me my hunt, you annoying little fae.” He reaches to flick at pale, pointed ears, but Fai pulls away before he can.

Fai weightlessly falls from the trees and lands silently on his feet, as graceful as a cat, and shrugs casually. “You’ll find another deer to slay. Come, I have something much more exciting to show you!” He has an eager look on his face, his bright blue eyes sparkling under the beams of sunlight spilling through the leaves.

Kurogane sighs but follows regardless. He’s followed after Fai and given in to his antics since they were children, though why, he never quite knew. Fai was his oldest and, really, only friend. He’d go anywhere with him, even if he complained the entire time.

“Don’t you have some lessons to be in?” Kurogane asks as they walk through the quiet forest.

“Don’t you?” Fai counters. He waves a hand nonchalantly. “I’m finished for the day! I practiced some spells, worked on some potions, and slipped away as soon as I was dismissed. I’m all yours for the day!”

“Mm.” Kurogane hums. “Until someone comes looking for you. Remember what happened last time their favorite pupil disappeared for too long?”

“Then I’ll just have to make sure I pick a better hiding place,” Fai winks with a charming smile.

Fai is quite possibly the most powerful elven mage in their entire kingdom and has been doted on since he was a small child and his powers first began presenting themselves. With so few mages remaining of their kind, any mage born is seen treated as royalty, but Fai is extremely special.

By comparison to him, Kurogane is terribly average. A warrior elf, one in a thousand— though he is the strongest of them all, at least he has that to brag about. But with just one look, one could see how different the two of them were; Fai, wearing his gifted silks and pretty pendents, and Kurogane in a beige tunic with a bow on his back and a sword at his hip.

And yet, the two became quick friends as children. They were allowed to play together back then, when they were too young to begin their training. But by the time their lessons started, they were expected to understand that they were not the same, that two elves of drastically different lineage could never be seen at the same level. And so, they were no longer given permission to spend their time together. And Fai especially was forbidden from frolicking around freely and instead was often treated like fragile glass.

But Fai, being Fai, found a way. He’d sneak away and drag Kurogane along with him so the two could play, or hunt, or train, or just lounge around. No matter how many punishments it led to when they were caught, he never stopped, and neither did Kurogane.

Kurogane wonders, as he sees dirt cling to the bottom of Fai’s flowing robes, how much trouble he’ll get in today when he’s inevitably caught.

“Where the hell are you taking me?” Kurogane asks eventually.

“Patience is a virtue, Kuro-tan,” Is Fai’s response. “We’re almost there, and then you will see that it’s worth the wait.”

Kurogane grumbles a quiet complaint. After a little while more, they eventually break through the line of trees, which opens to a wide clearing surrounded by the forest on each side. Without the leaves to act as shade, the sun shines brightly over a field full of pale purple flowers, petals drifting lazily in the breeze and honeybees buzzing around.

Fai lifts his arms to gesture grandly to the field. “Here it is! Isn’t it amazing?”

“It’s... fine, I suppose,” Kurogane shrugs. He’s never been much of a flower person.

Fai, however, looks at Kurogane like he’s just said something horribly offensive. “Fine? It’s fine? What have you seen that could possibly be any more beautiful than this?”

“Honestly?” Kurogane glances at the mage. “You.”

He says it easily because, well, it’s true. It’s not like it’s only Kurogane that thinks so—everyone is enamored by Fai’s looks. Kurogane is certain the mage must have some ancient fae blood flowing in this veins; he can’t find any other reason for Fai’s almost other-worldly beauty. Blue eyes that shimmer like gems, fair skin that never blemishes, hair like threaded gold that reflects silver under the moonlight. Even Kurogane, who never much cares about things like physical appearances, knows that Fai is quite possibly the most beautiful creature on the planet.

Kurogane doesn’t think anything of the compliment. Not until he peers at Fai again and sees that his cheeks have gone bright red. Even the tips of his pointed ears are pink. Kurogane furrows his brows and leans in closer to the mage to get a better look at him; Fai’s back bows to lean away from him.

“Oi. What’s wrong?” Kurogane asks as he reaches out to touch Fai’s forehead. “You look ill.”

“What?” Fai squeaks and leaps back from Kurogane’s touch like a skittish animal. “I’m fine!”

Kurogane crosses his arms over his chest and frowns at the mage. “Your face is all red.”

Fai places a hand on his cheek and looks away. “Yes, well. I suppose. I’m just surprised that Kuro-pan would say such a thing.”

Kurogane blinks at the blushing elf. Is Fai embarrassed? There’s no way he’s bashful; Kurogane knows that Fai knows how pretty he is. “Thought you’d be used to it by now,” Kurogane tells him. “You get called beautiful ten times a day.”

“This is... different,” Fai tells him.

“...Why?” Kurogane asks.

“I... I don’t know, really,” Fai responds, turning away slightly to look at the flowers. “But for some reason, hearing you say it has me feeling rather...” He stops suddenly, his lips pressing into a tight, straight line as his cheeks redden even further.

He gulps and glances at Kurogane, then abruptly looks away again. Kurogane scratches the back of his neck awkwardly and looks at the flowers as well. “Sorry. Won’t do it again,” He murmurs.

“No,” Fai responds immediately. “You... You can say it again. If you want to.”

Kurogane regards the mage. “...Okay then,” He says quietly.

Fai swallows and, very stiffly, says, “...Kuro-pan is rather beautiful, too.”

Kurogane feels his own face heat up and he can only hope that it isn’t as apparent on his bronzed skin as it is on Fai’s. “H-Huh? What the hell are you saying, you idiot?!” He stammers.

Fai looks at him with a soft smile, not one of teasing, but of honesty. Kurogane feels something swoop down in his stomach and his ears get hot. Is this what Fai had just felt, as well? He’s never experienced such a thing in his long life, but his heart is beating wildly and he finds it difficult to look away from those pretty eyes, reflecting the warmth of the setting sun.

Eventually though, Kurogane pulls his eyes away from Fai and scowls at the flowers. “The hell are you staring at me for?” He asks. “Didn’t you want to come to look at the flowers?”

Fai laughs quietly and nods. “Yes, you’re right. I did come all the way out here to admire the beauty.”

Kurogane glances at Fai again and finds that Fai, his face still flushed, is still looking at him.

Kurogane finds it hard to look away, too.

#kurofai #kinda wanna write a whole story about this...

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mugentakeda · 1 year ago

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ideas from right off the dome YAYYYY:

-i think since iroh was the favorite he got to pick a wife at 25. so he went and picked the hot commoner bartender he met a few months ago at a pub that reciprocated his flirtations instead of a powerful noble woman like azulon had WANTED and azulon bitched about it soooo much but eventually allowed it because she was a firebender

-unfortunately the firebending wasnt enough to stop azulons complaining though cus hed always complain to iroh about her even in front of her face. like that the big dangly earrings she liked to wear made her look cheap, her hair and robes are always unkempt, shes too disobedient and that iroh ought to put her in her place, etc etc. which naturally is where the discord in the marriage began

-iroh obviously never laid a hand on her. he truly did like his wife and enjoyed her company when he wasnt out doing military stuff. he liked her for her harshness, too- he didnt want a pushover when he got to pick a wife. he simply gave her the basic rules for the palace and she followed them but if she didnt want anything to do with the typical duties of a princes consort, iroh really had no problem with that. fine print shit didnt matter to iroh. issue being: he didnt tell azulon that. and he didnt really do much to defend her from his fathers casually harsh words and just told her to brush it off because azulons just mean like any other old man.

-iroh left to slay the last dragon when she finally became pregnant, so he didnt get the news until he came back. she became annoyed at just about everything lately, including- especially- iroh, whod rather spend his time making species go extinct and obey his daddys every order than be there for his wife. he was overjoyed by the news among his return. she felt nothing for this spawn inside her.

-he was around significantly more during her pregnancy, so she supposes even azulon isnt so outright foul to send him out despite the heir on the way. she came up with names with iroh in their bed one night, and she felt a softness for him that she hadnt felt in a few years, so maybe shed be able to be content with this if the feeling keeps going. maybe shed finally feel some connection to this baby if she can be at least allowed to name them.

-azulon decides the name for the child.

-its a son and she feels nothing for it, even as she holds it against her bare chest. the fire sages damn near snatch it away to hand it to azulon to see if its a bender. iroh held him last and the longest. he had a very tender gleam in his eyes, far more real than the distant desire he has in his eyes when he looks at her. closer to the look he gets in his cups of tea with his favorite blends, honestly. he whispers the name azulon chose reverently as he gazes down at his spawn, and with all the ebbing agony throbbing through her body from labor and the sweat rolling down her back and neck, she hates him. she hates her husband so much she has no words. he has taken everything from her- her affection, her patience, her fire in return for cold apathy, the name she chose, the flesh of her flesh.

-she decides to sleep before he can bother offering the child back to her. she doesnt want anything to do with what doesnt belong to her.

-iroh and the healers have written off her impatience at his attempted displays of affection as touch repulsion after giving birth. let them think what they want to think, because she wont be staying here for much longer.

-perhaps she cant go back to her beloved bar, but at this point she doesnt care where she'll end up now- because she has faith that whatever fate has in store for her future is better than what agni had in store. annoying neglectful husbands and infant sons destined for death and cruel father in laws. years of lonesomeness in the palace with no company but meek servant girls, years of a marriage with a divine man that she had only found handsome and sharp minded enough to flirt with at her bar, years of putting up with indignities from her father in law just because their great nations god decrees that she has to.

-she slips from the caldera in the dead of night with nothing but her old jewelry and money she stole from iroh, head held high. and by the time the sun rose again, agni didnt strike her down for her treachery.

-years later, she hears of how iroh let mud slugs murder the flesh of her flesh down in the dirt at ba sing se. she sees its face on a portrait hanging in the street for the first time ever, as even the colonies furthest from the homeland have to participate in the mourning period for it. the only thing she can tell that it inherited from her from the elegant painting is its deep tan skin and narrow face. she moves on to continue with her errands and goes home to make herself dinner.

-news and rumors about lord azulons death and the disappearance of new firelord ozai's woman crawls its way to the colonies, and she has to laugh cruely at the irony. she hopes the poor wretch made a clean getaway, and sends a prayer of thanks her way for doing what she couldnt.

mind currently consumed by epic divorce guy iroh and his ex wife that wants to kill him so bad

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harryandmolly · 5 years ago

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Complicit // 4

summary: Shawn is under more pressure than he’s ever known. He craves release and comfort, the simplicity of sex. He gets more than he bargained for.

warnings: language, NSFW (good & rough, babies), my self control has truly gone up in smoke

WC: 6.8k

-----------

Shawn shifts, his eyelids tightening against the morning sun even through the drawn gauzy curtains. He’s aware now, but barely. He’d rather not be. The sleep he gets after a night with her is maybe even more addictive than the date itself. He’s sure it’s because she wears him out so thoroughly.

He’s lying on his stomach, his cheek turned, pressed into the silk sheets provided by the little Malibu beachside inn the agency booked for them. If he keeps his eyes shut he can concentrate on the sound of waves lapping at the shore of Point Dume.

He grumbles. He can’t hear them. He can hear her shuffling around instead. He slowly opens his cloudy dark eyes to assess, lifting his head to find her.

Penny has a pretty strict policy about mornings after dates. Sticking around sets a dangerous precedent. The morning after, it’s all messy hair and morning breath and sleepy eyes and sore, tired muscles -- vulnerability at its most beautiful and most human. It’s not professional, so it’s not safe. That time, that kind of exposure, is to be minimized.

Penny’s already in leggings and a sports bra, typing on her phone with one hand and holding an Outdoor Voices hoodie in the other. She hears him and looks over with a sleepy smile.

“Hi there,” she whispers. Her voice is smooth. It makes his eyes flutter as he thinks about how her skin felt last night.

He just smiles in response.

Her lips curl in a wry grin. “That’s a very happy face you’re making.”

He wonders if he’s really beyond embarrassment with her now. He stretches like a cat and feels his body resist, then give in. He groans deeply, heavily. It’s music to her ears.

“That’s cause you’re a fucking miracle worker.”

When he says shit like this, Penny wants to crawl back on top of him and make him come a few more times. But she knows he’s tired. He worked hard for her. She perches beside him, ankles crossed delicately, and runs a hand down his naked back, admiring.

“You make it easy, baby,” she assures him. Her smile is placid. It turns a little devilish when she cups his ass cheek through the sheet and gives it a squeeze. Shawn squirms gently and smiles.

“I have to go. Gus will be by in half an hour to pick you up and bring you back to your car.”

Beneath her hand, Shawn rolls over. His cheeks have pillow marks and sport a hearty morning flush. His curls are wild from her fingers and his own. She swallows and leaves her hand where it’s fallen, brushing his lower ribs.

He closes his eyes. “I’m leaving for the festival run.”

She nods and keeps her eyes on his chest hair, waiting for him to give the little break up speech she’s used to.

It’s not really a break up, of course. It’s more like an awkward firing. A “hey… you’ve been great but your services are no longer required, thanks!” It’s ok. It means she’s done some good. She can see in every move of his soft, sore muscles that she’s eased most of his tension away. He’ll go into a long, hot, busy summer fresh and rejuvenated because of her. She can live with that.

“I…” He gets flustered and rakes a hand through his hair, cupping his other hand around her wrist, “I don’t know how to ask… I mean, I don’t even know if you’d be interested and it’s kind of--”

“Shawn, what do you need?”

It’s simple, she wants to remind him, I’ll give you everything you need.

Shawn’s eyes shut again. He gently, absently massages the tendons in her wrist. “I… was wondering if I could fly you out to Vegas to be there the weekend of my first festival. I think having you there would really help. But I don’t know if you’re busy or if it’s too soon, y’know, I know I haven’t been seeing you very long and I don’t want to be that guy or--”

She quiets his yammering by dragging her hand up to curl around the back of his neck, drawing his eyes to hers.

“That could be arranged,” she murmurs. It makes his toes curl. The tips of his ears go as pink as his cheeks. He grins.

“Yeah?”

She nods smugly. He still needs her. There’s no better feeling. “Call Colette with the details. She can arrange my travel and my room. I have to go home and feed Pammy.”

She stands, looking down at him fondly. Her body tenses and she leans her weight into front foot like she’s going to crouch to kiss him. Instead she swallows, reaches for her suitcase handle and waves with a couple free fingers before she steps out into the humid Malibu morning.

Penny doesn’t relish flying commercial, but she doesn’t have much of an excuse to charter a flight just to get to Vegas from LA, especially if she won’t be joined on the flight by a client.

So, first class then.

Colette has her on the United 6 PM into McCarran. She’s getting in just as the city is warming up, coming alive for the night. Flying into Vegas at sunset is especially romantic to Penny. She has visions of Frank at the Sands, of cocktails at the Carnival Lounge, of cruising past the famous ‘Welcome to Las Vegas’ sign in a topless red Thunderbird. Penny always has had a fondness for vintage, and especially to Vegas, with its close links to the Rat Pack.

Shawn has already reimbursed the agency for her weekend expenses including travel and accommodation, plus her hefty three-day weekend price tag, so Gus is not along for the ride. Instead, a driver will meet her at the airport to shepherd her over to the Bellagio, her preferred Vegas lodging. Her suite is on the floor above Shawn’s.

Penny is used to the glamour. This is not the first time she’s been flown out to meet a client in an exciting city. It’s not even the first time she’s been flown to Vegas to fuck for a weekend in the Bellagio.

But this… she’s excited about.

Shawn must have called Colette as soon as she got in her car because she got the confirmation of the booking when she was crawling back to Studio City on the 101. Two days, three nights, $12,000. He’s playing the inaugural iHeart Summer festival, headlining the first of three nights with names like Cardi B, Miley Cyrus, Dua Lipa, Sam Smith and, of course, Bex.

Not that Penny minds. She’s not attending the festival. His team doesn’t know about her and he intends to keep it that way. She’s not there to be his arm candy, she’s there to take the pressure off behind closed doors. She doesn’t mind behind the dirty little secret. She’s good at it.

The fountain at the Bellagio is surrounded by tourists when she arrives in her hired Tesla. She watches the spray of the impressive water display shimmer in the nighttime lights of the Vegas strip until her driver politely calls for her attention. Her luggage, absolutely excessive for a three day trip, is loaded onto a cart. She reaches for her phone as she’s guided past check-in and up to her fountain view king suite.

Silver Fox: Arrived safely? Xx

Petey Pie: hiiiiii pls slay in vegas you absolute queen, miss you 🖤

She shoots off a quick series of hearts and mushy love words to each before switching to her work phone to dial the agency, impatiently tapping the toe of her pointy black patent leather Brian Atwood stilettos on the hardwood floor.

“Hiya, Pen,” Colette greets, much more casually and without the put-upon accent she sports for client calls, “Everything good there?”

“Just got in. Great room. Can you let him know I’m here?” Penny asks breezily.

“He just called, actually. He says he’s sorry but he can’t see you tonight. He said he has to do “a Bex thing” and that you’d know what that meant.”

Penny looks up from her shoes. Her vision is blurred, unfocused as she looks past the lights of the strip. After a beat too long, she answers.

“Sure, no problem. Thank you, Colette.”

She hangs up and tosses the gold cased phone to the bed. Her slender hands fall to her hips. She continues staring, willing her brain to quiet as her hands begin to wander -- one up to tease her collarbones where they lay bare beneath her oversized men’s dress shirt, the other slipping between her thighs, pressing against the rough denim of her J Brand jeans. She sighs, tilts her head and closes her eyes.

Slowly, she strips out of her clothes, including the pale peach satin lingerie set underneath, leaving them lying on the floor in front of the window. She collapses into the luxurious bedspread, lips mashing together as she sets to work, fingers trembling when she muffles her desperate moans of release into the ornate cushion by her head.

After a few minutes enjoying the afterglow, she bundles up in a fluffy white hotel robe and calls for room service.

Shawn stares at the ceiling, twiddling his St. Christopher medal between his fingers as he thinks.

He doubts her room is, like, directly above his. He doubts the footsteps he hears padding around above him are hers. He’d kind of like to imagine they are, though. He wonders what she’s doing.

He’s been wondering since he stood outside her hotel room door last night after 3am, wanting her so bad he couldn’t fucking breathe. He stopped himself from knocking, though. Thank god.

He arrived in Vegas a few hours before Penny did. Upon checking in, Andrew announced that Bex’s flight was moved up to facilitate a staged night out before festival rehearsals. It made sense. Shawn had already mentally accounted for having to spend public time with her on this trip, given they were playing the same festival lineup. He just didn’t know he’d basically be stepping off the plane into a paparazzi circus to hold the hand of a girl whose middle name he doesn’t know, only to be seen slinking away with her back to their hotel.

His stomach rolled at the idea until Penny’s words in her somehow comfortingly stern voice play in his head: this relationship stunt doesn’t define you as a man or as an artist.

He still feels bad, though. He expected to spend the night with Penny. He flew her out here to be with him and now he has to toss her aside for work. It doesn’t seem fair.

He runs a hand through his curls and grunts. Maybe she’s relieved. Maybe it feels like a paid night off in Vegas. Maybe she hasn’t thought about him at all.

He hopes he’s wrong.

Penny takes a bubble bath the next morning with too many bubbles and a mimosa after a grueling start at the gym -- 3 miles on the treadmill and 45 minutes of free weights. It felt incredible, almost as incredible as the gardenia-scented bath and the fresh citrus blend of juice that had her lighter than air as the rest of the city began to stir.

She doesn’t expect to hear from Shawn until this evening, at least. It’s his first day of rehearsals at the MGM Grand and he has promo and photoshoots -- all this according to Colette, to whom he gave his schedule when he made the booking.

So Penny takes herself shopping.

Brunch at Bellagio Patisserie is followed by a short walk over to the Grand Canal Shoppes at the Venetian. It’s one of her favorite spots, not despite its kitschiness, but because of it -- the false blue sky overhead and the overflowing flower boxes beneath lit windows in a long neighborhood of Italian storefronts, the men in striped shirts and flat hats singing Italian folk songs as they steer gondolas full of tourists down the indoor river.

It’s all a little too much, just like Vegas is supposed to be. She adores it.

She has an arm full of bags by early afternoon -- Fendi, Barney’s, Louis Vuitton, and those are just for her. She snagged a cute new pair of Vilebrequin swim trunks for Peter and a pair of sky blue Ferragamo slides for Silver. She plans on having a quick salad for lunch before spending the rest of the day at the Cypress pool.

She’s striding through the airy, unusually quiet lobby of the Bellagio trailed by a bellhop toting her bags when she stops short.

In the window of Cartier, something sparkles. Well, not just one thing, but one thing in particular catches her eye. It’s a ring from the Étincelle de Cartier collection, a looped, overlapping band of rose gold, studded with diamonds. She’s seen the design before, has admired it online, in magazines, even on the fingers of other women. But it’s never called to her like this before. She narrows her eyes, tilts her head and glances down at her naked, plum-painted fingers.

She decides they look lonely. With a nod to her wide-eyed and very attentive bellhop, she steps inside.

25 minutes later, humming “I Love Vegas” by Dean Martin, a few thousand dollars poorer, Penny comes strutting out of Cartier with the little red ring box stuffed in her purse and its contents catching the afternoon light on the middle finger of her left hand.

Shawn clears his throat again. His eyes are angled down at the toes of his boots as they scuff the stage. He drums his fingers, clasped together around the mic, bobbing his head.

He looks up. Cez and Andrew stand a few yards away in the midst of crowds of roadies setting up the Grand Garden Arena for the festival. They’re talking and nodding and Shawn is trying not to imagine that they’re discussing how fucking edgy and nervous he’s been all morning.

He thinks bitterly he’d be a lot better if he’d gotten to see Penny last night. He closes his eyes and lets himself imagine it -- slipping her out of a shimmery gold dress, tangling his fingers in her hair while her lips course over his chest, lying beneath her as she rides him hard into an expensive mattress while the fountain show is visible through the window.

God, he fucking craves it. He wants to beg for her, to get on his knees for her, to follow her instructions so exactly that she can’t help but smile, call him “baby” in that sweet, breathless voice and, finally, when she’s ready, when he knows he’s earned it, make him come so spectacularly that he can’t remember his own fucking name, much less all that comes attached to it.

He’s going insane without it. That’s what this is, he’s sure. It’s not Bex or the other names on the bill or his name in the biggest lettering he’s ever seen outside the goddamned MGM Grand or the millions of people that will be watching on the TV broadcast. It’s withdrawal. It’s been six days since Malibu, he’s jonesing. That’s all.

He grunts gently and tilts his head forward, gliding into a vocal run as the band plays through LIJ. He needs what Penny and Penny alone can give him to get through his first headlining festival. No matter what, he’s seeing her tonight. No one will fight him. He’s been rehearsing all day and his show is tomorrow. He’ll eat with the team and turn in early, solemn and responsible.

And he’ll go straight to her room and let her fuck him stupid.

Andrew looks up at him. Shawn’s head lifts.

“Sounding great, dude. How do you feel?”

Shawn doesn’t hesitate. “We’re going to run through it again.”

She’s topless, facedown on a chaise lounge by the exclusive Cypress pool running through agency numbers on her laptop. It’s almost time to turn over again and reapply sunscreen. Her bellini is fresh and cool, just replaced by the cute poolside waitress who’s been especially attentive.

Her phone buzzes.

Colette: The client will meet you in your room at 9pm.

Penny wets her lips and sets her phone down. She stretches, tightening every muscle from the tips of her fingers to her toes, and slackens against the cushions, feeling pooling warmth below her belly.

Her scalp tingles at the gentle knock on the door. In the dimly lit room, she pads barefoot to the door, glass of champagne fizzing in her newly decorated hand. She checks the peephole, sweeps some hair off the shoulder of her black satin robe and opens the door.

His head snaps up like he wasn’t expecting her. He looks distracted and very tired. He smiles, guilty, like he knows how easily she can see his tension all over him. She has her work cut out for her tonight.

“Hi,” he murmurs, sounding just about as depleted as he feels. He reaches up and brushes some loose curls out of his eyes. They’re still a little wet from his post-rehearsal shower. He knows she doesn’t mind.

Penny takes his hand and it’s almost enough to bring tears to his eyes. She leads him wordlessly into her room. The lamp by her bed is on and the curtains on her floor-to-ceiling windows are drawn open, allowing the only light in the room. Her phone is plugged into the stereo, playing Sinatra’s In the Wee Small Hours album. He follows her to the sofa and sits, hearing his knees creak, feeling his back ache. She perches beside him and lifts her legs over his lap. He settles, curling one hand around her ankle and using the other to rub circles into her knee.

He looks up at her timidly. She fights a concerned frown.

“I’m sorry about last night,” he whispers, looking a little distraught, “I feel… kinda weird about it.”

“Why weird?” she asks, handing him a glass of champagne. He reluctantly pries a hand off her silky skin to take it and sip.

“Because… because you’re here for me and I ditched you. I mean, you know I didn’t want to, right? God, fuck, I really didn’t want to. I would’ve given anything to be here with you last night. But--”

“It’s ok, Shawn,” she assures him, widening her eyes to underline her sincerity, “This is your job. I understand that and I respect that. It deserves your time and attention more than I do.”

“But still, I flew you out here. I… I’d never want you to feel like just because I’m paying to see you that that means I can do whatever I want with you or your time. Because I respect you, too.”

Penny is quiet for a few very long seconds. “I know you do. It’s one of the reasons I like spending time with you. But we wouldn’t be here together if you weren’t in this position with your job.”

His skin prickles. He swallows another sip, a slightly larger one. “I guess it’s still weird for me. Being out with her, seeing the headlines and what people think.”

She brings in the ringer -- she scoops a hand up into the curls at the back of his neck and scrunches them, massaging her fingers against his nape. His eyes slide shut. He purrs.

“It’s all for a good cause,” she reminds him gently.

He nods and sips again, keeping his eyes shut.

“How was your day?” he whispers after a few quiet moments, fluttering his eyes back open.

“Good,” she chuckles, “I went to the gym, I took a bubble bath, I shopped, I laid out by the pool.”

He can tell. She’s all shimmery and warm in a way a woman only can be when she’s soaked up some natural sun. He nods admiringly, letting his fingers wander up her bare leg.

“Did you buy anything?”

She goes a little bashful. Shawn’s eyebrows lift.

“A few things,” she admits, untangling her fingers from his hair and holding her hand out in front of him, “This is my favorite.”

Shawn cups her hand in his broad palm and examines the ring with a grin. “It’s pretty. Why are you making that face?”

She purses her lips around a smile. “It’s a splurge. I walked into Cartier downstairs on a whim. I saw it in the window and needed it immediately.”

There’s something undeniably sexy to Shawn about a woman who knows what she wants and goes for it. He bites into his lower lip and brushes the pad of his thumb over the glinting stones.

“You deserve it, Pen.”

She slips her hand from his and slowly curls it under his jaw. “I know.”

His breath catches in his throat. He chokes on a stammering laugh. “I know you know. I guess I just like reminding you.”

She wets her unpainted lips. “Because you’re my good boy.”

Air whistles out of Shawn’s nose as he exhales. He nods in her hand.

Penny leans in. His lips are warm and a little rough, but they taste like champagne. She sighs into him, lets him trace his fingers up the outside of her thigh, brushing where the short robe lies against her sun-kissed skin. The tension in his jaw abates when she slips her tongue between his lips, exploring the way he softens just for her.

He pulls away first, out of breath. He presses his cheek to hers, nuzzling.

“Fuck, you have no idea how much I needed that.”

Penny places her flute of champagne beside his on the end table and reaches for him. They stand, Penny up on her toes to meet him from several inches below. With her hands secured around his neck, she continues kissing him -- she’s found it’s the best way to get him totally present with her, the fastest and sweetest way to relax him until he’s warm and pliant in her hands.

Her eyes are shut. The lights from the fountain show cast a glow against her eyelids but she’s too into him to notice. They explore different rhythms -- soft, sweet kisses, skating hands, gentle noises and rough, passionate moans, grabbing, taking, feeling.

She presses him back into the window, watching the colored lights of the strip surround his head like a halo as he pants down at her. For a moment, she just takes him in, breathing heavily, eyes wide, swallowing him in gulps. His hands twitch against her waist. She feels the tremble and lets it ground her.

She plants a hand against his chest. It rises and falls with his breath. She watches it, watches him beneath it, the way his eyes sparkle at her now that he’s all here, all hers.

“Shawn,” she beckons, guiding him with her voice, “Strip.”

He blinks, and it’s the only moment of pause he takes before he starts to obey. She steps back to give him room to kick off his boots, shove at his jeans and boxers, wriggle out of his fitted tee. He stands before her like the statue of David, but better -- flushed and full of life, hardening cock stirring against his thigh, brushed with soft hair all over his warm body.

“God, you’re fucking magnificent.”

Her eyes flash after she says it, locking onto his. He goes absolutely magenta, swallowing roughly and turning his face when the eye contact becomes too much. She makes a disapproving noise from the back of her throat and cups his cheek to turn him back to her.

“Look at me,” she urges, but it’s warm and, underneath, a little pleading. She holds his gaze. This time, he preens a little, lifting his chin, smiling, even flexing. She releases a wet growl and nods.

“I got myself off thinking about you last night,” she confesses hotly, reaching for the sash of her robe. His abs tense this time in shock, not to peacock for her.

“Really?” he stammers, eyes going comically wide.

She nods eagerly, slipping the robe off her shoulders. On her bronzed skin she wears a gold lace lingerie set -- a balconette bra she’s positively spilling from and a barely there v-string. His fingers curl into his palms and his head falls back into the window with a thud.

“I thought about you on your knees for me,” she pants, “Begging, pleading for a taste. God, you were ravenous. Fucking devouring me. So good for me, baby, just like always.”

Shawn whines impatiently, eyes falling shut as he imagines it too, cock bobbing against his thigh as he shivers.

“And then --” she purrs, causing him to snap his eyes back open because she sounds closer than she was, and she is, she’s standing so close that her feet are between his and her breasts are a hair’s breadth from his chest.

“--then, I let you fuck me.”

Shawn gasps a breath because he forgot he needed oxygen until his body forcibly reminded him.

“Yeah?” he croaks.

Penny nods, smirking. She rests her palms against his chest and hears him deflate like a balloon. She cocks her head, admiring her ring in this new light. The rose gold looks pretty against his skin. She hums thoughtfully, nudges it with her thumb to watch it sparkle.

Her eyes lift to his. He was already watching her closely.

“You like my ring, Shawn?”

He nods, certain, but unsure of where she’s going with this. She spreads her fingers and starts gliding her hand up over his collarbone, wrapping delicately around his throat. He stops breathing like she’s restricting his airway, but it’s just in anticipation. After a heated moment, she continues her hand’s path under his chin and up until her fingertips rest against his mouth.

“Open,” she commands softly.

Shawn’s jaw drops enough for her to slip her index and middle finger into his mouth, resting against his perfect wet tongue. He grunts, closes his mouth around them, starting to suck gently to gauge her reaction.

She watches him hungrily as he tastes her fingers, swirling his tongue along the length of them, between them, paying special attention to the ring she’s so fond of. He groans as he watches her face, lips parted like she, too, can’t believe how fucking hot this is.

Slowly, carefully, he lifts his hands to rest in the dips of her waist, anchoring her close to him as he lavishes her fingers, admiring their slender strength in his mouth. She curls them teasingly, he nips at her knuckles to watch her squirm. The lights and sounds of the city behind them are totally lost. Or maybe they’re the ones that are lost.

Shawn keeps sucking and licking far past the point of vulgarity. The noises his mouth makes against her fingers are filthy and he hopes (he’s pretty confident) that it’s doing a good job of getting her wet for him. She’s not stopping him, though. She’s rapt, amazed at his attention, waiting -- for what, he’s not sure. But he won’t stop until she tells him to.

Maybe it’s her wriggling impatience that finally has her tugging her fingers away from his swollen lips with a pop. He flicks his head back to free his sweaty forehead from some stray curls. He breathes hard, mouth open, waiting for whatever she wants next.

Penny brushes her tongue against her lower lip. She skims her wet fingers down her stomach, dipping into the front of her panties with a sigh. In her periphery, Shawn’s chest rises and falls a little faster. She curls her fingers against her pussy with a groan, shoulders softening, head lolling sideways when she releases a soft breath.

“Penny,” Shawn hisses weakly, “Please.”

Her eyelids are heavy as she stares up at him. He doesn’t know what he’s asking for, she can tell. It’s ok. She always knows what he wants even when he doesn’t.

Slowly, a little reluctantly, she pulls her hand from between her legs and slips her fingertips into the cup of her bra, holding a condom up for him to take. He heaves a relieved sigh and lifts a corner of his wet mouth.

She takes his free hand and pulls him off the window, taking his place against it. She settles back for a moment, staring up at his face as he concentrates on steadying his shaky fingers enough to roll the condom on. He blinks hard when he finishes and sees her watching him.

“Wh-what do you want, Penny?”

She turns her back to him, shifts her hands up until they’re pressing into the glass above her head. Shawn’s breath shudders hard in his chest as he admires the shape of her, fully illuminated by the city lights. He takes a mental picture, begs his frazzled brain to hold onto this image as long as he can.

She glances over her shoulder and nods at him. Wordlessly, reverently, he peels her out of her pretty bra and panties, tossing them behind him toward the bed. She chuckles at his eagerness. He smiles back, caught, but comfortable basking in how much he wants her.

She turns. Shawn inhales sharply and staggers, planting a hand up on the window beside her to remain steady. She gathers him up into her arms and, as they both lock eyes and inhale, he lifts her, wrapping her legs around his torso, angling the head of his cock against her entrance.

He chokes on a breath, “Fuck-- oh fuck, you’re so wet.”

Penny nods, a little frantic, thrusting her fingers into his curls as if to steer him. “Listen to me. I need you to fuck me as hard as you can. Don’t hold back, baby. I wanna feel you. I wanna feel everything.”

Shawn’s eyes fall shut. He hears the volume of the groan he releases but he doesn’t remember allowing himself to make it. He shifts her in his arms until he slides in an inch or two. Her eyes close just as his reopen.

He follows the stroke through until he’s buried, brushing his nose against hers. She feels him, understands what he wants. She nods again, clenching her arms tighter around his shoulders.

With a loud gasp, Shawn tilts his hips, sliding all the way back as he holds her flat against the window, and presses back in harder. He hangs his head against her shoulder, establishing a slow, deep rhythm, flinching every time he hears her body squeezing around him greedily.

“Holy… shit,” he coughs, letting his tongue brush her collarbone as he picks up his pace, egged on by her bare heels digging into his ass.

Penny can’t fucking breathe. Her head bumps back against the window with each powerful stroke. Every row of his hips stretches her further. It’s like every thrust fills her so completely, there isn’t even room for oxygen in her lungs. She doesn’t care. She doesn’t think she needs it right now. She needs this.

“So… good,” she grunts, the sound throaty and weak.

He’s not holding back, she can tell. She wasn’t sure if he could get here with her, if he trusted her, and himself, enough to let himself have this. But she knows he needs it. She thinks maybe they both do.

“Penny,” he sighs. His hips work faster. She scrunches her fingers in his hair.

“More,” she demands, but the whine in her voice gives it away as a plea.

“Fuck,” he swears, shaking his head in disbelief. He hitches her up in his arms as their sweaty bodies slip, and it changes the angle. Her fingers scrabble on his back, sinking in and dragging, leaving livid red marks as she clings to him against his mighty swings.

Her eyes glaze over, roll back slightly. “Oh god, yes!” she cries, turning her face to bury her nose in his hair and bite sharply at the shell of his ear.

He growls in a way she hasn’t heard from him. It’s rough, all animal, and she knows there’s nothing left in him that’s uncertain or anxious or self-conscious or scared. He holds her hips steady and pounds hard, relishing the slick squelch of their bodies and the protest of the window against her skin.

“Oh my god, oh my god,” she chants, holding on for dear life. It’s all she can do. She has no leverage to fuck back against him. He’s the one driving into her and, when he does, pressing her back to reach even deeper. She sobs for breath, soaking him as he ruts hard against her clit with every perfect, reckless stroke.

“Penny, shit,” Shawn moans, “Please, please, you have to come. I can’t fucking hold on.”

With a whine in her throat, she yanks at his hair to bring his eyes up to hers. The pupils are so dilated she can’t see any brown left. She focuses on the blackness and feels her walls spasm, so close she can taste it.

“Harder,” she hisses, daring him, keeping his head pinned between her hands.

His brow furrows. His tensed hands clench hard enough to bruise. He doesn’t have anymore to give, but she wants it, so he’s going to fucking give it to her. He groans, ass clenching as he forces himself deeper into her desperate, willing body until she gasps and breaks.

He’s never felt anything like it. She goes solid in his arms, every well-trained muscle hard as a rock, but her pussy trembles around him, holding him in. She massages his throbbing cock so thoroughly that Shawn loses his hold and comes right behind her, spilling into the condom with a scream. His hips keep thrusting shallowly, the rhythm holding steady long past when it usually does after he comes. It takes them both longer than usual to come down.

When they do, even Shawn’s impressive strength is nearly gone. His knees tremble as he scoops her off the window and stumbles toward the bed, using his last bit of self-control to lay her down gently, his cock still nestled inside her pulsing walls.

She loosens her grip on his shoulders and hair, stroking instead of scraping. Her breathing steadies from gasps to perfect, mindless whimpers. He doesn’t think he’s breathing at all until she shifts beneath him and he hears himself whine, loud and unabashed.

He lifts his heavy head from her shoulder to look down at her. She’s smiling gently, still panting through her overfull lips. He barely stops himself from kissing her. He grins like a moron instead.

“Are you… ok?” he asks, his voice shaky. She nods.

He starts to pull his hips back. One of her legs, still slung around him, presses into his ass cheek as she makes a weak noise.

“Slowly,” she groans, brow furrowing. He bobs his head sheepishly and eases out, feeling the way her body resists the loss. It gives him a full body shiver.

He ties off the condom and lobs it into a trashcan by the bed. He reaches for her hip, cupping where his hands held her so tight.

“Are you… sure you’re ok?”

She makes a warm purring noise and closes her eyes. “You were so good, so perfect for me. I’ve never been fucked that hard before.”

This perks him up a bit. He smiles to himself and nudges closer to her on top of the bedspread, shutting his eyes.

“I’m gonna take a nap,” he whispers.

She threads her fingers into his hair and pets his scalp until they’re both asleep, curled up beside each other.

He wants to hold her hand.

It’s a pretty sudden realization as she walks him back to his room. He’s pretty sure it’s because he’s never had a sexual experience like this in his life and he’s still fucking high from it, but it’s disconcerting, too.

So he doesn’t hold her hand. He just glances over at her again, amazed she’s up and walking, especially after they went at it again (much less aggressively) after their nap. She smirks at him.

“I’m not a china doll, Shawn,” she assures him. He flushes a little.

“Yeah, no, I… sorry.”

She chuckles through her nose and glances up the long hallway to the door of his room.

“I probably should’ve let you sleep,” she sighs, glancing down at her work phone, frowning at the time -- 6:11 AM.

Shawn shrugs. “I think I needed that more than sleep.”

They stop outside his door. He reaches for her, unsure of what he’s after, when the door next to his swings open.

Cez is looking down at his phone, dressed in gym wear, ready to go. He glances up and freezes, staring at Shawn and Penny.

Shawn’s mouth goes dry. His stomach lurches. He opens his mouth to speak.

“... anyway, I know I’m an asshole, it’s like, 6 AM and I’m definitely still super fucking drunk, but my friends will, like, murder me if I don’t get a selfie with you.”

Shawn stares at Penny for almost a beat too long. Her eyes are wide and manic. Her grin is toothy. Her voice doesn’t sound like hers at all. She even stumbles a little for effect. He swallows and nods.

“Yeah, ok.”

She slings an arm around him and holds up her phone, snapping the photo with a squeal.

“Okie! Byeeeee!”

Without a glance back at either of them, Penny hustles away, almost losing her balance even just in flip flops. Shawn’s sure she put it on as part of her little impromptu show.

He glances back at Cez, who snorts and shakes his head, seemingly unbothered.

“Went for another dawn walk?” Cez guesses.

Shawn blinks and nods, catching up. “Yeah. Gonna get changed and hit the gym, too.”

Cez nods and walks off, busy on his phone. Shawn lets himself into his room and doesn’t let himself exhale until the door clicks behind him.

Shawn Mendes SLAYS Night One of iHeart Summer Fest -- E!News

Shawn Mendes Surprises Vegas Fans With Bex Duet! -- The Hollywood Reporter

Shawn Mendes Commands Night One, Highlight of Inaugural iHeart Summer Festival -- Rolling Stone

His heart skips a beat like it does whenever La Splendeur calls, but this time it thuds even a little harder. He’s not sure why they’re calling him. He hasn’t made another booking yet. Hell, he hasn’t even left Vegas yet.

“Hello?”

“Hello, may I have your verbal password, please?”

“Ireland,” Shawn grunts, closing the door behind him as he steps onto his hotel room balcony.

“Excellent, thank you, Mr. Mendes. Miss Penny has requested that I leave you with her cell number for future bookings.”

His face is blank. “... She did?”

“Yes. It’s not uncommon practice. After a period of time, our employees often transition to arranging directly with preferred clients.”

Preferred clients. He really shouldn’t be blushing at that, but…

He puts the phone on speaker so he can type in her number, saving it under the name “Orthodontist” -- just in case.

Pamela thwaps her tail against the entryway carpet impatiently, but stays put when Penny opens the door for the delivery that the mysterious auction house called to arrange the previous day. Behind the door stands a tall gentleman in a well tailored suit, wearing a flat, polite grin.

“Miss Penny?”

Penny nods. “Yes.”

He gestures to the credenza beside her. She lets him in, clearing her throat uncertainly as she shuts the door behind him.

With his back to her, he lifts a briefcase onto the surface and pops it open. A familiar red leather box, much larger than the one she brought home from Vegas, sits inside.

He lifts it out and turns to her, presenting it as if for her inspection. She squares her shoulders and nods.

He lifts the lid. Penny’s knees turn to jello. Her eyes go wide as saucers. Her breath catches.

“Oh… my god.”

“Spectacular, isn’t it?” the man agrees enthusiastically.

Inside the box is a diamond tennis necklace in a white gold setting with graduated stones. It has to be at least 12 carats total. And Penny’s no jeweler but she bets, especially given the way in which it was delivered, that the diamonds in the settings are nearly flawless.

“The certificate of authenticity is in this folder. As I’m sure you’ve already been told, the necklace is 1949 Cartier, handmade in France, designed by Frank Sinatra for Ava Gardner.”

She swears she’s going to pass out. She lifts a hand to her forehead and focuses on her breath so she doesn’t swallow her fucking tongue.

“I’m-- is there a note? Who sent this?”

The man looks startled, like he was quite certain Penny knew all about this gift. He hands her a piece of cardstock in a creamy envelope and packs his briefcase back up, leaving the red box on the credenza. Penny is scared to touch it.

She holds the card behind her in her twitching fingers. She cocks her head, staring at the necklace. Pamela settles beside her, brushing her leg with her big, furry head.

When Penny thinks she’s regained enough sense to read, she slides the card from the envelope.

‘Thank you

x, Shawn’

----------

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