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kingofthe-egirls · 1 year ago

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Hear me out, y/n and Zoro are working out, and they like train fight together and y/n wins somehow, Zoro gets all grumpy and pouts and y/n says that they will make it up to him, and Zoro being Zoro, gets an idea, and then rest is up to you my dear writer!!

ooooooooooo ok

SPARRING ROOM: ZORO x Y/N

(cw: sword fighting, sweet self indulgent combat descriptions, minor stab wound, etc., sword language, kissing)

(a/n: so i tried to focus less on just the stage directions this time, since i've been wanting to delve more into the narration and what's going on inside reader's head. snakelike imagery as well as a lot of "S" words. sometimes it felt a lil clunky but we made it through lol)

Songs: "Ain't It Fun" by Paramore, "Sexy Villain" by Remi Wolf

words: 1.9k

"That's my girl," Zoro says, strong hand on your back as you finish up your set of push-ups (thirty second reps with fifteen second breaks between). He lets you sit up, stretching out your back.

"Thanks, Zo," you say, pushing up to standing. You take a long drink of water, drips tickling down your chin and onto your sports bra. Zoro clears his throat, and looks away. You smile.

Swordsmen are so noble.

"Wanna fight?"

Zoro scruffs his hand through his hair, pushing up to standing himself. He towers over you, a good several inches. Maybe a full foot. You knock your forehead into his chest. Headbutting is your way of showing affection, kinda like a cat.

He scruffs your hair, too, from where it's pulled back into a messy ponytail. "Sure," he says, and moves over to the side of the crow's nest where his three swords sit against the wall. You watch the ocean way below, swishing and sparkling as it laps against the Sunny.

You bend to pick up your own rapier, the silver filigree wrapping around your hand comfortably in a decorated knuckle guard. The dancing tiger that stalks its way across the sweepings guides you to victory, all the way down to the rapier's gleaming point.

You swipe it through the air, relishing the swiftness and flexibility of your sacred blade. Nightingale. She is a snakelike, hissing thing that speaks to you in whispers as she flies. You pair her with a short blade, held in your other hand with no less care.

Meadowlark.

Swordsmen are always worried about the length of their swords: the bigger the better. Typical. What they don't account for, however, is the deadliness of a shorter blade. The duck and strike, the rattlesnake bite, the venom of your speed strikes straight through their lowered guard. They always overestimate themselves, since your opponents usually have a longer reach than you. But your rapier is not alone.

She bites.

And so do you.

Swordswomen do not play fair.

You grin over at Zoro, who's checking the edges of his blades so as not to cut you. Speaking to them softly, caressing their sides and gripping their handles like a lover. His voice rumbles lowly across the glossy wooden floor, sweetly beckoning the swords to follow him, obey him, let him rule over them as he spars with his friend.

You almost hear them rattling in his hands.

Purring to your own blade, you remind her sharp edges not to bite so dangerously, but not to go too easy on him either. It's a delicate balance, talking to your swords. She whispers back seductively not to worry, that she'll swing with accuracy but not deadly force. She sighs in your hand, shivering as she readies for battle.

"Easy," you murmur to her, and she sings. Meadowlark buzzes in your hand, adding the bass to her soprano. "Ready?" You ask Zoro, swiping your sword through the air. You stalk towards him, stepping carefully across slats of glossy Adam tree.

Zoro smiles wickedly, placing his white blade between his teeth. He cherishes the handle of Wado Ichimonji as if she were sweetness itself. His sister's spirit lives inside this sword. You respect his three-sword style, and have yet to beat him in a sparring match.

Swiftly, you bow.

Zoro returns the gesture, and brandishes his two swords aloft. Wado Ichimonji gleams in the sharp florescent lighting of the crow's nest. Swiping the air, you stalk around your opponent, noting his strong biceps and flexing center. He lowers his center of gravity, bending swiftly before leaping forward to strike against your guard.

You swipe away the sharp edge of Wado Ichimonji, ducking aside as Zoro lunges forward, sword tilted in his teeth. He steps away from you, just barely, so that your swift disarming counter strikes harmlessly against Sandai Kitetsu's guard. Sparks glint off where the strong metals meet. You swipe Nightingale across his side, but he dodges. You stumble forward, slightly off balance.

"Shit."

Zoro laughs, growling around the white-wrapped handle of Wado Ichimonji. "Start again," he says, standing wide with a lowered stance. Enma gleams sharply in his strong fist. You turn, stepping around in a circle as he counters your movement across the floor.

"Stumbling is never a good sign," Zoro says, swords snickering in their triangle shape. She is making fun of you in particular: the sword singing softly in his right fist. Smirking, even. Zoro matches her sneer as he closes the distance between you in swift, even strides.

"Stop it," you whisper, tightening your grip around Nightingale's sweetly wrapped handle. She has a soft, white leather made from a doe's hide. She is a flourishing, sacred blade.

"Stop what?" Zoro asks, clashing his two swords against your rapier overhead. Sparks fly down between you, and you just barely dodge out of the way of Wado Ichimonji's strike. His three-sword style is a bitch, sometimes. Stepping back, you catch your breath.

He swings, again.

Sweet Meadowlark counters the sharp edge of Enma, screaming across the sharpened steel. You grit your teeth, bringing your dagger all the way down to the hilt of Zoro's katana.

"Not you," you hiss out through a clenched jaw. Staring at Sandai Kitetsu, you push forward even more, enough to get Zoro to stumble backward. He counters, quickly. He faints with Sandai Kitetsu, before slashing sideways at your open side. You yelp, a sharp, high-pitched noise at the back of your throat. Zoro smirks.

"Swords are makin' fun of ya?"

Snickering, the three katanas all bear down on you from overhead. He's so fast. You grunt, blocking them with rapier and dagger crossed above you. He knees you in the stomach.

"Ouch!" You scream, winded. You stumble backward, clutching at your abdomen. You spit saliva onto the floor. Zoro chuckles.

He plants both feet on the floor, standing shirtless in front of you, with nothing but his leather pants and green bellyband. You're only in a sports bra and shorts, yourself. Swiping Nightingale through the air, you sprint toward him at full speed.

Fainting with Nightingale, you strike at Zoro's blind side, before ducking quickly and jabbing Meadowlark straight into his chest.

"Shit!" You squeak, ripping your steel dagger out of Zoro's bloodied chest. You hit right between the ribs, on the side with his good eye. Blood trickles down his abs in a scarlet ribbon. You smile.

Strike One: Y/n.

But the victory tastes sweet for only so long, as Zoro bears down on you with a counterattack. You dodge out of the way, but only slightly, as Sandai Kitetsu shears off a lock of your hair.

"Fuck!" You scurry backward, a rogue at heart, meant to strike and retreat as quickly as possible. Zoro stalks forward again.

This time, he twirls Enma in one hand before striking down viciously at you with a barrage of attacks. Slashes, stabs, lunges. Swipes at your side, especially the side where you hold shorter Meadowlark.

"Shut up," you tell his sassy sword, who's been snickering at you this whole time. She chides your balance, your sword play, the way you're standing with too much weight on your left side.

She glides snakelike against your dagger, bouncing off the side. Your arm stings with the recoil. Shit. You barely keep your stance in place as you're forced to shuffle backward. Sandai Kitetsu bites your upper arm, and you hiss.

"Stop dodging," Zoro commands you, striking the wall behind you, right next to your head. "You have to fight back, or else you'll be dead." Sandai Kitetsu giggles in his hand.

You're panting, sweating with exertion. Zoro's strikes are so strong. He's stepping away from you now, giving you room to breathe. You hate when he goes easy on you. Snarling, you charge forward again.

Zoro meets you halfway, growling in his throat.

Your swords clang together harshly, metallic singing reverberating throughout the room. You both back up, stepping in tune with the other's movements. He stalks around you like a tiger, and strikes at your backside. He hits you with the flat of Sandai Kitetsu's blade.

"You're weak."

He challenges you, and you see red.

It's a spin, a stab, and a dance backwards, before your vision clears. Zoro is grimacing, another bright red stripe decorating his bare chest. It's right above his sternum, and a little to the left.

He grunts, and charges after you.

Swinging at your weak spot, Zoro brings Enma down toward your side. You block the strong, sweeping arch with the silver side of Nightingale's cross guard. She resonates with the sound of the blow.

You both hold for a second, struggling to push the other's weight off.

Eventually, you let go with a huff.

"That's enough," you decide, whipping your sword through the air with a signature flourish. Zoro nods, sheathing his own blades.

"Good job," he nods, heading back over to the side to wipe his face with a towel. He throws it into the dirty clothes hamper that one of you will eventually take down to the laundry room when it gets too full.

"Yeah, right," you seethe, jaw clenched. "I wish I was anywhere near as strong as you. I can be fast, and invasive, but...," you raise your shoulders, and let them fall with a defeated sigh. "Sheer strength-wise, you've got me beat."

Zoro shakes his head, "You're not that far behind me, actually." He sits down on the bench, elbows on his knees with a canteen in his hands. He chugs a lungful of water, adam's apple bobbing as he swallows.

"Yeah?"

You sheath your swords, and start a cool-down stretch routine. You lean over to one side, and then the other. You shake your legs in their sockets, trying to loosen up your hip flexors.

Zoro nods. "Not everyone can fend off Enma." He regards you steadily, his green eye flicking you up and down. You stretch your arms over your head. "Especially with a blade that flimsy." He smirks at your rapier, and you huff.

"She is not flimsy." You cross your arms, nose in the air. Nightingale hums in agreement at your side. Zoro sneers a laugh.

"Plus, you can understand sword language better than any other swordsman I've met. Not even Mihawk can hear his sword so well."

At that, you pause.

Your fingers flutter around Nightengale's hilt, and you grin. "Thanks, Zoro. That means a lot."

His face flushes, and he looks away.

"Well, yeah...," he says, gruff, before pushing off the bench to make his way over to you. He skims his knuckles over the outside of your arm. His fingertips dance along the diamond pommel of your sacred blade, and you gasp. He arches an eyebrow. "Feel that?"

You nod, stunned.

"That's the bond between a swordsman and his blade."

"Her blade," you correct, and he snorts.

"Rematch after dinner?" He pulls away, and leaves you aching. You stumble after him, a step or two. He turns, pausing, with his lips parted. Your swords are clattering at your side. He looks you up and down, a question paused in his mouth that you can't quite read.

"Kiss me?"

Zoro blanches, and for a moment you're stuttering, shocked at your own bravery, boldness, yours and his swords are all clamoring to be heard above the din of blood rushing in your ears, and--

Zoro cocks his head, smirking, and closes the distance between you.

He takes both your arms in his hands, holding you by the shoulders, and leans forward to place a kiss on your waiting lips.

"How's that?"

You smile like a little kid. "Perfect," you say, before wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him in to deepen the kiss.

You can't wait for the rematch.

#this is so hard #sword fights #hard to describe #zoro #zoro x you #zoro x reader #zoro x y/n #zoro fanfic #one piece fanfic #zoro fluff #dumpster dive #kitty writes

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glamourweaver · 4 months ago

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Little Exalted project I started much earlier in 3e but feel like picking back up now.

Exalted Argonaut writeups

Dawn - Heracles (Supernal Brawl - his earliest feats are monster grappling related, by the time he needs to hold up the sky he’ll be Essence 5 anyway, so he doesn’t need a shortcut on Athletics)

Zenith - Orpheus (Supernal Performance + Elemental Summoning Sorcerer with a Musical Shaping Ritual + Silver-Voiced Nightingale Style)

Twilight - Asclepius (Supernal Medicine + Necromancy + Snake Style)

Night - Lynceus (Supernal Awareness; Lynceus is notably a less famous figure than the other 4 Solars, but my first pick for Night was a better fit for Changing Moon Lunar)

Eclipse - Iason (Supernal Sail)

No Moon - Medea (Ram, Iason’s Mate)

Changing Moon - Autolycus (Wolf)

Full Moon - Atalanta (Bear)

Casteless - Periclymenus (Bee)

Air - Nestor

Earth - Caeneus (Tya, former lover of Ocean Father)

Fire - Philocetes (Gentian-born, trained in funerary arts in Sijan)

Water - Pollux (Castor is mortal twin who did not receive progenitive essence)

Wood - Staphylus

Journeys - Tiphys

Day - He Who Walks the Labyrinth Bathed in Blood (I’m going with the idea here that Theseus pre-underworld was a previous Night Caste incarnation, but the “Theseus” who returns from the underworld is a newly Exalted Abyssal)

Bonus non-Argonaut

Eclipse - Sisyphus

There will be a sequel series of the Trojan War Generation, including Sisyphus there’s next incarnation, who is an even more famous Eclipse than him.

#exalted #exalted rpg #Greek myth #onyx path publishing #opp

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butch-king-frankenstein · 2 months ago

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Exalted Secret Santa 2K24

back at it again with Sidereals this time

Killing-in-Mercy Cantata (or "Killian" for short). 45, she/her, Chosen of Endings exalted under the Crow. Killian was born in Pneuma, now lives in Yu-Shan, and is currently* stationed in Champoor as part of an undercover operation to take down the Court of Secrets. In addition to her Bureau work, she has a very successful musical career in Yu-Shan, and incorporates her primary instrument (the violin) into a variant of Silver-Voiced Nightingale Style. Nicer than she looks; has a lot of empathy for the younger members of her Convention, and frequently serves as a mentor figure.

Killian's anima banner is extremely dark purple at the center and lightens towards the edge. Her iconic anima depicts the Nail of Pneuma, which shrouds her in its lengthy shadow regardless of light source.

Likes include conducting Sidereal prophecy, martial arts training montages, avant-garde experimental music, and smoking cigarettes on balconies while staring pensively at the night sky.

The variant headshots on the left are a few of her current Resplendent Destinies. From top to bottom: Circus performer Empress Star Eye (the Musician), warrior-cultist Nereb Da'in (the Gauntlet), and hard-drinking dockworker Enec Thaan (the Mast).

(*5 years before the narrative present, just a few months after the Scarlet Empress's disappearance)

Ledaal Dutiful Crane (or "Crane" for short). 22, she/her, Chosen of Serenity exalted under the Peacock. A (formerly) mortal child of an obscure noble offshoot, arranged to be married to a disgraced Dynast before her Exaltation. Now that she's been freed from all mortal obligations, it is time to party, and she will always party hard--to the extent that some of her Bureau superiors are kind of worried about her. She does take her Bureau duties seriously, though--in particular, her training in Violet Bier of Sorrows Style.

Crane's anima banner matches her hair. Her iconic anima depicts an actual crane spreading its wings behind her; its feathers sharpen into sword-like points during particularly tense moments.

Likes include surfing on Yu-Shan's quicksilver canals, her girlfriend, her boyfriend, doing shots, and mercilessly severing threads of fate with a reaper daiklave.

Resplendent Destinies (from top to bottom): Circus acrobat Spurious Stork (the Ewer), honest carpenter Dust of Humility (the Messenger), and cold-hearted assassin Tear of Lost Pearls (the Haywain).

Oracle Bones Foretell the Empire's Fall (or "Madame Fall" for short). 25, she/her, Moonshadow Caste Abyssal. The former Amapka Angutasdottir was born in a minor principality of the Haslanti League, and served as the village oracle before her sudden and expected death. She later returned in the service of the Lover Clad in the Raiment of Tears, dispensing baleful fortunes to anyone unlucky enough to cross her path. She's currently serving as a liaison to the Silver Prince in order to maintain good relations between the two deathlords.

Fall is a necromancer of the Ivory Circle. She is a keeper of the Skull Diary, and her control spell is Seat of Deadly Splendor. Her iconic anima depicts a spinning "roulette wheel" of bones, each carved with transcripts of the Neverborn's endless whispering.

Likes include skulls, fortune-telling, sharing upsetting fun facts, being the Neverborn's specialest prettiest princess, and Moray Darktide.

Note that Fall is fat. Please keep this in mind if you plan on selecting her.

okay that's all from me, have funnnnnnn <3

#Exalted Secret Santa

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landoflustfulladies · 9 months ago

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What are your favorite Martial Arts? And which are better, big titty foxgirl lunars or big titty catgirl lunars?

FOXGIRL FRIDAY FOREVER!

I think Dreaming Pearl Courtesan and Silver Voiced Nightingale are some personal favorites, the former for being “pretty girl beats you to death with a teacup” and the latter for “I will sing so well your bones shatter” and they are both absolutely amazing~ Very gorgeous, graceful styles~ White Reaper is another fun one for just mass murder go brrrrrrr-

#submission

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trans-mouse · 1 year ago

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i just realized that in exalted you can build a lunar who uses silver-voiced nightingale style combined with manipulation charms to sing people apart while convincing everyone that they're doing nothing wrong. what do you mean my singing is hurting them? their head just did that, jfk style

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galahadwilder · 5 years ago

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Exalted Artifact: Kubo, Perfected Songblade

Kubo was made in the First Age for a master of the Silver-Voiced Nightingale Style, a originally a wandering storyteller before he grew indolent, retreated into his luxurious manse, and subsequently disappeared from history (probably getting murdered by one of his Sidereal advisors). Kubo vanished as well, only to be recovered from an unmarked First Age barrow a few months ago by Ledaal Tai, Solar of the Zenith Caste.

Kubo is two artifacts in one, linked by a connection through Elsewhere. In its hidden form, Kubo appears to be an Unsurpassed Sanxian with one difference: when an attuned wielder plays Kubo while using Phantom-Conjuring Performance, they can conjure actual illusions and deceptions. However, these illusions can only be seen by parties who can hear the sanxian, and as soon as the wielder stops playing, they vanish. Additionally, the strings of the sanxian will cut if it is ever used in combat and must be replaced with silver.

At the beginning of combat, the wielder can spend a few motes of essence to activate Kubo’s Elsewhere Engine to swap the sanxian and the Nightingale Blade. Both cannot exist in Creation at the same time, and both cannot be sent into Elsewhere—any attempt to store the sanxian in Elsewhere summons the blade, and vice versa. Summoning the blade takes several seconds, and cannot be sped up.

Kubo the blade is a reaper daiklave with a number of holes drilled into the length. When swung at various speeds and angles, Kubo makes musical tones; a skilled enough wielder can play music in the air simply by using the blade. The wielder of Kubo, if they are proficient in Silver-Voiced Nightingale Style, can add their Performance to their Melee attacks and the sword’s statistics to their long-distance Martial Arts attacks.

Kubo cannot remain in sword form for longer than a single scene, and automatically reverts to sanxian form at the end of combat.

(Yes, Kubo is named after Kubo and the Two Strings.)

#exalted #original content #artifact #artifacts #solar exalted #kubo and the two strings #silver voiced nightingale style #ledaal tai #original exalted character

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princesssarisa · 3 years ago

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Cinderella September-through-November: "Cinderella" (1950 Disney animated film)

Does this version of Cinderella need any introduction? I don't think so. For countless children, including myself at preschool age, it was and is an introduction: our introduction to the story. Millions of children have grown up watching it again and again, as well as playing with Disney Cinderella dolls, wearing her ballgown as a Halloween costume, meeting her "in person" at the Disney theme parks, and visiting the iconic Cinderella Castle at Walt Disney World. We all remember these versions of the characters. The elegantly sinister, quietly sadistic stepmother Lady Tremaine (voiced to perfection by Eleanor Audley) and her squawking, slapstick daughters Anastasia and Drizella; the warm, grandmotherly, adorably absentminded Fairy Godmother; and the lovely strawberry blonde-haired Cinderella herself. Likewise, the lilting songs by Mack David, Al Hoffman and Jerry Livingston are engrained in pop cultural memory: "Cinderella," "Sing, Sweet Nightingale," "The Work Song (Cinderelly, Cinderelly)," "Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo," "So This Is Love," and of course the theme song, "A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes."

This film is also an especially significant one in the Walt Disney Company's history. It was the studio's first full-length animated feature in eight years, a return to glorious form after the budget cuts and understaffing of the World War II era, and it ushered in a new era of beloved films now widely known as Disney's Silver Age. Given this context, it's little wonder that this is an overwhelmingly pretty, elegant production. With a soft color palette predominated by whites, blues and pinks, and with watercolor-like backgrounds displaying the unique style of Disney's legendary concept artist Mary Blair, this film revels in its 19th century-inspired world of stately chateaus, royal palaces and glittering magic. The iconic moment when Cinderella's ballgown materializes out of swirling sparkles from her Godmother's wand was allegedly Walt Disney's all-time favorite piece of animation.

Of all the Disney fairy tale adaptations, this is by far the most faithful to its source. It follows all the traditional story beats of classic Cinderella retellings. The biggest embellishment is the addition of a bevy of mice and birds who provide Cinderella with friendship in her downtrodden life. The semi-verbal chattering mice, first and foremost two named Jaq and Gus, are the deuteragonists of the film, with at least as much screen time as Cinderella. They initially try to help her go to the ball by altering an old dress of her mother's into a stylish new one, but in an unforgettably brutal scene, Anastasia and Drizella rip the dress to pieces. When the Fairy Godmother fortunately arrives soon afterward, the mice become the horses for the pumpkin coach, as per the classic tale. And they ultimately bring an action-filled climax to the story, as the Stepmother recognizes Cinderella as the lady from the ball and locks her in her room to stop her from trying on the glass slipper. The mice take on the task of stealing the key and freeing her, while evading their arch-nemisis, the Stepmother's nasty cat Lucifer.

Further comic relief scenes are provided by the Prince's hot-tempered, sentimental old father, the King, and his constant, beleaguered companion, the Grand Duke. And the penultimate scene provides a clever new twist on the slipper-fitting: in a last-ditch act of cruelty, the Stepmother breaks the glass slipper, but it doesn't matter to Cinderella, because she still has the other one.

Now by no means is this a perfect movie or a perfect Cinderella. The Prince is barely present as a character and his romance with Cinderella consists of nothing but a dance and a duet. He's effectively just a prize for her to win. It's also fair to complain that the mice (even if you like them, as I admit I still do) and their Tom and Jerry-style antics with Lucifer take up so much screen time, which could have been spent better developing the human characters, especially the Prince. And in some ways the film is almost too pretty and elegant: even as a scullery maid, this Cinderella is clean and dignified in a drab yet smart-looking servants' dress, which is arguably less poignant than the traditional image of an ash-smudged waif in rags. (Although it certainly doesn't mean she isn't abused!)

But these issues don't detract from the film's charm as a whole, not least from its excellent voice cast or from its fresh, likable portrayal of Cinderella herself, voiced by the golden-toned Ilene Woods. Neither as fragile and melancholy as most earlier Cinderellas nor as naïve as Disney's previous princess, Snow White, this more mature heroine combines girl-next-door warmth with "an air of queenly grace," and while still sweet, gentle and yearning, is also witty and playful, sometimes sarcastic and frustrated, willing to stand up for herself when it matters most, and an eternal optimist who clings staunchly to her dreams of happiness.

Whether or not it's your favorite Cinderella retelling, this film has definitely earned its place as one of the best-known, best-loved Disney classics.

@superkingofpriderock, @ariel-seagull-wings

#disney #cinderella #cinderella september through november #fairy tale #1950 #animation #disney animation #disney animated canon

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purrincess-chat · 4 years ago

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Kill Em With Kindness CH5

So, I know I said I wasn’t going to update again until I finished the rest of this, but my secret MDCSP project is taking up a majority of my writing time now, so I haven’t been in the mood to work on this one, so rather than keeping you all in suspense even longer, I decided to go ahead and post chapter 5 since it’s finished. But for reals next time I update, I will be finished. There are only 2 chapters left, so I’ll get to them eventually so the final two updates can be close together.

Read on AO3

Chapter 5

Marinette laid back on her chaise, humming along to Jagged’s newest single Liar. Adrien’s interview had just ended, so she kept her phone nearby for his inevitable call. While she knew about the rumors spreading about them, she still hadn’t been prepared to hear Adrien tell the world they were just friends on live TV. Part of her hoped that this thing with Lila would bring them closer, and it had—just not in the way she wanted. No matter. There would be plenty of time for flirting after Lila was taken care of.

When her phone buzzed, she lowered the volume on her playlist and answered. “Nice job on the interview.”

“Thanks. We’re in good shape for tomorrow. Clara told me she’s really looking forward to our shopping trip,” Adrien said. “I can’t wait to see the look on Lila’s face when Clara posts about her new fashion advisor.”

“Do you really think she’ll do it? I mean, I still have to impress her with my choices tomorrow. What if she hates everything I pick out?” Marinette bit her lip.

“Relax. You’ll do fine. I know you will,” he assured her. “Clara really respects you. She told me earlier that she’s hoping you two can be good friends.”

“For real?” Marinette shot upright.

“Yeah, for real,” Adrien laughed. “Funny how almost everything Lila lies about is coming true for you now.”

“Well, she has one thing on me. Jagged did write a song about her…” Marinette turned the volume up with a smirk.

I see through your disguise. Can’t touch me with your little lies.

Adrien chuckled at that. “Maybe we’ll make an honest girl out of her.”

“Doubt it. She loves the attention too much,” Marinette said with an eye roll. “But we’re the ones with the real connections, so we still have the high ground.”

“And we have each other. I promise I won’t let her get you ever again, Marinette. If she tries to hurt you, she’ll have to go through me.” Marinette’s cheeks warmed, and she leaned back against the pillow, trailing her thumb over her lucky charm.

“Thanks, Adrien. It means a lot to know you’ll always be there for me,” she said.

“Of course. You’re a dear friend, Marinette, and I know you’d do the same for me.”

She smiled up at her ceiling, pressing a soft kiss to the lucky charm as if it were his cheek. “See you tomorrow?”

“Let’s make Lila regret coming after you.”

***

Raindrops pattered against Lila’s umbrella on the abandoned street corner. Most citizens had moved inside to avoid the downpour, but Lila barely batted an eye. She had business to attend to.

Her mental clock ticked away the seconds until a silver car rolled to a stop to her left. She kept her eyes forward as the window rolled down, and Gabriel glared out at her. It wasn’t that he held any personal disdain for her. Gabriel glared at everyone.

“I’m growing impatient, Lila. Every time I turn around, I see my son with Marinette Dupain-Cheng. I thought you said you could handle her,” he said, and Lila’s jaw clenched.

“I’ve run into a few hiccups, but I assure you, I can take her out for good. I just need more time,” she said, watching the droplets splatter against the ground.

Focusing kept her from losing her temper. While it was incredibly tempting, Lila couldn’t afford to lose Gabriel now. She wanted to scream about how Adrien was plotting against her. That Marinette had been playing dirty. But Gabriel didn’t care for excuses. He needed results, so if Marinette was taking low blows, Lila would throw a few of her own.

“Perhaps it might help you to know that she and Adrien will be out shopping with Clara Nightingale tomorrow afternoon. Clara hopes that Marinette can give her fashion advice. She has dreams of being a designer, you know,” Gabriel said. “It would be a shame if something got in the way of those dreams.”

A smirk curled on Lila’s lips, the calm reassurance of Gabriel’s support relaxing her shoulders. “Understood.”

***

“Don’t be nervous.”

Marinette ripped her gaze away from the window and removed her fingers from her mouth. Wiping the chewed nubs on her pants, she let out a breath and began tapping her feet instead. Adrien gave her a soft smile and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“You’ll do great. Just relax,” Adrien said as they rolled up to Gabriel’s boutique.

Nathalie climbed from the front seat and opened the door for them, and Marinette took a deep breath.

“You’re right. I can do this. Clara wants to be my friend, so everything is going to be totally fi-” Her voice trailed off as they climbed from the car, blood running cold.

“Marinette? What’s wro- oh, no.” Adrien stopped in his tracks as Clara approached with the only person on the planet who could ruin this trip.

“Hey, Marinette, Adrien.”

Lila.

“Marinette, it’s so good to see you. This girl says she’s a friend of yours too,” Clara said, pulling her in for a hug.

“Thank you two so much for inviting me to come along on this trip. I’m such a big fan of yours, Clara, and when Marinette told me she was nervous about picking out your outfits today, I was happy to come along and assist,” Lila said with a sugary grin. “Marinette and I share a love of fashion, and we bounce ideas off each other all the time. Isn’t that right, Marinette?”

“I wouldn’t say all the time,” Marinette grunted, crossing her arms over her chest, and at Clara’s curious expression she added, “because you travel so much, right, Lila?”

“It’s true. There are so many countries out there that need our help. I’m just doing my best where I can,” Lila said, pressing a hand to her forehead in a ‘woe is me’ fashion.

“How very noble of you. I can sense a deep bond between you two,” Clara said, and Marinette suppressed an eye roll. Nothing bonded people more than mutual hatred. “Well, there’s nothing to stand out here for, so let’s go in the door.”

Lila shot Marinette a pointed grin the moment Clara turned her back, and Marinette exchanged nervous looks with Adrien. This trip had just gotten a lot more complicated.

An employee let them in, the boutique having been closed for their private shopping spree, and Clara twirled around with a cheery squeal. “I’m so happy having you all here. Nothing’s better than spending time with friends so dear.”

“The pleasure is all ours,” Lila said, linking arms with Adrien.

“Ya know, I’m kind of in the mood for coffee. Why don’t you and I go get some, Lila? Nathalie can accompany us,” Adrien said, tugging her toward the door, but Clara’s bodyguard stood in the way.

“There’s no need for that today. Mme. Nathalie, will you fetch some straight away?” Clara said, and Nathalie nodded.

“Of course. You all carry on,” Nathalie said, oblivious to Adrien’s pleading look.

Adrien shot Marinette an apologetic wince, but she didn’t blame him. They should have expected something like this from Lila, so they would just have to navigate this one on the fly. It was risky, but Marinette had a plan.

“Clara, why don’t we make this a little more fun? Why don’t Lila and I could both pick out outfits for you, and you could choose the one you like better. That way you have more options,” Marinette suggested, and Clara took her hands, twirling her around.

“I have been wanting to change my style, so let’s see what you two compile. For my first look, let’s keep it easy, an evening dress that’s not too cheesy,” Clara said before shimmying off to the dressing rooms.

“Not so fun, is it?” Lila said, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I don’t know how you got in, but-” Marinette held up a hand to cut Adrien off.

“It’s fine. If Lila wants to play designer. We’ll let her,” she said before turning and stalking toward a rack on the other end of the store.

She shifted through hangers as Adrien fell in beside her. “Are you sure about this?”

“Look, Clara asked me to come on this trip, so obviously she respects my opinion. Not to mention your father, Audrey Bourgeois, and Jagged Stone have all praised my work in the past. I can beat her,” she said, meeting his gaze, and Adrien blinked in surprise.

“Anything I can do to help?” He asked, but Marinette shook her head.

“No. I have to do this on my own,” she said, grabbing a couple dresses from the rack and heading for shoes.

“You’ve got this, Marinette,” he said with a grin.

Marinette’s heart pounded as she assembled her outfit, but the adrenaline coursing through her veins only fueled her determination. Lila could challenge her in a lot of things, but fashion was hers. No amount of lying or deceit could take that away from her. She would beat Lila no matter what.

“I have your coffee.” Nathalie reappeared with two cups in a paper tray.

“Thanks, Nathalie,” Adrien said.

“Have you picked out your outfit, Marinette? I can take it to Clara for you,” Nathalie offered, and Marinette nodded, exchanging the garment bag for the tray.

“Thank you!” She bowed, and as Nathalie sauntered off, she let out a breath.

“Don’t worry. Clara will see the one with real talent in just a few minutes. No way Lila beats you,” Adrien said, and Marinette offered him a smile, taking a swig of her coffee before they made their way to the platform outside the dressing room to wait.

“She’s trying on Marinette’s pick first,” Clara’s assistant announced, and Marinette held her breath as the curtains parted.

Clara stepped out in a lime green skirt, a neon orange tiger-print shirt, a pair of red heels, and a black feathered hat, and Marinette’s jaw dropped.

“What?”

“Marinette, your choices are a little off the wall. I’m not sure I’d have paired these at all,” Clara said, examining herself in the mirror.

“But that’s not-” She stopped short, shooting a cutting glare at Lila. Her fists shook, angry tears burning her eyes. Accusations formed on her tongue, but she bit them back.

Of course Lila wasn’t going to play fair. She should have known better. Without even realizing, she’d played right into her trap. There was no way to win because Lila already stacked the odds against her.

“This must be a mistake. Marinette didn’t pick any of those things,” Adrien said, stepping forward. “Her bag probably got switched.”

“Well, I certainly didn’t pick that outfit,” Lila said, pressed a hand to her lips to hide her smirk.

Clara tapped her chin with a hum then turned to Nathalie. “You brought Marinette’s bag to me. Do you know where the real one could be?”

“I placed it on the rack for you, and then I brought your coffee. I’m not sure what happened after that,” Nathalie said.

“Hmm…This is quite the mystery, but this outfit not being Marinette’s is something I’m glad to see,” Clara said, giving it one last disgruntled look in the mirror. “Having you come on this trip was such a delight, so I’ll give you one more chance to get it right.”

“Thank you, Clara!” Marinette breathed a sigh of relief.

“In the meantime, why don’t you try on my outfit, Clara?” Lila said, casting an impish smile over her shoulder at Marinette.

“It would be my pleasure. Let’s see how your picks measure.”

Marinette crossed her arms over her chest as Clara retreated to the changing room and turned to Adrien. “I should have known she’d try something underhanded like this to make her outfit seem better. I can’t believe I fell for it,” she sighed, flashing Lila a sardonic grin when she waved to them.

“Don’t worry. I’ll keep an eye on her next round so she can’t switch your outfit out for something lame,” Adrien whispered as Clara emerged from the stall.

“Now this is what I’m talking about. This outfit is totally me, no doubt.” Clara hopped onto the platform and gave a twirl, and Marinette nearly blew her top.

“But that’s-” Marinette started, clamping a hand over her mouth. “A great choice. I would have picked the same thing.”

Only she had because it was hers. Lila hadn’t just swapped her outfit for a ridiculous one—she’d outright taken it. Marinette could beat her easily, and Lila knew that. Rather than just make Marinette look ridiculous, Lila took it one step further and used Marinette’s talent to make herself look better. If there weren’t so many other people in the room, Marinette would have transformed on the spot and ripped her head off!

“Lila, your understanding of my style is quite profound. Marinette will have to try harder next round,” Clara said, admiring the stolen red dress. “For my next look, I want something more hearty—an outfit that will make me the life of the party!”

Marinette stormed from the dressing area, and Adrien followed her to the men’s changing room on the other side of the store. Pulling the curtain closed behind them, Marinette leaned against the wall with a huff, cupping her cheeks.

“Lila was ready for that. She’s catching up,” Adrien said, taking the wall across from her and crossing his arms over his chest.

“She’s already caught up, and now she’s ahead of us.” Marinette shook her head. “We need to gain back some ground.”

“What should we do?”

Marinette drummed her fingers on her jeans before digging out her phone. Adrien didn’t question as she dialed furiously then pressed the phone to her ear. She answered on the third ring.

“Hey, girl, how’s your shopping trip going?”

“Alya, I need you to do me a favor.”

***

Adrien paced across the floor to where Lila sifted through a rack. She didn’t look up as he approached, but an amused smile curled on her lips.

“Marinette has such strange taste, don’t you think?” She asked, holding up a bright green blazer.

“I told you to leave her alone,” Adrien said, and Lila rolled her eyes.

“And yet every time I mess with her, you do nothing,” she said, returning the jacket to the rack. “You could end this whole charade right now by telling Clara you didn’t really invite me, but you’re not going to do that, are you? Because that wouldn’t be very nice.”

“I mean it, Lila. You’re messing with Marinette’s dreams, and that’s not okay.” She examined his stern expression with amusement.

“So, what are you going to do about it?” She asked, and Adrien held her expression for a long moment before stalking off.

Marinette was finishing her second outfit when Adrien rejoined the group by the dressing room, and this time, Marinette personally handed Clara the bag. Adrien stood guard by the curtain, shooting daggers at Lila the moment she approached which only made her chuckle under her breath. He wasn’t taking any chances. Lila wasn’t going to ruin Marinette’s dreams. He’d see to it.

When Clara emerged, she skipped onto the platform and gave a twirl. “Now this is a party outfit that’ll make me dance! I’m so glad I gave you a second chance.”

“You look awesome, Clara. Marinette is super talented when her actual picks don’t get switched around,” Adrien said pointedly.

“I couldn’t agree more. This outfit is one I simply adore!” Clara said, stepping down to take Marinette’s hands. “Your style is simply the best. When it comes to fashion, there’s no contest.”

“Thank you, Clara. That means the world coming from you,” Marinette said, that spark of confidence returning to her eyes.

Lila’s jaw clenched, and Adrien high-fived Marinette. For added insult, he draped an arm over her shoulders as Clara tried on Lila’s outfit. It didn’t matter what Lila had picked; she was no match for Marinette when they were competing honestly.

“Hmm,” Clara hummed, twisting in the mirrors to see the dress from all angles. “A lovely choice, don’t get me wrong, but this outfit just isn’t my song. Your first choice was far more on the nose, and I’ve got to be honest, these shoes are hurting my toes.”

“That’s okay. Marinette is incredibly talented. The only reason I won the first round was because of that mix-up. I’m sure she’s got something amazing up her sleeve for this next round too,” Lila said, curling her shoulders in the fakest show of humility Adrien had ever seen.

“Then let’s not waste any more time. I can’t wait to try on an outfit so divine. Tonight I will be Nadja’s TV guest, so let’s see which one of you is really the best!”

---

As Marinette took off, Adrien shot Lila a warning look before following after her. It was cute that he thought he could intimidate her into being nice, but Lila had direct orders. Things were going exactly as planned, and those two idiots were falling right into her trap. Soon Marinette’s aspirations would be nothing more than a pipe dream.

When Nathalie emerged from the back with a garment bag, Lila sauntered over to meet her. “Is this my dress?”

Nathalie responded by offering Lila her phone, and Lila pressed it to her ear.

“Nathalie tells me everything is going according to plan,” Gabriel said on the other line.

“Of course, Mr. Agreste. Marinette thinks she’s getting ahead, but with your help I’ll make sure her dreams are crushed for good. Then she’ll be sure to stay away from Adrien,” she said like a dutiful student.

“Good. I’m counting on you,” Gabriel said before hanging up, and Lila lifted the bag with a smirk.

Marinette chose the wrong opponent to challenge, and Lila was about to prove that she didn’t lie about everything. She really was going to take everything from Marinette. Clara was just step one.

---

“I still don’t trust Lila,” Adrien whispered while Marinette browsed the wall of shoes.

“Don’t worry about her. We’re onto her little game now, so it’s impossible for her to steal my outfit again, and we both know Clara prefers my picks to hers now without a doubt,” Marinette said, sounding confident, and under normal circumstances, Adrien would have been proud. Lila, however, was not normal circumstances.

“I know you’re better than her, but I just have a bad feeling. I don’t trust her,” Adrien said, glancing at Lila in accessories out of the corner of his eye.

Marinette zipped her bag up then turned to look him in the eye. “I’m not asking you to trust her. I’m asking you to believe in me.”

Her bright blue eyes glowed with determination, and although he couldn’t shake the sinking feeling in his gut, he nodded her on. Marinette was brilliant and amazing—Adrien knew that quite well. She had a bright future ahead of her so long as nothing got in her way, and one thing was certain: if Lila even tried, Adrien would never forgive her.

“Alright, chickadees, let’s see what you’ve got for me,” Clara said, bouncing in anticipation.

Marinette didn’t spare Lila a single glance as she paced over to Clara, but Adrien hung back to make sure she behaved. Lila seemed to all but ignore him until the last moment when she shot him a playful wink that sent his blood boiling.

“Oh, Clara, since I know Marinette is probably going to win, will you try on my outfit first?” Lila requested innocently. “Naturally, mine will pale in comparison, so I want you to give it a fair shot.”

“Lila, that’s quite the humble stance. I’d be more than happy to give yours a chance.”

Adrien instinctively bristled when Lila passed off her bag. What was she up to? His stomach churned in knots, and he stepped closer to Marinette, gleaning comfort from close proximity as if he could protect her from whatever scheme Lila was trying to pull.

When Clara emerged again, every jaw in the room dropped, and Adrien’s mind whirled with a thousand thoughts at once. That dress wasn’t part of the normal collection—it was one of a kind. Adrien had overheard his father and Nathalie talking about it a few days prior. He wasn’t entirely sure how Lila got her hands on it, but it wasn’t by accident.

“This dress is so…so…” Clara gasped, abandoning her riddles and rhymes as she stared in awe.

Lila beamed, clasping her hands behind her back. “I really wanted to impress you this round, so I asked the staff if they hand anything special in the back. I truly care about your style, Clara, and I wanted to prove that to you.”

“Your attention to detail and willingness to go the extra mile certainly make you standout, Lila. I’d love for you to be my new style consultant,” Clara said, clasping her hands together over her heart.

Adrien’s heart snapped when he turned to Marinette, her once confident demeanor now shriveled in defeat. Lila caught his gaze, tilting her chin up with a smirk. I win. She seemed to gloat, and Adrien’s hands clenched into fists.

“Clara, I know this dress is beautiful, and I’m not entirely sure how Lila found it,” he started, shooting her a quick glare. “But designing is Marinette’s true passion, and in my professional opinion, I think she would make an amazing personal stylist.”

“It’s fine.” The voice was Marinette’s, and she turned to Lila with a small smile. “I’m really happy for you, and I know you’ll do an amazing job.”

She held her head high and threw on a smile despite the anger and humiliation she must be feeling. They were committed to being kind to Lila in front of everyone, but Adrien didn’t care about that now. Lila had taken something from someone who deserved it, and more importantly, she’d done it to someone Adrien cared about. If Lila was going to ignore his warnings, then he’d have to repeat them a little louder.

“Clara, why don’t you try on Marinette’s pick just for fun. She worked really hard picking it out,” Adrien suggested.

“While my search has come to an end, I’d be more than happy to wear something picked by a friend,” Clara said, brushing Marinette’s nose with her finger before climbing back into the changing booth.

Adrien marched over to Gorilla, yanking his collar down to whisper in his ear. Lila was going to learn the price of hurting people precious to him. He didn’t care if it wasn’t nice. Lila wasn’t a nice person, so just this once, he wasn’t going to be either.

With everyone focused on Clara, no one noticed when Gorilla clamped a hand over Lila’s mouth and carried her to the back. A single employee followed, opening the door to the private bathroom as Gorilla tossed her in.

“What do you think you’re-” Lila’s voice trailed off when Adrien approached, hands shoved in his pockets. “Is this the part where you try and intimidate me? It’s not going to work. I know your little niceness scheme is all an act, and I’m about to leave you both in the dust.”

“Maybe,” Adrien said, leaning against the doorframe with a shrug. “But you seem to have forgotten where you are. Did you really think you had the advantage in a shop named Agreste? In case you didn’t realize, everyone here works for me.”

“You’re too late. I’ve already won,” Lila shot back, crossing her arms over her chest. “Clara picked me, and Marinette will never make it as a designer.”

“Marinette is going to be just fine. I’ll see to that,” he said. “Clara respects my opinion, so she’ll listen to me.”

“And why would you convince her to pick Marinette over me? Doesn’t that contradict your whole plan to nice me into compliance?” Lila asked with a smirk. “As soon as we go back out there, Clara will still have picked me, so this whole conversation is pointless.”

“Who said you’ll be going back out there?” Adrien quirked a brow. He stepped away from the door, and an employee stepped in to lock it from the outside.

“Hey! What are you doing?” Lila beat against it, furiously tugging the handle.

“It’s such a shame you’re so busy, Lila. Clara will be disappointed to hear that you’re too busy volunteering to clean public restrooms to devote time to being her personal stylist. I’ll be sure to send Marinette your best,” he called from the other side. “Don’t worry. Someone will let you out after we leave.”

“Adrien! Let me out!” Lila screeched, but he was already walking away.

Clara was admiring Marinette’s outfit in the mirror when he returned to the dressing area, and he draped an arm over Clara’s shoulders. “Marinette did an amazing job, don’t you think, Clara?” He asked, shooting her a wink.

“It’s true that Marinette has good taste. Not picking her would be a waste…” Clara hummed, tapping her chin. “But Lila’s pick is still on my mind. A dress like that deserves to shine.”

Marinette’s shoulders slumped, and Adrien pursed his lips. “I know you picked Lila, but I think you should reconsider.”

“Where is Lila anyway?” Marinette glanced around, and Adrien bit back a smirk.

“Oh, uh, you see, Clara, Lila has a very busy schedule. Her parents are ambassadors, so she is always traveling. She pulled me aside while you were changing and expressed worry over being able to devote the time to being your stylist,” Adrien explained smoothly. “She was absolutely thrilled that you wanted her for the opportunity, but she just has so much on her plate right now.”

“I see. Well, that’s a real pity,” Clara said, and Marinette eyed him curiously as Alya burst into the room.

“Sorry I’m late,” she panted, doubling over to catch her breath.

Adrien stepped down to retrieve the pink sketchbook tucked under her arm. “Designing is Marinette’s true passion, and while she is good at pairing other people’s designs, creating her own is where Marinette really shines.” He offered Clara the sketchbook and nudged Marinette forward. “I know you had your heart set, but Marinette is incredible if you just give her a chance.”

“Wow, Marinette, your skills are certainly plain to see,” Clara said, admiring her sketches. “So, what do you say? Will you design clothes for me?”

“I- Yes! I would absolutely love to! Thank you, Clara,” Marinette gaped, and Clara took her hands.

“The pleasure is all mine. Your designs are so divine! This deal is all set. I’m so happy that it’s you, Marinette,” Clara said, giving her hands a squeeze.

“What’s happening?” Alya asked, quirking a brow, and Adrien smiled.

“Marinette just became Clara Nightingale’s personal stylist.”

#miraculous ladybug #ml salt #marinette dupain-cheng #adrien agreste #lila salt #kill em with kindness #my writing

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warrioreowynofrohan · 3 years ago

Note

hello! Do you have any silm or lotr fic recs? :D I love reading your meta, thanks for your writing!

Sorry forgot to add - I did go through your top ten fics list (and everything written by arriviste haha), so would be curious if there are any fics you’ve read recently that you’ve enjoyed!

Thank you so much! I don't read extremely widely when it comes to Silm/LOTR fanfic - mostly I have a small list of favourites that I reread a lot - but here are some others that I've liked. The Potboy and Clodia recs are by way of @arrivisting - thank you for getting me onto those!

More of the Splintered Light series by @thearrogantemu: "When All Other Lights Go Out" (focused on Findis, and absolutely beautiful) and "When the Fall is All There is" (about Gandalf and Frodo) are both excellent!

"To gather in a flourishing way" - a gorgeous fairy-tale style piece about Anairie and Earwen centred on cross-cultural understanding and reconciliation.

“Tell me something the Teleri do that the Noldor do not,” she said, and Eärwen sang her the driest teaching songs of law she had ever learned from her eldest brother, thinking Anairë’s request somewhat arrogant. Nevertheless, Anairë listened, and when she had done asked many questions.

As the light of the Trees reached its mingling, she rose and said, “I see now that the Falmari see the need for order differently than do the Noldor. I thank you, and would like to speak with you again.”

Anairë next found Eärwen at a family gathering, where she stood somewhat apart. She asked Eärwen, “Will you tell me something the loremasters of the Falmari know that those of the Noldor do not?” Eärwen sang her the teaching songs her mother sang to young mariners and divers so they could know the currents and forces of the open sea, thinking in her heart that Anairë would be bored. Nevertheless, Anairë listened, and when she had done asked many questions.

When voices began to rise in anger elsewhere in the room, as they often did at these gatherings, Anairë stood quickly and said, “I see now that the knowledge of your people runs as deep as the knowledge of mine, only in a different direction. I thank you, and would like see you again where we can speak properly.”

"Oak and Willow" by Potboy - a multichapter fic tracing the early growth of the relationship between Celeborn and Galadriel, primarily from the Sindar point of view. Does an excellent job of illumination how the Sindar would have seen things, which is very different from the Noldor-centric assumptions of many fics.

"Goldilocks and the Three Balrogs" by Clodia, about Glorfindel's return to Middle-earth alongside the Istari. Glorfindel, and the Istari, and a couple elves of Middle-earth that he meets are all very well characterized; the sense of culture shock and dislocation is palpable, and the character development is done very effectively. "Wanderlust" is another good one by the same author, and "Nightingales and Starlight" deals with post-canon Daeron and the composition of the Leithian and also has some good character development.

HereNorThereNearNorFar has a variety of very good fics that often take me outside of my comfort zone, including "Our Lady of Perpetual Compassion, She of Sorrows and Succor" (about Nienna), "And Fair She Was and Free" (a very good fic about the growth of the romance between Amroth and Nimrodel), "Casting Out the Serpent" and "Suitable Foster" (Finrod and Beor and general cultural differences between elves and men), "The Sky, the Sea, the Birds Between" (Earendil, Elwing and Eonwe; the fact that her writing actually got me to read a fic about Earendil and Elwing having a poly relationship with an angel speaks for itself), "Three Golden Rings" (post-canon Silvergifting, which is a relationship I usually don't go in for at all), "Who Never Returned" (Morwen's opinion of Beren; it isn't kind), and "The Thousand Stories" (myths memories, and perspectives of the Men of Middle-earth - and one from an orc; vaguely reminiscent of NK Jemison to me, also with notes of The Tombs of Atuan).

Undercat (@undercat-overdog on tumblr) has some good fics; I'm currently casually following "Shall These Bones Live" (another post-canon Silvergifting one) because I'm very weak for Ezekiel references.

There are definitely parts of the Quenta Narquelion by bunn that I find very compelling and emotionally moving, though there are also large parts that I have major philosophical differences with.

And by the way, if you enjoyed "The Starless Road", the author has some original m/m fantasy fiction published with a faerieland that is very beautiful, otherworldly, and unsafe: Silver in the Wood and Drowned Country, by Emily Tesh; they're both novella-length and, as you would expect from the author of 'The Starless Road', the prose is gorgeous.

#the silmarillion #the lord of the rings #tolkien #fic rec

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harlot-of-oblivion · 4 years ago

Text

Prowling For Pleasure

You treat Vergil to a night of indulgent luxury and forbidden pleasures.

Rated Explicit for: Dubcon, Vampiric Manipulation, Voyeurism, Exhibitionism, Femdom, and the usual Vampire Activities.

Part Two: Decadence & Depravity

Tonight is the night of your promised hunt, and you can honestly say that you’ve never felt this excited in all your undead life! Everything is almost ready for your date…all you need to do is finish getting dressed, which is easier said than done with the ever-growing knot in the pit of your stomach. You’ve grown accustomed to spending your solitude with only a few trusted confidants, but the thought of stepping out for a night on the town with Vergil is exhilarating!

You can’t stand all the pent-up nervousness and excitement raging inside you any longer. Your eyes dart over to a black velvet bag sitting on a nearby shelf as you apply the finishing touches to your makeup. You reach over and grab it before taking out a deck of tarot cards at Vergil’s desk. Their musty scent wafts through the air as you shuffle the cards a few times, envisioning your question before splitting the deck into three smaller stacks. Then, you gather them all back up in a different order and spread the top four cards out on the desk in the form of a cross.

Time to see how our date will play out.

You turn over the first card to reveal the image of a nude woman pouring two vessels of water, one over land and the other into a calm river. Your lips curve into a fond smile at the familiar card, The Star, which has popped up in a lot of your readings ever since Vergil started calling you by the sweet endearment. So, it makes sense why this card represents you and your feelings in the matter at hand: you hope to grow even closer with your fierce fella after tonight.

Your brow quirks at the next card in the spread, which depicts a man in full armor riding atop a valiant steed with a large wand. Huh…how curious, you muse, tilting your head at the Knight of Wands as you ponder its meaning. It usually denotes a popular person prone to grand gestures crossing your way…this person may also be full of themselves and impetuous, leading them to make rushed and foolish decisions. You’re not exactly sure what this means for your date tonight, but you get the feeling that it won’t be favorable.

The next card has you blinking a couple times before leaning in just to make sure your eyes aren’t deceiving you. But the scene of three young women dancing in a circle with their golden chalices held high in a joyful toast remains the same. Curiouser and curiouser, you thought while tapping your nails on the desk, wondering if the proposed outcome of success is too good to be true. Drawing the Three of Cups is all around a good omen though, so you press onto the very last card of the spread.

A shiver runs up your spine at the sight of a man and a woman embracing each other in paradise. The consequences of tonight’s date will lead to what you’ve always wanted in your previous life…and what you desire now more than ever despite your cursed existence. Now I know it’s too good to be true, you consider sullenly, warning yourself to not get your hopes up as you begin clearing the desk. But a peculiar notion pops into your head when you touch The Lovers card again; it doesn’t seem like your usual stray thoughts at all…it feels like a sudden prediction of moments yet come…

Two souls shall converge in a moment of destiny.

“I didn’t take you for a fortune teller.”

Your head whips around at the sound of your lover’s voice. His soft lips curl into a smirk as you check out his delectable attire for tonight. The paisley pattern of the midnight blue jacket looks absolutely regal buttoned around his waist. A black and blue handkerchief pokes out of his jacket’s pocket, bringing your attention to the silky black lapels framing his broad chest. The matching black dress shirt and pants starkly contrasts with his silvery white hair while the Yamato hanging on his hip completes his elegant wardrobe.

“I don’t dabble in tarot much,” you explain while storing the cards back inside the small velvet bag. “But I thought a little insight might help us with our date tonight,” you admit, softly nipping your lower lip with a single fang as you get up from his desk.

Vergil hums in understanding as you stow the bag back on the appropriate shelf. “And where, exactly, shall this date take place?” he inquires, slicking back his perfectly styled hair while watching you with a curious gleam in his eyes.

Your hands become a blur as you quickly wrap your hair into a low bun before pinning it in place. “There’s this posh jazz lounge downtown,” you reveal while grabbing a starry headpiece with two chain swags. “It has an excellent bar, great music…” you pause for a moment as you carefully stick the headpiece right above your bun. “And some private sitting rooms for exclusive members,” you finish, clipping the two chains on either side of your head.

Vergil tilts his head. “Sounds like you’ve hunted there before.”

You chortle at his keen deduction as you swiftly fasten an elaborate shoulder necklace around your neck. “It was my usual haunt on those nights whenever I needed a break from blood packs,” you recall with an impish smirk while adjusting the hanging strings of pearls on your arms. “But I haven’t had to go back since you feed me so well, my love,” you point out with a playful purr before showing off your strapless black dress.

The sparkling diamonds and iridescent pearls twinkle like stars as you spin around with a slow and sensual twirl. His husky growl sends pleasant tingles below your belly as the skirt flares out, revealing your bare legs and black stiletto heels. You run a finger down your cleavage with a flirty grin, relishing the spark of desire in his silver blue eyes as your knee pokes out of the scandalously long slit of your dress.

“Well?” you prompt with a pleased smile. “What do you think?”

Vergil slowly stalks over to you. “Now I know why mortals can’t stay away when you’re on the prowl,” he softly declares while taking your hand. “You’re irresistible…” he trails off, turning your hand so that he may place a gentle kiss upon your wrist. “And utterly magnificent,” he murmurs with a reverent smile as he tips your chin up into his amorous kiss.

You grasp the lapels of his jacket as both of your lips slowly smack against each other for a moment before withdrawing with delighted hums. He offers his arm and you gladly accept by wrapping both of your hands around his elbow. His wicked smirk stirs that ever-present hunger deep inside you as he leads you out of his room, effectively distracting you from sharing one more crucial detail of the date.

“There’s one last thing I’d like to do before we leave,” you reveal nervously as both of you descend the stairs. “It’s been a long time since I’ve done this with anyone but…”

Vergil looks down at you inquisitively as you close your eyes and focus on reaching out with your mind. His eyes widen in shock as your quiet thoughts brush against his consciousness. “It’ll help us keep track of each other tonight,” you reassure, patiently waiting for him to let down his guard. You can feel him contemplating for a few moments before your mind is suddenly flooded with another presence. It feels familiar and little apprehensive, so you decide to test the connection with a simple thought.

Can you hear me, my love?

Vergil stares at your unmoving lips in wonder as your words pass through his mind. Then, he gives you an affectionate smile while his response slips past your barrier.

You continue to surprise me, my Evening Star.

“Shall we?” he asks aloud while opening the door.

Your soft giggle fills his mind as both of you leave the shop. He slashes open a portal with the Yamato and takes your arm before leading you to the other side. Then, you explain your powers and abilities in more detail as you both walk through the more upscale part of the city towards your destination. It doesn’t take long for both of you to arrive at The Nightingale, a high-end jazz lounge and your hunting ground for the night.

Vergil asks if a reservation is needed to enjoy this swanky club as you approach the entrance. You nod and admit that you’re not on the list but that can be rectified with just a few words. He quirks his brow at you as he opens the door, letting you enter first before following right behind you.

A young lady greets you in the entryway. “Hi! Welcome to The Nightingale! Your name, please?” she inquires with a friendly smile.

You give her some random name and as she looks down to check the list, you let a tiny bit of the magnetizing presence hidden within you slip out. “Hmm…I don’t see you…” she trails off with a soft gasp as her head snaps up to meet your gaze. “Gosh, you’re so pretty,” she admits with a dreamy sigh before blinking with surprise. “Oh! I’m so sorry, miss! I dunno what’s gotten into me,” she hastily apologizes with a shake of her head.

“Think nothing of it, darling,” you reassure with a tilt of your head as you stare into her awestruck eyes.

Your vampiric charm pulls her in deeper as you delve into her mind, sifting through a few recent memories before reshaping one for your intended purpose. “Perhaps you should check the list again,” you kindly suggest while receding from her mind. “We don’t want any trouble over a simple misunderstanding,” you add with a patient smirk as you glance over at Vergil, who looks just as confused and fascinated as the hostess.

“Yes, of course,” she replies before checking the list again. “Oh! There you are!” she exclaims while marking the exact name she now remembers you saying to begin with. “Must’ve misheard you…so sorry about that!” she apologizes again with a sheepish grin as she points down a nearby hall with huge double doors. You thank her with a smile before heading in that direction, silently amused at her quiet muttering about making a fool of herself in front of a beautiful stranger.

Vergil observes you from the corner of his eye before speaking softly. “It all makes sense now…how you’re so good at gathering information,” he muses with an amazed smirk as both of you come to a halt in the hallway.

“Oh, that’s nothing compared to what I’m about to do, my love,” you boast, noting the two doormen just outside the main venue as you stare up at him with a smug smile. His arms wrap around you as he chuckles at your boldness, bringing you in close to bestow a soft kiss above your brow.

“Happy hunting, my dear.”

And with that, he teleports away in a blink of an eye, leaving you to deal with the spooked doormen. Damnable devil, you thought while rolling your eyes with an annoyed huff. But you’re able to calm them down easily by assuming a peaceful aura within your vampiric presence. They both go back to their positions by the double doors and swing them open as you approach the loud and lively venue.

The smooth sounds of jazz along with the excited chatter of the crowd brings back memories of a past long forgotten. You pause just outside the door to capture this moment before a magnificent storm while nostalgia sweeps you away to a bygone age. Then, you slowly release the full majesty of your presence, letting it unfurl like a blooming flower as you stride into the main floor with your head held high.

All eyes are instantly upon you as the entirety of the club notices your grand entrance. Even the music slows down as your presence hits the musicians, but they quickly recover and find the rhythm again. You can’t help but to smirk at their awed stares and gaping faces as you pass by multiple tables. Several waiters completely ignore their current customers to assist you with your every need. Your soft laughter makes all their hearts beat faster, stirring your hunger as you request a secluded table on the second floor. Their heavenly sighs fill the air when they behold your gracious smile before rushing off to do their task.

You search for Vergil with your mind as you head up to the second floor, questioning if he successfully made it inside the venue unnoticed. His impressed hum brushing against your consciousness lets you know that he’s not only there but close by. Your eyes dart from side to side as you wonder where he could be hiding…but the mystery of his whereabouts has you shivering with anticipation. The thrill of being watched from the shadows runs through you as you’re seated on a plush couch by a table with a fantastic view of the stage.

That’s when your hunt truly begins.

Most of your kind usually like to roam around looking for their prey and play pretend as they chat up some gullible mortals. Then, they lure them to a private place where the ignorant human will experience the bliss of the Dark Kiss while their new acquaintance indulges in their blood. It’s typical of all vampires to hunt this way…but some predators wait for their prey to come to them.

And oh, do they come…like a swarm of moths to a dangerous flame.

Quite a few people approach you with various requests over the next hour. Some ask if they can join your table while others just want to buy you a drink. You accept some patrons at your table and refuse others, steadily surrounding yourself with potential prey while listening to excellent jazz. Your keen sense of hearing picks up their whispered conversation, learning a little about these mortals as you judge the potency of their blood. All of them show promise but their constant gawking and shallow compliments are boring you to death…again!

Your eyes begin to wander as the band starts playing a slow and smoky tune, totally changing the atmosphere of the club to something more intimate. And that’s when you spy a young woman standing by the bar, trying her hardest to not get caught staring as she peeks over at your table. How adorable, you muse while admiring her curves and pretty dress. You tilt your head with interest when her body quivers under your alluring gaze, which only whets your appetite even more…that is until the sudden appearance of a young man distracts her.

You manage to hold back the irritable growl crawling up your throat at this unfortunate interruption. But you continue to watch closely as they start talking, noting that they must know each other very well going by their friendly demeanor. The woman must have mentioned you since the man glances your way and his body instantly reacts much like his lady friend. Your brow quirks as they lean in close, sharing a few more hushed whispers before turning around to face you together.

Oh my…what an adventurous couple, you surmise, softly laughing to yourself as you dismiss your entourage with a mere flick of your hand. They all follow your silent command without question, leaving you alone with a couple bottles of unopened champagne. You pat the now empty couch with your hand as you lure them over with an inviting grin.

The daring couple immediately join you and introduce themselves while sitting on either side of you on the couch. You take one of the bottles of champagne and pop the cork, smiling at their eager faces as you kindly offer to pour them a drink. They each grab a glass and propose a toast about seizing opportunities for new experiences before taking a sip as you steer the conversation towards themselves.

It doesn’t take much cajoling to learn that they’re not only a couple but engaged, and you just so happen to catch them the night before their wedding! You ask why they’ve chosen to spend their time with you rather than enjoying each other’s company and they both give a vague answer…but curiosity gets the better of you. So, you simply urge them to be honest with your captivating presence, holding them even tighter within your seductive sway as they spill all their dirty little secrets.

Oh, this is just too delicious! you gush when they reveal one in particular fantasy about having a threesome with a gorgeous stranger. You lean in real close to each of them and whisper your own craving for something new and exciting, tempting both of them with the promise of exquisite pleasure as you nibble on their ear. Your hunger intertwines with lust as you eye both of their necks, reveling in the aroused blood running through their veins.

You’re absolutely ravenous by the time they finish off one bottle of champagne, and you dare say that your venturesome couple is ready for more…but the sudden announcement of a song request draws your attention. You look down at the stage to see the bandleader pointing up in your direction.

“This next song is for the star up above.”

The band begins playing some mediocre number that barely manages to be tolerable. Your brow furrows at the awful request while your lovely couple remains totally oblivious to your confusion. The insidious whispers of paranoia invade your thoughts, but you push them aside as you mentally reach out to Vergil.

Did you…?

His reply is swift with a hint of cold anger.

No. It was him.

You scan the room and instantly spot the man that has provoked the ire of your fierce fella. It’s not hard to pick him out with that shameless leer on his face as he struts towards you. As he gets closer, you feel this distinctive shift in the air around him while the potency of his blood sets you on edge. You can sense his influence seeping through the mortals around him, bending their will in a show of dominance as he finally makes it to your table.

There’s no mistaking it.

You’re in the presence of another vampire.

“Hey there, sugar,” he greets, making your skin crawl as his lips curve into an oily smile. “Mind if I join you?”

You give him a quick once over before looking back up with an unimpressed frown. “Would if I could but I’m quite busy at the moment,” you decline coolly, wrapping an arm around the woman as you tousle the man’s hair.

“Aww, c’mon now…can’t a couple of night owls share a drink?” he persists as his eyes flicker over your adventurous couple.

Your eyes squint into an icy glare. “Go get your own and leave me be.”

The meddling mosquito laughs in your face. “Listen, I don’t appreciate you moving in on my turf without the proper courtesy that’s expected of one so young,” he discloses while that oily smile turns more sinister with every word. “But I’m willing to put this lil’ transgression behind us.”

You roll your eyes as he moves in closer, encroaching on your personal space while staring you down. His lecherous gaze makes your blood boil as a foreign presence slams against consciousness. “All you have to do is-” he abruptly gets cut off as his eyes meet with your furious stare.

KNEEL!

Your harsh command assaults his mind with overwhelming force. His knees buckle under the weight of your superior power as he falls to the ground. He looks back up at you in shock, mouth agape and eyes wide as he begins to grovel at your feet. “I’m deeply sorry, mistress…I didn’t realize-”

SILENCE!

The pathetic little tick instantly shuts his gaping mouth. “I know for a fact this is not your turf,” you reveal, slowly raising his chin up with your foot before shoving the tip of your stiletto heel between his lips. “In fact, no one has claim over this place…until tonight.”

His eyes widen in terror as you pierce his filthy damned soul with your scornful gaze. You mentally nudge the young woman beside you to grab the bottle of champagne off of the table. She complies and pops the cork before handing it over with a sweet smile, not even acknowledging the cowering vampire kneeling before you.

“It’s all mine now.”

Your overpowering dominance keeps him from standing up or speaking out as you pour every last drop of champagne atop of his head. An amused chuckle flits through your mind as the sparkling bubbly dribbles down his mortified face. You wedge the tip of your heel deeper between his teeth, letting the slope of your foot guide a good amount of champagne into his mouth. He gags and tries to spit it out, but you command him to swallow every fizzy drop, knowing that he’ll have to suffer through the unpleasant process of purging it from his body once you’re done with him.

You order him to clean your foot as soon as the champagne stops flowing, carefully instructing him to only lick the bottom since your stiletto heels are way too expensive for his vile tongue. Your lips curl into a cruel smirk as he laps up all the dirt and grime with a disgusted frown on his face. You take pleasure in his humiliation while handing the empty bottle over to the young man sitting calmly beside you. And when you tire of his submissive cleaning, you decide to give this worthless tick one last word of warning before setting him free.

“I highly suggest you never darken my domain again,” you threaten while molding his will like wet clay, “unless you want to suffer a fate worse than Final Death.”

And with that final command, you release him with a dismissive wave of your hand. He quickly stands up and tries to speak, but something behind you catches him off guard. You see a flicker of blue reflect in his horrified eyes, visibly shaking with unbridled fear as he slowly backs away before making a hasty departure.

You follow his speedy retreat until he’s no longer in sight. “Now, where were we?” you murmur while cupping the lady’s cheek as your foot rubs up and down the young man’s leg. “Ah yes…I remember now.” Your hungry gaze flickers between your adventurous couple before looking at one of the private sitting rooms. Their bodies shiver in delight as you finally close in on your prey with one final question:

“Care to join me somewhere more private?”

🌹🦇🌹 (Vergil’s POV) 🌹🦇🌹

Vergil knew he was in for an intriguing experience when he agreed to this lascivious date. So far, it’s played out exactly as he expected: you’ve ensnared everyone in the club with your enthralling presence and caught some prey within your alluring web. The detestable appearance of another vampire nearly made him come out of hiding to cut him down. But he stayed his hand and watched as his Evening Star bent the miscreant to her will before ordering him to leave immediately.

Remarkable, he muses, impatiently wringing the collar of his dress shirt while intense yearning flushes through his body. His keen ears pick up your sensual whisper as you ask the enamored young couple to follow you somewhere else. They nod their heads eagerly before wrapping themselves around each of your arms. He hears your voice ringing through his mind like a delicate breeze as you stand up and glance at a vacant room guarded by a doorman.

Better hurry, my love…the show’s about to begin.

Vergil smirks at your playful tone as you glide across the floor with refined grace. He follows close behind, trying his best to remain unseen while waiting for an opening to sneak into the room. Your captivating gaze falls upon the doorman, staring at him with intense focus while muttering under your breath. His eyes glaze over as he stands stock still for a few seconds before snapping out his momentary daze. Then, the doorman smiles politely at your approach and opens the door for you, giving Vergil the opportunity to slink in after you when he walks away.

He quietly shuts the door behind him and creeps among the shadows of the room, checking for any sign of the couple being aware of an uninvited guest. But you have them wrapped around your finger, completely infatuated and fawning over your every move as you lead them to a large couch in the corner. He leans against the opposite wall as you guide the woman to sit down and halt the young man from following suit by gently placing your hand on his chest.

“Ladies first.”

The young man shivers and nods his head in understanding. He moves to stand by the young woman while you sit beside her, giving Vergil a perfect view as the climax of your hunt begins. You cup her face and bring her in close, only stopping a hair’s breadth from her lips as your hands slide down her neck. She whimpers and tries to lean in for a kiss, but you gently push her to lie down on the couch and continue to caress the curves of her body.

Vergil remains motionless as you lift the young woman’s dress up, spreading her legs to reveal her soaking wet panties. His cock twitches as you settle between her thighs, nipping at her skin while moving lower and lower…then, the woman gasps and her face contorts in pain for only a second before slacking in pleasure as your fangs sink into the prominent vein near her clothed sex.

“Holy shit,” the young man grunts, palming his bulging crotch as he watches you partake of his lover.

Vergil finds himself mirroring the action, cupping his aching cock while taking in every detail of this depraved moment. The euphoric moans of the young woman as she writhes in pleasure on the couch has him itching to loosen his pants. But he resists the urge to touch himself and just continues to witness the power his Evening Star welds over these mortals.

You withdraw from the woman after drinking a couple more mouthfuls and pin the young man down with your lustful gaze. His eyes widen as you smack your red lips, letting out a pleased hum while drops of blood dribble down your chin. “What the fuck?!” he gasps with realization as you bend down and close the wounds on his lover’s thigh with a swipe of your tongue.

Vergil senses his fear and summons the Yamato at the ready for a quick getaway if needed. But you simply rush over to him in a mere second and place a single finger on his trembling lips. “Shh,” you coo, staring deeply into his eyes as you ease him to a state of total relaxation. His lips curve into a dopey smile as you circle around and wrap your arms around his shoulders.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” you whisper while staring down at the blissed-out woman still laying on the couch.

“Y-yes!” he gasps as your fangs graze his ear. “I love her so much,” he tacks on with genuine fondness, making your lips quirk into an amused smirk while prompting him to look at you once more.

“Be a good boy and feed your mistress.”

The young man turns around and bares his neck for you. He seems to melt in your embrace as you scrape your fangs against the pulsating vein. You peer over his shoulder before biting down, seemingly staring right where Vergil is standing in shadows. The young man grunts in pain as your fangs sink into his flesh, but then he moans as his body quakes in pleasure.

Vergil’s grip on the Yamato tightens as his other hand moves on its own accord, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants while you enjoy your second drink of the night. He quietly hisses as his cock springs free from its tight confines, already engorged and weeping white droplets at the tip. His blatant gaze never wavers from your mesmerizing stare as he finally succumbs to his deepest desire and begins pleasuring himself. He grits his teeth with every pump of his hand, consciously holding back any grunts and growls that try to escape his throat. The intense yearning from earlier overtakes his mind, hardening his cock even more with the thought of you handling mortals like mere playthings.

After a few more moments of silently watching each other, you release the young man’s neck with a pleased hiss. Your tongue closes his wounds with a quick lick before relinquishing him from your grasp. You softly gasp and cover your delighted smirk with a dainty hand as you examine the huge wet spot on the front of his pants.

“Looks like somebody got too excited!” you playfully note while directing him to sit next to his lover on the couch. “But that’s alright,” you sigh as the young man just smiles happily, totally oblivious to coming undone by your sensual bite alone. “I know exactly what you need for round two,” you divulge with a wicked gleam in your eye as you take a seat between them.

Vergil pauses at your mysterious words and quirks his eyebrow when you prick your middle finger with one of your fangs. “Both of you have pleased your mistress greatly,” you gush while holding your hand over to the young woman. “So as a reward…” you murmur as a few droplets of your blood drips between her parted lips.

The young woman lets out an ecstatic cry as your thick and redolent nectar touches her tongue. You let her suckle on your finger for a moment before giving the young man his fair share of his prize. He also cries out at the taste of your blood, eagerly lapping every drop off your finger. The front of his pants grow tight with his reinvigorated arousal while his lover rubs her cunt through her drenched panties.

You get up from the couch and stare at the hedonistic couple with a satisfied smile. “I suggest you fuck each other hard and rough,” you coax with a provocative purr. “Oh! And one more thing,” you quickly add while cupping both of their enraptured faces. “After you both come…” you trail off as they meet your entrancing gaze, remaining still and silent until he hears you whispering your final command.

FORGET.

Vergil sees the light in their eyes glaze over as you slowly retreat from the couch. He swiftly puts his cock away and waits until you’re close enough to pounce on you. His arm encircles your waist before dragging you back into the shadows.

“You shine so brightly, my Evening Star,” he whispers fondly, earning a quiet giggle and soft whimper from you as he nibbles your ear.

Your head tilts to the side as you look up at him from the corner of your eye. “Enjoy the show, my love?” you inquire with a naughty grin while grinding against his crotch.

“Immensely.”

“Mmm…I’ll say!” you quietly exclaim with glee while eyeing his straining cock.

You suddenly become a blur of motion before his eyes, completely taking him off guard as he leans back against the wall. His head snaps down to see his pants by his knees and you licking the underside of his cock, pulling a surprised grunt from him while the sound of passionate sex fills the air. You gesture with your head towards the swooning couple, subtly prodding him to watch as they fulfill your request.

Vergil beholds the scene of pure debauchery just a few feet in front of him: torn clothes strewn across the floor surround the couple vigorously making love on the couch. He focuses on the lady bouncing up and down in the young man’s lap, admiring her swaying breasts as she struggles to keep up with her lover’s fast pace. His curious gaze lingers down to where they’re connected, so wet and slippery as they slap against each other over and over. He feels your mouth sink all the way down his cock as both of their cries of shared ecstasy stoke the flames of his desire.

You waste no time with your usual teasing and start sucking him off with the fervor of a wanton harlot, eagerly bobbing your head in time with the couple’s raunchy pace. Their litany of shameless moans drown out his approving growl as he cups the back of your head and thrusts his hips to meet every downstroke of your mouth. He can feel his cock growing more taut against your tongue while the tightening sensation of imminent release pools below his belly. The hand clenching the Yamato starts to shake as he pursues that blessed peak of pleasure, approaching fast and getting closer and closer and closer…

The private room’s door abruptly bursts open, startling both him and the randy couple but not you in the slightest. A strange sensation swathes him with a spine-tingling chill as a doorman hurries inside and begins asking the couple to get dressed. Your lips curl into knowing smirk around his cock, still sucking with gusto as his heart begins to pound with the thrill of getting caught.

The doormen turns his head towards your hiding spot in the shadowy corner. Vergil takes the Yamato in both hands and presses its sheath against the back of your head, effectively barring you from making any more movement. But that doesn’t stop your tongue from lavishing his shaft…nor your hands from caressing his innermost thighs. He purses his lips and glares down at you in warning while attempting to remain silently composed.

You look up at his scowling face as your fangs elongate in defiance, grazing the silky skin around the base of his cock. The lone doorman comes closer, peering at the darkened corner as you stroke and squeeze his balls. The preserve thought of coming undone in front of a total stranger makes his pleasure soar sky high, climbing higher and higher until his impending release starts to curl and crest…and despite his best efforts to stubbornly resist, he comes crashing down with a restrained roar at the back of this throat.

Vergil watches as the doorman scratches his head in confusion, seemingly unaware of a devilish intruder emptying his load into your mouth. He doesn’t dare to move with the doorman standing so close, resigning to just enjoy the decadence of such carnal delights as the last tremors of his orgasm leaves him breathless. But the doorman eventually departs with the perplexed couple in tow, finally giving both of you respite from the utterly tense yet highly arousing situation. He glances down at you through half-lidded eyes, noting the white streaks of his seed leaking down your pretty chin with a gratified hum.

Your lips curve into a pleased grin as you pull his spent cock out of your mouth. He knows that you can’t partake of his seed, but the thought of you spitting it out seems like a waste. So, he sweeps you up into his arms before you find a trash bin and captures your lips with a hungry kiss. You throw your arms around his neck as he pries your mouth open, softly moaning while thick white cum trickles down on his waiting tongue. He swings you around and presses your back against the wall, eagerly drinking every last drop before tearing away from your lush lips with a low growl.

“I have half a mind to punish you for your disobedience,” he scolds with an irritable snarl.

“Even though you liked it?” you point out with an amused giggle. “You shouldn’t have let me taste you again if you really wanted to berate me for fulfilling your voyeuristic fantasies,” you point out while licking your lips with a satisfied hum. His brow twitches at your response but he doesn’t deny that he enjoyed the rush of adrenaline when the doorman unknowingly looked straight at him. You smile knowingly as he lowers you down to the ground with an indignant huff.

“And don’t worry, my love,” you coo softly as he makes himself presentable again. “I cloaked us both in the shadows of their mind, so we weren’t in any real danger of being caught.”

Vergil pauses as he remembers the strange sensation that overtook him when the doorman showed up. “You’ve failed to mention that you can extend that deceptive power to me,” he mutters with a suspicious squint while zipping up his pants and buckling his belt.

“It must’ve slipped my mind,” you note with a nonchalant shrug and cheeky grin.

A rumbling growl emanates from his throat as he crowds you against the wall with his looming height. “Such insolence will not go unpunished, my dear.”

You nip your lower lip with a single fang as his hand slides up along the slit of your dress before slipping between your legs. He softly growls while stroking you over the flimsy fabric of your panties, utterly pleased by slick essence of your sex dripping down his long fingers. You whimper as he shows off just how wet you are by bringing his hand up close to his face before licking a finger clean. Then, he presses another glistening finger against your lips, silently demanding you to open your mouth while gazing down at you with dark promise in his eyes. You hum indulgently while sucking his finger clean before titillating him with your brazen response to his enticing threat.

“I can’t wait to see what you have in store for me, my love.”

I’d like to thank @bettybattaglia for her galaxy brain idea of champagne guzzling and heel licking! And I gotta give a shout to all my fellow judgement sluts in the discord server for encouraging this filth! 😂🙈

Tagging: @drusoona @exsultry @tehrevving @varen-neoraven @shiranyaaww

#vergil #vergil x reader #devil may cry #dmc #vampire reader #Prowling For Pleasure #nothing like a night on the town with your fierce fella #hope y'all are ready for some shameless filth 😏#harlot writes

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perlen-gold · 4 years ago

Text

Twenty-Four Hours

@14daysdalovers

Prompt: Day 9 - Breathless Kisses

Pairing: M!Hawke x Fenris

Fenris bristled at the hunt, then slew the creature with accurate efficiency. As Hawke approaches him his viridian eyes detach themselves from the shadows like pair of bright emeralds, even before the sheen of silver of his man-high greatsword reveals him in a deluge of darkness as a stranger and not just another shadow, no, less than a shadow and so much more than one.

“I am unable to fathom why we, you agreed to this.”

Hawke knows, of course.

He feels his vibrating self gravitating towards those eyes, hypnotized by their intensity, a fleck of dark color within a mass of charcoal blackness.

Under the shade of the hedgerow – trimmed with a masterful and punctilious, hence preposterous hand – Hawke joins him. The chateau courtyard is lit by a handful of adroit golden lamps. The warm spring air filled and skittered with the sprinkling of a white marble fountain in the center, light bathing every lane in the Orlesian garden. But this corner is swathed in utter darkness. Fenris has chosen wisely; his grafted spirit hide melts into the shadows, obsidian scales blending with the gloom.

A wild smile, a grin, Hawke feels it lifting the edges of his mouth, stretching his lips, causing his beard to prickle pleasantly.

“I do love to dress up,” Hawke tugs at the Orlesian silk stretching down his chest, light lilacs and an inkling of pink and folds of fabric billowing around his thighs, his arms swollen by creases like puffed up clouds, “Why, you cannot deny Orlesians their sense of style. I have always wanted to look like an immensely important fool.”

Fenris retorts with a grind of his teeth, however, Hawke can sense it like a sunbaked fragrance in the very air, he is also trying to hide something beyond the gentler corner of his lip.

“It takes a fool to trust this elf woman.”

Fenris averts his gaze, lours at the rarefied conglomeration of Orlesian and Ferelden nobles the Duke has wheedled into clustering in the outskirts of his pompous chateau. Fenris’ eyes are alert. Unlike Hawke he has assumed a watchful stance, that habit of his to peer around while looking behind his back repeatedly even more pronounced than usual.

“Why steal a jewel?” The dun hedge swallows Fenris’ deep voice that is fretting from his lips and askant head, roughing out the edges, the low, rich, rasping sound seeping away in the blackness until no more than a deep rich rumble remains. Of course, Hawke knows.

Then Fenris voices it. “You flirted with her.”

Neither offended nor thunderous. A statement. Fenris’ words pause over the blackness of his armor, void of allegation. A mere statement of the facts. The obvious. An question and none.

Everything in him floating and excited, on his lips Hawke’s smile has settled into a more arch and softer one. Eventually, when Fenris tears his eyes away from the festivities it is to see that, on silent feet, Hawke has stepped closer in a way that, indubitably, could never fool Fenris and his straight and frank eyes in the perseverant mass of blackness. Indelible. Indissoluble.

“Just a bit of teasing,” there is an amber laugh in Hawke’s eyes along with a wink on his lips.

A softer spark ignites within the darkness. “I wonder who it is you tease.” The crease above Fenris’ nose deepens and multiplies while lending, maybe for the first time, an edge to the gravity of his voice … or is it just Hawke imagining things?

Fenris looks away again, eyes drawn out of the guarding shade’s darkness. A faint glow from the ascending crescent moon above them trails the arch of his brows and jawline with silver-stained fingers, a light more shade than anything, a smidgen of darkened silver trembling on his cheekbone. Closer still, hands almost touching, Hawke finally follows his gaze. To Duke Prosper, grandiloquent in his teal and golden costume complete with a snow white creature’s fur and scarlet feathered helmet (living up to his name well enough), to the ladies sumptuously gossiping away their stark lipsticks, who have by now flung unambiguous allusions at him with hungry eyelashes, and eventually to the auburn-haired elf woman waiting anxiously for him.

Underneath the vibrant armor and sable tunic in Fenris’ chest an apprehensive breath is caught in is lungs, it fills them to bursting, and then storms out again. Hawke draws closer to the hedge.

In his own chest Hawke’s breath is even, air flowing and streaming in and out with ease and leisure. Well does Hawke know it, he knows it now, this polarity of breaths; tranquility and agitation, unwound and vigorous. Familiar now. Already familiar within so short a time.

So little time and so much life, a life’s worth of breathing in it.

“How is it,” he suddenly whispers into the black shadow of the high hedge, “that the Duke guffaws even at the most boring words of mine whereas I cannot win you over to crack the tiniest smile for me today?”

At his whisper Fenris’ head snaps around, moves away again while Hawke watches his emerald eyes dart to the other side through the shadows, and Hawke’s heart warmly swells as if flooded.

It has been a delicate twenty-four hours since.

As early as now Varric is eyeing them – perceptive as ever – shooting them side-way glances with the air of someone who will not have anything hidden from him (even though this is the one sole thing Hawke never tells him) – and Hawke is eying his dwarfen friend in turn, waiting for him to give in to his itching fingers, pen and imagination running wild.

Twenty-four hours …

An evening of bitterness. A day of betrayal. A year of hope. A life of obedience. A moment of fear.

And an hour, sixty minutes, three thousand and six hundred seconds of kisses, of embracing, of muted pain, solace, avowal and bravery, of wild hearts, of a desperate, defenseless thing called love.

No sooner, after waiting, so much waiting and hoping for him to find his way back to Hawke, no sooner had Fenris arms and lips come away from him than Hawke breathlessly gripped his trembling hand in a haze, to drag him with him onto the nocturnal streets of Hightown, to meet a waiting and disgruntled Varric at the appointed place. Pretending nothing had happened – heart ripe with explosion, madly grinning, almost giddy with joy and overcome by an adventurous recklessness.

That was when Tallis appeared. Hawke can see her thin face contorted with impatience and the same bravado which fills him. From a roof she sprang and fought and killed and smiled, telling stories of jewels and burglary.

When Fenris does not answer immediately, Hawke leans closer to his face, his voice rough and daring. “Maybe I should practice with other elves first.”

Then Hawke produces a small bronzen key from the ridiculously tiny pocket of his lustrous jacket, cocking his head. “You do not want to know what I had to do to gain this.”

His eyes twinkling with the reflections of amber lamps Hawke moves out of the dark shade of the evergreen hedge. “You and Varric keep an eye on our impressionable Duke and” – his fruity voice assumes the throaty Orlesian accent with gusto – “ ’is deer pet.”

Just before Hawke leaves, just before Varric’s prying eyes finally detect them from the other end of the garden and just before Tallis hisses “Hawke! What are we waiting for?”, Hawke’s fingers brush and linger for a brief moment on Fenris palm.

The redolent odor of some magnificent flower swims in the warm evening air.

Fenris, by contrast, still smells of the hunt. Of steel and blood, of apprehension, of wood leaf and tree bark, untarnished by the revelries and pretentious silk.

And then, all of a sudden, Fenris hand shoots forward and lungs for him. Behind the gloom-swathed hedgerow in the melting obsidian shade Hawke feels himself pulled, his mouth met by hard lips, terse teeth. The kiss is hard and short-lived, the whisper following in its wake a gnarling grunt. “You do look even more ludicrous than you sound.”

Before he can pull away again, Hawke takes Fenris’ hand and impulsively puts his wrist to his mouth for a kiss. Under the charcoal-dark armor, Hawke can feel Fenris’ heart almost give way at the touch. His laughter, rich and low, vaporizes against Fenris’ skin.

And then Fenris hands are all over his face, as though led by a desperate need to feel Hawke’s skin, fingers touching the curve of his cheekbone, the arch of his abundant brows, following the lines of his hairline. Whilst Hawke knees buckle at this, he kisses the patches of night shadows and inklings of silvered light upon Fenris’ face.

“This is stupid,” Fenris mutters softly, his delightfully low voice almost an evaporating whisper, “not stupid in the sense of silly but the most unwise and imprudent thing you have ever agreed to, Hawke.” Hawke, however, kisses each word, breathless and elated, until his name dissolves into a indissoluble smile of dark and silver.

Hawke’s answer is immediate: “Na via lerno Victoria.”

Incredulous, Fenris’ eyes widen. This Hawke observes with studied scrutiny, enjoying the effect his self-taught Tevene produces immensely. To his own amazement, then, he feels Fenris rising on his bare feet. His lips trace around his jaw with their breath, down Hawke’s chin and up the other way to his cheekbone, not kissing, plainly touching, tactually, sensing. With a soft groan Hawke captures Fenris’ hand in his. He presses first one to his mouth, then another, with exquisite tenderness, first palm, then the inside of his wrist. Tasting, desperately, underneath his skin, Fenris’ pulse which flutters and throbs.

Anew, all at once, Fenris pulls his hands out of Hawke’s grasp and pushes him out from under the shade of the hedge.

“Do not get caught, Hawke.” he growls hoarsely, note quite capable of banishing that tender, delicious gentleness out of his rumbling voice.

Hawke thereupon gives a wild laughter, replete with bliss and joy, sending a flutter of nightingales skittering into the warm, velvet night.

His lips streak with a pulsating grin. “Come and find me when I do.”

As Hawke turns back he fetches Fenris’ gaze, their eyes lock. Fenris is feeling suspicious. So is Hawke.

Fenris will not abandon his irritation and disagreement, not even for Hawke, neither his bristling at what he thinks is utter foolishness and venture. Hawke would not have it otherwise.

But.

But that daring, foolhardy, audacious, temerarious, roguish recklessness has not quite worn off yet.

Not yet.

____________________________________________________________

A thousand thanks to the amazing @14daysdalovers aka @scharoux for hosting this delightful event and pouring all her efforts, dedication and heart in it! Thank you so very much for your time and commitment, dear! 💗 You’re one awesome girl! 💗

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kelelamentia · 5 years ago

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Rockin’ the House

@ozmav Because we all need an uncle Jagged Stone.

It was another charity gala held by the Wayne Family; this one was raising funds for art programs across the world, and because it was for art there were artists of all types from all over, including the famous Rock’n’Roll artist Jagged Stone…and his guest.

At the Gotham Congress Hall:

The Wayne Family was scattered all over the hall, talking various people, Damian was standing with his father; talking to someone he didn’t recognize.

“Father, I’m going to retrieve some punch.” Damian announced to Bruce, waiting for him to nod before making his way over to the punch table.

Having retrieved and finished his drink Damian looked across the hall with a frown. He had no issue for the cause of this gala; him being an artist himself, but many of these people were just trying to get into his family’s good graces. Damian had just finished rolling his eyes at a snobby comment he over heard when something caught his eye; someone really.

She was lovely, she wore what looked to be a V-neck sleeveless black party dress that went to her knees, low silver heels, silver bracelets and neckless. Her blue/black hair was in a bun with a silver hair; he couldn’t tell what the hair pin was at his distance. She also looked uncomfortable, she was looking around and swaying back and forth.

Damian decided to introduce himself; if she was a harpy he would just walk away. As he got closer to her he saw a few more details of her outfit. The hair pin was a treble clef and the silver neckless had a range of rainbow musical notes. There was also a slight shimmer coming off her dress as she swayed.

“Hello Miss, how are you this evening?” Damian greeted when he reached her.

She startled at his voice.

“H-Hello, I’m Marinette Dupain-Cheng; I’m doing well and you?” Marinette greeted in return.

Damian was pleased to note she didn’t seem try and ‘charm him’ as soon as she saw him; and she had a cute French accent. He reached out his hand and grabbed hers, brushing a kiss on the back of her knuckles; causing her to turn pink.

“I’m also doing well. Might I ask are you an up and coming artist? Or are you here with someone?” Damian asked. As soon as he finished his question, he realized he sounded rude, but she didn’t see bothered by his bluntness and answered him.

“I’m just a guest of a guest, but I am working towards being a designer; so maybe I’ll get my own invite one day.”

Surprised is what Damian was by Marinette’s humility, most people here would be bragging about how ‘They’ll be the next greatest thing’ or ‘I came with this person, so I’m great as well’ or something similar.

“A designer? What kind?” Damian questioned.

“Fashion mostly, but I like designing for other things as well.” Marinette admitted.

“Does that mean what you’re wearing now is your work Marinette?”

Marinette gave a shy nod.

“This is actually my most recent work; along with a suit I made for tonight, would you like to see my favorite part?”

“Certainly.”

At Damian’s agreement Marinette did a slow twirl, that’s when Damian got his answer about the slight shimmer from before. As Marinette spun the light reflected off embroidery he hadn’t known was there. There was techno coloured musical notes of all sorts dancing and shining along the skirt and top. Damian blinked, his breath taken from him.

“That is beautiful Marinette, this must have taken some time to complete.”

“A little, yeah, but it was worth it.”

“Is the suit here tonight like this?” Damian asked.

“Yep.” Marinette confirmed.

“You are a very hard-working individual Marinette and you design his lovely, I’m sure you’ll get your own invite one day.”

“Thank you.”

“Now, would the lovely Lady be willing to dance with me this evening?” Damian asked, offering the palm of his hand.

“I’d love to.” Marinette said, almost placing her hand in his; she hesitated just before she did.

“Is there something wrong?” Damian worried.

“No…It’s just, I don’t know your name.”

Damian was stunned, she really didn’t know?

“I’m sorry Marinette, my name is Damian Wayne.” Damian watched, gauging her reaction.

“It’s nice to meet you Damian!” Marinette smile brightly, placing her hand in his.

She really didn’t know, this gave Damian a light-hearted feeling; he didn’t have to be the blood son of Bruce Wayne, he could just be Damian.

“Shall we dance Marinette?”

“Lets.”

Damian brought Marinette to the dance floor, keep her hand in his and placing the other on her waist; bringing her closer, not enough to be considered inappropriate, but just enough to be intimate. As they began to dance Marinette faltered and stumbled, but as she got more comfortable with Damian and the movements, she became very graceful. Damian spun and twirled her; showing off Marinette’s dress for all to see.

“How are you doing this?”

“Doing what?” Damian was confused.

“Making me dance like I’ve been doing it my entire life?” Marinette asked, “I’m a total klutz normally, this, this is new.”

“Marinette, I’m not doing anything. This is you being relaxed and trusting me in my movements. If you are a ‘total klutz’ normally, it is because your nervous and fear judgement.”

“Yeah…I guess I feel like that, how do you over come that Damian?” Marinette questioned.

“Simple, there is a quote I remember; ‘Those who mind don’t matter and those who matter don’t mind’. There is nothing wrong with being nervous Marinette and anyone saying that there is, is trying to make you feel worse.”

“Damian…” Marinette sighed, “Thank you.”

“It is nothing but the truth,” Damian stated, “You are a beautiful talented woman, who is not afraid to work for her dreams; people will get jealous of that, but please don’t let it hinder you.”

“I’m not beautiful.” Marinette muttered.

“Yes, you are; you smile sweetly, your eyes are like the loveliest of blue belle flowers, and you made yourself a dress that is unique without being outrageous.” Damian complimented.

Marinette giggled and they continued dancing.

With Bruce a little after Damian left:

Bruce was making his way around the hall; talking to people along the way, when he ran into a very popular music artist in the Wayne household.

“Hello Jagged Stone, are you having fun?” Bruce asked.

“Hey Bruce, this is a cool gig; a little tame for my usual tastes, but anything that supports giving people a chance to rock out is good in my books.” Jagged enthused.

Bruce chuckled at the rack star.

“Thank you,” Bruce looked around, “Where is your partner and your second guest?”

“Penny couldn’t make; she got a bit of food poisoning you know?” Jagged informed, “And my other guest is my favorite designer; she’s really sweet, a bit shy but won’t back down from a challenge.”

“Is she one who designed your suit?” Bruce asked, “Because have to say I’m surprised you’re wearing something to mundane.”

Jagged’s suit was black dress pant, a white dress shirt, and a black suit coat with long tails, with black dress shoes. He had silver cuff-links, a silver guitar pin on his lapel, but he had a techno colour tie that stood out.

“Mundane? This suit ain’t mundane, it camouflaged; let me show you.”

Jagged turned on his heel, showing Bruce why the suit wasn’t mundane. Turning around allowed the light to show the techno coloured music notes on his jacket and the staffs (The lines on a music sheet) running down each of his legs.

Bruce blinked, caught off guard by the hidden pattern.

“That is very impressive Jagged, your designer has some real talent.”

“I know, I met her when she was 14 and she keeps proving I can match the event while keeping my style.”

“She’s designed other things for you?” Bruce asked, being a designer for a rock star at 14 is nothing to sneeze at.

“She sure did, let me find her and I’ll introduce you, but fair warning she is going to quiz you on who made your suit.” Jagged chuckled, looking around, “I see her, she’s dancing with someone…Is he filtering with her?”

As Jagged started to make his way over, Bruce saw where Jagged was looking and was shocked to see his youngest son dancing with a lovely young lady; Jagged’s designer. Bruce caught up with Jagged just as he reached the pair.

“Hey Marinette, who’s your dance partner?” Jagged greeted.

With Damian and Marinette before they were interrupted:

Damian had never been to content, so happy, so…so…so something! Marinette was so kind and sweet, she asked him about his suit, who designed it and was it comfortable. She didn’t recognize his name, she didn’t ask how and why he was here, she just cared about him and who he was as a person. Getting her number was a must. Just as he was about to ask if he could have her number a voice cut him off.

“Hey Marinette, who’s your dance partner?”

Damian looked at the person who spoke and couldn’t believe what he saw.

It was Jagged Stone! His favorite music artist; along with his brothers, and he knew Marinette’s name?!

“Hi Jagged, this is Damian; he’s been keeping me company.” Marinette explained to the rock star.

“Hi Damian, I’m Jagged Stone and you’re dancing with my favorite designer.”

“Jagged!” Marinette scolded.

“What? It’s true isn’t it?” Jagged teased.

Damian took notice of Jagged’s suit and saw the same theme as Marinette’s. Damian couldn’t believe it, Marinette was THE Jagged Stone’s designer, the one he liked to brag about on interviews; along with Clara Nightingale and some others.

“Marinette there is someone I want you to meet.” Jagged gestured to Damian’s father, “Mari meet Bruce Wayne, the host of this gala.”

Marinette reached out to shake his hand.

“Hello Mr. Wayne, it’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you as well Marinette; and please call me Bruce. I see you’ve already met my youngest; Damian”

Marinette gave a slight jerk.

“Your youngest?” Marinette asked, looking over at Damian.

Damian wanted to curse at his father for outing him like that, but he knew that his father most likely wasn’t aware that Marinette didn’t know who he was.

“I’m sorry, I’m sure he wanted to tell you himself.” Bruce tried to lessen the impact.

“Don’t be sorry, its more my fault than anything. I’m bad with names outside the fashion and music industries.” Marinette apologized “I’m also sorry if I bothered you Damian.”

Damian would not have her thinking that her sweet company was a bother to him.

“You were never a bother Marinette; your company is lovely and you yourself are a breath of fresh air.”

Marinette blushed.

Bruce raised his eye brow and smirked.

Jagged narrowed his eyes.

Jagged wasn’t sure he wanted this kid flirting with his almost niece and tried to change topics.

“Marinette I’ve told Bruce you’ve been designing for me since you were 14, but I didn’t want to brag about you too much without you there.”

“Jagged no.”

“You see Bruce Marinette has made my favorite glass”

“Jagged please…”

“All my album covers that have won an award,”

“Stop…”

“Serval posters, the most recent one coming out soon; being super awesome,”

“I’m begging you��”

“Many of my concert outfits, this suit; she made a dress for Penny too, but she couldn’t be here.”

“Jagged…”

“And that’s not counting the stuff she’s done for other people like Clara Nightingale.”

By the end of his rant Marinette was bright red and had her face in her hands. But while Marinette was embarrassed, Damian was in awe; she’s done so much work and didn’t brag about it once.

“Jagged why…” Marinette asked.

“Well, you don’t talk about your accomplishments Marinette; so, I’m happy to do it for you!”

“That is quite the list Marinette, you should be proud.” Bruce praised.

Bruce noticed the look of admiration on Damian’s face and thought if all goes well that he would seeing and hearing more about Marinette.

“Were you the one who designed the ‘Hard Rock’ cover?” Damian asked, “I love that cover.”

Marinette gave a shy yes.

Bruce wanted to talk to Marinette a bit.

“Marinette,” Bruce said getting her attention, “May I please get your opinion on somethings.”

“Sure Bruce, what can I help you with?

As Bruce and Marinette talked, Jagged got Damian’s attention and spoke quietly to him.

“Look kid, I can see you like Mari; and she seems to like you, so I’m going to warn you now. Mari is like family to me, you break her heart you will regret it. I may not be able to do anything to you from business stand point, but I can trash your rep and make it stick; got it?” Jagged warned.

Damian nodded his head in grim understanding.

“Marinette is a wonderful girl, I’d be a fool to break heart if she gave me chance sir and I like to think myself not a fool.”

Jagged slapped Damian on the shoulder.

“Good, we understand each other then. Now let’s get back to your Father and Mari; listening to that girl plan is a rockin’ experience.”

Damian looked at Marinette; who excitedly describing something to his father, who was looking very impressed. Tonight, was going better than he could have hoped for.

The night wore on and Damian didn’t leave Marinette’s side. Just before she and Jagged had to leave, she gave Damian something

“Here, just in case you want to talk or anything,” Marinette was holding out a piece of paper with her phone number and email on it, “B-But it’s fine if you don’t want it!”

“NO! I mean no, I’m happy to have it Marinette; just let me give you mine as well.” Damian scrambled to find a piece of paper and pen. He did find some and wrote down his information and gave it to Marinette.

As Marinette stepped into the car with Jagged she waved goodbye to Damian; a shy smile and a blush on her face. Damian waited until the car was out of sight before he let out a sigh and looked at the information Marinette gave.

“Please try and wait until tomorrow to call her Damian.”

“Father!” Damian turned in surprise at the voice, “Would not call her tonight, she will be tried when she gets back to her hotel and she needs her rest.”

“Fair, wait until after breakfast as well then.” Bruce teased. “I’m looking forward to hearing more about Marinette, please keep me updated.”

“Father!”

End

And that was Rockin’ the House.

Also

Extra:

A few days later at the Wayne household:

Alfred – Master Damian, there is a package for you.

Damian – *Takes package* Thank you Alfred.

Damian opens the package to reveal the new Jagged Stone poster that hasn’t been released yet; signed and everything.

Dick - *Cereal spit take*

Jason – How the h*ll did Demon Spawn get that!?

Damian – It’s a gift from someone precious.

Tim – Precious?! You’re calling someone precious!? And who’s the second signature?

Dick, Jason and Tim - *Look closer at the poster*

Dick – Who’s Marinette?

Tim – That’s Jagged’s favorite and best designer; she rarely signs anything! How in the world did you get that Brat!?

Bruce – *Proud dad that’s wants to embarrass his youngest* That’s because he danced all night with her at the gala; he got her number too.

Dick, Jason and Tim – WHAT?!

Damian – FATHER!

Jason – There’s no way! Prove it!

Alfred – Would pictures work Master Jason? I have serval.

Damian – ALFRED! WHEN?

#maribat #maridami #marinette dupain cheng #marinette x damien #marinette x damian #damien wayne #Damianette #damian wayne #bruce wayne #jagged stone #gala #again

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 5 years ago

Text

But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 6: Something Borrowed, Something Blue]

I’d like to give a very special shout out to @killer-queen-xo and the insightful prediction she left on Chapter 5 about Y/N and the camera...you were close! 😉

Chapter summary: Y/N breaks a promise; John gives a gift; Freddie has a request; Roger makes a scene.

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language, creepy male behavior.

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii @loveandbeloved29 @killer-queen-xo @maggieroseevans @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @im-an-adult-ish @queenlover05 @someforeigntragedy @imtheinvisiblequeen @joemazzmatazz @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye @namelesslosers @inthegardensofourminds @deacyblues @youngpastafanmug @sleepretreat @hardyshoe @bramblesforbreakfast @sevenseasofcats @tensecondvacation @bookandband @queen-crue @jennyggggrrr @madeinheavxn @whatgoeson-itslate @brianssixpence

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! :)

“Welcome!” Mary chimes as she opens the door for you, then her eyes flick down to the gift bag decorated with Santa hats and sprigs of holly. “Oh, love, we said positively no presents!”

“It’s just something small, I promise. Very inexpensive.”

“She’s here!” Freddie announces with a flourish of his hands, leaping up from the couch. The apartment he shares with Mary is tiny and very cluttered, and absolutely none of the decorations match. The walls are a collage of Bohemian tapestries and family photos and prints of Rococo-style paintings and magazine cutouts of articles about Led Zeppelin, Jimi Hendrix, The Beatles, Aretha Franklin, Elvis Presley, Queen. Freddie pecks you on both cheeks; Blue Christmas is drifting from the record player. You’re suddenly aware that the apartment is brimming with the scent of baking cookies. In the living room, Roger, Brian, and John are hanging strings of popcorn and paper ornaments on a short, rather scruffy Christmas tree. There is a vast array of presents scattered around the tree stand; all are small, with the exception of one large square box swathed in silver and sapphire wrapping paper.

“I see no one else respected the no presents rule either.”

“You Bostonians and your insatiable need to rebel,” Freddie quips, shooing you towards the tree.

“Y/N, look at this,” Chrissie says from where she and Veronica are sitting on the couch threading popcorn. She’s frowning and holding up a piece of paper cut into the shape of a Pontiac Firebird. “Will you please inform Roger that this is not Christmas themed?”

“Awww!” You grin as she hands it to you. He’s even drawn on a windshield, headlights, and a smiley face floating behind the steering wheel. “Let him hang it, Chris. It’s the only car he’s going to be able to afford for a long time.”

Roger bounds over and embraces you, nearly knocking you over. “This is why you’re my favorite American in the entire world. Possibly my favorite person period. The love of my life.” He takes the paper Firebird and impales it on an ornament hook, then combs through the tree branches for an ideal location.

Brian points heatedly at Roger. “If he gets to hang the damned Firebird then I get to hang my Saturn!”

“Look what you’ve done,” Chrissie tells you, but she’s smiling. She’s wearing a gorgeous green velvet dress and pieces of mistletoe weaved into her long dark hair. Veronica is beside her in a chunky red sweater and denim skirt, not particularly flashy yet festive nonetheless; she waves to you as she pushes pieces of popcorn one by one down the string. She’s wearing makeup tonight, which is unusual. Her lace-white cheeks are tinged with rouge, her slate-blue eyes rimmed by lavender shadow. Freddie and Mary are removing a sheet of cookies from the oven and quibbling over whether they’ve browned enough.

Roger gestures to the gift bag as you place it under the tree. “You better not have spent your own money on that.”

“Oh, tons. It’s diamonds and gold and a dash of overpriced modern art, just to spice things up.”

Roger growls theatrically in his high, raspy voice. Brian stands back and admires the tree as John loops a strand of multicolored Christmas lights around it.

“It’s actually very modest,” you assure Roger. “Not impressive at all. Chris helped.”

“You enabled this behavior?!” Freddie scolds Chrissie as he traverses the room with an overflowing plate of chocolate chip cookies.

She sips cheap red wine impishly and shrugs. “I know a girl in fashion school, I can get their extra yarn if I buy her a cup of tea and pretend to care about her disastrous love life.”

You smirk. “Disastrous love life? I’ve got one of those.”

“You knitted something for us?!” Roger shouts, delighted.

You wiggle your fingers in the air. “What can I say? I’m good with my hands.”

Roger groans. “Don’t tease me.”

“You certainly are,” Brian tells you. “That roadie who busted his forehead open got fixed up straightaway.”

“That was literally two stitches. Head wounds just bleed a lot, it looked way worse than it was.”

“Well,” Brian insists. “I was impressed.”

Freddie claps his hands, slick obsidian nail polish gleaming. “Ahhhh, I’m so excited! What have you made for me, love? Oh, I hope it’s a nice thong.”

“It’s probably not,” Chrissie says.

Mary pours you a glass of wine and glances around the room. “Does everyone have enough cookies? Drinks? Veronica, dear?”

“I suppose I could use a refill.” She passes Mary her glass and smiles as John sits beside her on the couch. You’ve never quite been able to figure out Veronica; she’s cordial yet removed, kind yet wary, extremely dogmatic in her Catholicism and yet simultaneously socializing with rock stars who are unmistakably living in sin. Her most redeeming quality, as far as you’ve observed, is her steadfast devotion to John...or, perhaps, to the life she’s envisioned they could build together. She rests her hand on John’s thigh and glances coolly at you as you pretend not to notice.

Mary returns with a fresh glass of wine for Veronica. “Alright. Should we start with you, Y/N?”

“What, for the gift exchange we all promised wasn’t happening?” You grin. “Sure, I’ll start.”

You open your Christmasy bag and start doling out small boxes. It’s December 23rd, and Queen is enjoying three weeks off for the holidays before the Sheer Heart Attack Tour resumes. The next show is in Columbus, Ohio—not exactly a cultural mecca, it’s true—followed by a scattering of stops across the continental United States. Half of you is thrilled, especially for the night the band will spend in Boston; the other part of you is dreading it. You don’t talk to Roger about what he does with groupies on tour—or what Brian does, or what Freddie does—and Rog doesn’t mention it around you either. He asks you to join him after every show, for dinner or drinks or clubbing; and you tell him no (though it’s never easy to) and try not to think about the apparent eventualities of stardom. Then Roger goes one way, and you go another.

“Let’s see, what do we have here...” Brian begins prying open his box with long careful fingers.

“You can’t judge me,” you plead. “I’ve only had the tour break to work on them, and I’m really not an expert knitter or anything, and I—”

“Oh, it’s lovely!” Freddie gushes, holding his black and white striped hat aloft for everyone to see. He pulls it on over his silky hair and turns to Mary. “What do you think? Am I dashing?”

She beams as she kisses him. “Overwhelmingly so.” And you think about how being on the road feels like one dimension, and being here in London another. Here, fidelity and domesticity; there, freedom from the familiar world and all its browbeating rules.

“Mittens!” Brian proclaims joyfully. They’re an olivey green, and just large enough for his hands. “They’re so comfy, feel these Chris...”

Roger whips his hat out of the box; it’s very fuzzy and a fiery red with flecks of burnt orange. “I’m obsessed! I adore it! I’ll never take it off!”

“I can’t believe you did all this,” John says. He’s sliding on his mittens, which are a soft greyish blue. “This must have taken you days.”

“It’s Christmas! You’re supposed to slave away for the people you love at Christmas. And you’ve all done so much for me, the scales will always be hopelessly lopsided, don’t you worry.”

“The color is beautiful,” Veronica observes as she touches John’s mittens, but perhaps guardedly.

“They match his eyes!” Freddie exclaims; and they do. “This is delightful, Nurse Nightingale. Truly. How can I ever repay you?”

A smile ripples across your face, full of serenity and relief. They really do like the presents. I didn’t stay up until 4 a.m. knitting for nothing. “The cookies and wine are more than sufficient. I’m so sorry I didn’t have time to make anything for the ladies, but hopefully your charming future husbands will share and there are chocolates in the bottom of the boxes for you—”

“Oh please,” Chrissie snaps. “You’ve already made the rest of us look thoughtless enough. Kindly shut up and drink your wine now. Thank you, obnoxious Bostonian.”

You laugh as Chrissie distributes her and Brian’s gifts for everyone. She decreed weeks ago that you’ll spend Christmas Eve and Day with her family in Dartford. You can help me keep Brian distracted and in good spirits, she’d told you. His father is livid about us living together without being married, and I’m petrified Bri will give himself another ulcer over it.

Inside the small boxes Chrissie passes out are fancy teabags that smell like pomegranate and peppermint. Freddie and Mary dispense pouches of little pink soaps shaped like dolphins and seashells. John and Veronica give everyone homemade candles, which are either ruby red or evergreen. Roger has picked out three novelty mugs: Led Zeppelin for Brian and Chrissie, cats for Freddie and Mary, and raining gold coins for John and Veronica.

“Well I hope that’s prophetic,” John jokes.

“I don’t get a mug?” You’re trying not to show it, but you are hurt that he forgot you.

“No, you don’t.” Roger rummages around under the tree and passes you the large square present wrapped in silver and blue paper. Chrissie and Mary whistle and clap.

“Oh, big spender!” Freddie chastises.

“Roger, no,” you breathe, horrified.

“Roger, yes!” He drums the coffee table eagerly. “Open it.”

“No real presents allowed! You don’t have the money—”

“Are we married?” Roger asks.

You blink at him. “What?”

“Are. We. Married?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“Then you don’t get to tell me what to do with my very tiny sliver of earnings that the record company doesn’t steal.” He grins. “Now open it.”

Slowly, cautiously, you tear through the wrapping paper as the others hover on the edges of their seats. John is squinting suspiciously. Roger balls up his fists and presses them to his smiling lips. You open the top flaps of the box.

“No.”

“What is it?!” Mary begs. “The anticipation is agony!”

“Yeah, love of my life,” Roger taunts, his blue eyes luminous. “What is it?”

Carefully, you lift it out of the box. It’s brand new and shiny and perfect.

“A camera!” Freddie cries.

“A Canon F-1, to be precise,” Roger says. “And a manual too. For our aspiring wildlife photographer. Us feral musicians being the wildlife, of course.”

“Roger...” You reach for him instinctively, and he rushes over to wrap you in a hug. “Thank you so much. I don’t know why you would do this for me.”

He laughs. “Because you’re the best gift I ever got, Boston babe!”

“Let’s give it a try!” Freddie plucks the camera from your hands and begins loading film. “Alright, click this...press that...oh fuck, how do I do this?! Deaky, come over here. You can fix anything.”

“Sure thing, Fred.” John readies the camera in just a minute or two, no longer than it takes Mary to refill glasses and send around another plate of cookies. He looks a little ashen to you, a little stunned; but when you ask him if he’s okay, John just smiles and nods.

Freddie snaps photos of Brian and Chrissie as they snuggle on the couch, of John posing sheepishly in front of the Christmas tree, of Veronica waving as she nibbles a chocolate chip cookie, of Roger in his flame-colored hat. Then Roger makes sure you get your camera back, and it’s your turn to take the pictures. You sit beside the tree, the kaleidoscopic glow of Christmas lights speckling the walls like stars, and collect still frames of memories like catching lightning bugs in jars, like it’s July instead of December, like it’s the heart of a year instead of the end. After a while Freddie comes over to sit next to you, to toast wine glasses with you, to make fun of your flushed cheeks. Then he watches as you gaze at Roger from across the room. Rog is trying on Brian’s mittens and clapping his hands like a seal, grinning hugely, flashing his pointy little canine teeth. And despite all those oh-so-rational promises you’ve made to yourself, you begin to wonder.

“Don’t do it,” Freddie says quietly.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you sling back, pleasantly tipsy. And then: “Why not?”

“Because I like having you around. And if you do this, eventually you won’t be around anymore.”

When you’re finally exhausted enough to drag yourself away from them and catch a taxi, John follows you out into the hallway of the apartment building.

“I have one more gift for you.”

“John, no, absolutely not, I am thoroughly unworthy—”

“Stop.” He pulls a thin, rectangular item from behind his back. It takes you a moment to recognize it.

“Your notebook...?”

“I know it’s not wrapped.” He’s anxious, you realize, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “I kept trying to work up the nerve, and I still wasn’t sure about it when we came over here, and now, well...here I am.” He gives the notebook to you, and you open it, and you gasp in awe.

Inside are sketches from Rome: the concert, the temples, the museum, the beach on that cool breezy afternoon, and, best of all, the people you shared the city with. You and Roger laughing in front of a statue of Perseus. Brian and Chrissie contemplating ruins. Freddie hunched over a piano, his dexterous hands stretched across the keys. And you sitting in that sweltering, fire-lit corner of the Italian restaurant, smiling from behind a glass bottle of Coke. You trace your fingertips over your own face; it’s blissful and peaceful and beautiful in a way that you’ve never seen yourself. “John...”

“Because, you know, you said that you wanted to document the tour so you could remember it all, and I figured...since you didn’t have a camera...maybe this would be better than nothing.”

“It’s a lot better than nothing, John. It’s incredible.”

“They’ll do for now. You won’t need drawings anymore,” he notes, somewhat mournfully. “You can put them on your refrigerator until you have photos to replace them with.”

You shake your head, still staring. “The way you captured my face...”

He shrugs, smiling crookedly. “I just borrowed it.”

“Thank you.” You climb onto your tiptoes and wrap your arms around the back of his neck. He’s warm and gentle; his fluffy hair tickles the sensitive undersides of your wrists.

“Happy Christmas,” he whispers to you; happy, not merry, like a true Englishman. And he’s right. You can’t remember a time you’ve been happier.

~~~~~~~~~~

The phone rings like a scream, like shattering glass. It wrenches you out of that fogged, heavy precursor to sleep and your hand fumbles from beneath the covers to grab the receiver. The cord bounces clumsily against your nightstand and nudges the blush-colored conch shell that lives there.

“Hello...?”

“Darling, there’s an emergency.”

You bolt upright in bed. “What happened? Are you okay? Is the band—?”

“There’s going to be a party on New Year’s Eve and you have to come.”

You groan and fall back into the embankment of pillows. “Fred, that’s not an emergency. Jesus christ. I thought someone died.”

“Then you should be overwhelmed with gratitude for your friends’ continued existence and delighted to join us!”

You glance at the calendar tacked to your wall. “That’s tomorrow, right?”

Freddie scoffs. “Of course it’s tomorrow! Some bloke from the record company is hosting and I need a date. Makes me more marketable or something. Mary can’t come, she’s got the flu. So you’ll have to take one for the team and play the adoring paramour. Shouldn’t be too heavy a lift. I’ve been informed that I’m very adorable.”

“Make Roger do it.”

There’s an edge to Freddie’s voice when he speaks. “They aren’t quite that progressive, dear.”

“I’m really more of a museums and restaurants person than a getting coerced into socializing with strangers person, if I’m being completely honest with you.”

“You’ll survive,” he replies brusquely. “Chrissie and Brian will be there. You’ll have fellow boring people to hide in a corner and eat biscuits with and discuss planetary movements or whatever the fuck.”

“Great. Roger and John are coming too?”

“Not Deaky. He already has plans with Veronica’s family and can’t weasel out of them. It’s not like he would schmooze anyone anyway.”

“Oh.” That disappoints you, more than you thought it could. “Maybe I have plans I can’t weasel out of, ever think of that?”

Now Freddie sounds amused. “You don’t.”

“How do you know?”

He laughs. “Because there’s no one you love in London more than us.”

~~~~~~~~~~

The paramour ruse doesn’t go very well; within twelve minutes Freddie has abandoned you and is guzzling martinis with Elton John and some record company guys you don’t recognize, pointy party hats on their heads and silver balloons bobbing against the ceiling. It’s not 1975 yet, but it will be soon. The mansion is decked with suits and ballgowns and expensive-looking vases perched precariously on end tables. Elegant white columns rim the vast living room. You, Brian, Chrissie, and Roger are chatting nervously by a massive punch bowl carved in ice, swiping appetizers off the waiters’ trays and trying not to break anything.

“I feel completely useless,” you say, nodding to Freddie.

Chrissie chuckles. “I think he just wanted you to be here. He thinks you’re good luck, you know. All our fates turned around when you showed up.”

Roger points at you with his punch glass. “Your people specialize in witchcraft, don’t they?”

“Oh, so close. That’s Salem, about thirty minutes up the road. No witches in Boston.”

“Hmm. Sounds like something a secret witch would say.”

You brandish your hand through the air. “I summon more mini crab cakes.”

The others glance around. “It didn’t work,” Chrissie observes sadly.

Brian sips his punch, which is bubbling and a vivid red. “Maybe you have to invoke Satan first. I saw a toy poodle on the couch you could sacrifice.”

“Yes, yes,” Roger agrees. “Just toss it in the oven and see if anyone notices.”

You throw your head back and laugh. “Now that would make a fantastic impression.”

Roger grabs your empty glass, plops it on a passing waiter’s tray, and takes your hands in his. They’re rough and strong, and they feel a little too good. “Alright, are you going to dance with me now?”

“Roger...”

“Don’t harass her,” Chrissie warns. “She’s here, she’s working on conjuring more snacks, she’s under no obligation to dance with you on top of all that.”

He frowns at you, those intense blue eyes bright beneath shagging bangs. “Really?”

You smile, reaching up to straighten the collar of his sparking rainbow jacket. “If you’re still interested in 1975, you can ask me then.”

“Yes ma’am.” He grins triumphantly at Chrissie, and she smirks back. “Can someone kindly tell me what that clock over on the mantle says? Obviously I can’t see that far.”

“11:19,” Brian says.

“Fantastic. I’ll be back.” He winks at you, then looks to Brian. “Stay with her, will you?”

“Sure.”

Roger lights a cigarette and saunters away, smoke drifting around him. Several young women—escorts or daughters of producers or soon-to-be-ex-girlfriends of musicians—descend upon him and start asking about Killer Queen. Roger is radiant when he replies, enchanting, wearing charisma like a snake’s skin, climbing ever onwards up the rungs of the social ladder; and you think about how there’s Home Roger and Tour Roger—though he felt like home in Boston, and though he feels so distant now—and how any woman who chooses him will have to spend her life watching him devour other people’s love from across the room, from across the world.

“Be careful,” Chrissie tells you softly.

“He won’t be back at midnight.” You pour yourself a fresh glass of punch, avoiding her eyes, hiding your disappointment...or, embarrassingly and infinitely worse, perhaps your hope. “They’ve been staring at him all night. And he’s noticed.”

“Oh, honey...” Chrissie rubs your bare shoulder, not knowing what else to say.

“It’s fine,” you tell her. And you plan to drink until it feels like it is.

Some guitarist from Genesis appears to introduce himself to Brian, and Bri leaps into a fevered discussion of how much he admires the band’s work and how he built his Red Special and the merits of guitar techniques that sound like Russian or Japanese to you. Before you know it, the mysterious Genesis man is hauling Brian off to present him to someone equally important. Chrissie shoots a worried glimpse at you as she follows Bri away.

“Go!” you insist, forcing a smile. Just abandon me in this super intimidating mansion full of rich important strangers and breakable museum artifacts, that’s totally cool.

“We’ll be back in five minutes, I swear.”

You wave cheerfully. “Take your time!” You peer at the clock. Thirty minutes until midnight.

As you’re dishing yourself yet another glass of punch, a man in a posh white suit approaches from the other side of the table. “Are you hiding from people as well?”

“Not too successfully, apparently.”

He recoils and raises his eyebrows. “My apologies. Want me to disappear?”

You almost say yes—it wobbles on your lips like an unsteady toddler—then you reconsider. He’s tall and blond and polished; he looks a bit like Roger from an alternate universe where Rog went to boarding school and plays polo. More significantly, he could be someone important, someone the band needs, someone you don’t want to offend. “No, I’m sorry, that was so impolite. Please forgive me. My judgment is quite impaired, that’s my excuse, I blame the punch. Also I’m a New Englander and thus inclined to be uncooperative towards Brits.”

He laughs, a full genuine laugh; and it feels like a victory. See? I’m clever, I’m charming. Anyone would be lucky to have me. “I’m Eric.”

“Y/N.”

“It’s a resounding pleasure to meet you, Y/N.” He gestures towards the open area on the floor where buzzed men and giggling women are tripping over each other. “There’s no way I could interest you in that, is there?”

You ponder it, nursing your fourth punch. You aren’t much of a dancer, that’s true; and this handsome stranger of a man isn’t Roger. But he might be able to get your mind off him.

You sling back the rest of your punch and slam the glass down onto the table. “Okay. But only because there’s an Eagles record on.”

“Deal.”

He follows you to the dance floor, weaves his fingers through yours, sways easily with the music. Eric tells you that he’s from up north, in the Lake District; his family owns an estate that used to be the seat of an earldom or something. He describes endless emerald hills and castles and horse farms until your mind starts to swim, until the effects of the punch and scant appetizers roll over you like a wave.

“Okay,” you announce dreamily. “Thank you so much, Eric. This has been lovely. But I have to go sit down now.”

“Oh come on, one more song!”

“I’m flattered, but I have to pass. Maybe after midnight...” You move to pull your hands away, but he doesn’t let go. His fingers are locked with yours. You try again. Eric’s still smiling, but his eyes have gone flinty. Oh no. You look around for Freddie or Brian, both of whom have vanished.

“One more, come on,” he presses. “I insist.”

“Eric, I’m really dizzy—”

“Don’t be rude. We’re having such a nice time, aren’t we?”

“Please let go of me.” You try to keep your voice level, try not to offend him. Everyone around you on the dance floor is laughing and drinking and smoking, not paying any attention at all.

“Look, you said you’d dance, so that’s what we’re doing. Am I suddenly not good enough for you?”

“Seriously, you need to let go.” You try to tug your hands away. Your heart is racing, blood rushing in your ears. The room is listing to the right, now the left. You realize that Eric is gradually leading you away from the center of the room and towards a quiet hallway. I can’t let this guy get me alone. I’m weak and I’m drunk, and I don’t know what he’ll do to me. You struggle harder, more visibly. His grip on your hands tightens. “Let go, Eric, let go of me!”

“Calm down, bloody hell lady, I’m just trying to—”

And then Eric is ripped away from you and his face smashed with vicious force into the nearest column. You scream, your hands covering your gaping mouth; the room goes silent. Eric crumples to the floor, unconscious. Blood pours from his broken nose and litters his white suit with crimson blotches and smears. Droplets drip crawlingly down the column. Roger stands over Eric, shirt completely unbuttoned, jacket rumpled, shadows of lipstick peppering his neck and chest. He wipes his own palms on his rainbow jacket, scowling, disgusted. Then he turns to you.

“Ready to go?”

“Roger, I...” You gaze in shock down at Eric. I hope he’s not dead. That might make things awkward with the record company. “I-I-I’m so sorry,” you manage finally. “I’m sorry, Roger, I didn’t mean to interrupt anything—”

“No, I’m ready to go.” He lays his hand on the small of your back and guides you towards the front door, grabbing both of your coats off the rack. “Let’s go.”

“Okay.” And relief floods through you. Okay.

Brian pushes his way out of the stunned crowd as Roger swings the door open. Frigid air skates over your cheeks. “Rog, what happened?!”

Roger glares savagely. “When I tell you to stay with someone, you fucking stay with them.” And then he steps with you out into the bitterly cold, nearly-January night.

“It’s not his fault,” you explain as you and Roger hurry down the sidewalk, your words spinning mist into the air. “Some guy from Genesis showed up and you know how Bri is about them, and I told him and Chris to go, please don’t be mad—”

“Are you alright?” He’s scrutinizing you closely; you can still see the rosy lipstick stains on his skin as you pass beneath each streetlight.

“I’m fine, I’m completely fine. Please don’t be mad.”

He narrows his eyes. “Well obviously I’m not mad at you, babe.”

“Oh god, I hope this doesn’t hurt the band. I don’t know who that guy was with. You broke his nose, you know.”

“Good.”

You shake your head, trying to chase away those ghosts of lipstick and the girls who left them there. I won’t fall in love with him. I won’t fall in love with him. “I know you were busy, I know the party was important, I know I ruined midnight for you—”

“You didn’t ruin it. We still have a few more minutes. We’ll duck into a pub somewhere and have a pint to welcome in the new year, it’ll be grand. Maybe get you some food. You look like you could use it.”

“I just...” You bury your numb, shaking hands in your coat pockets and brace yourself against the cold. “You left the girls. Left the party. I just don’t understand why you would do that.”

“Are you serious? Obviously I’m going to drop everything if you need me. I’m always going to do that.” He pulls his fiery red, hand-knit hat out of his coat pocket and slips it over your wild, windswept hair. “You’re still on my list, you know.”

You sigh. “You’re a smart man, Roger Taylor, but that’s the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard.”

“What,” he says, a tad bitingly. “Because I can’t promise you a picket fence and precisely two well-mannered, unremarkable children and a golden retriever? You’re right, I’m not going to promise you that. Because that’s not who I am. That’s not who you are either, by the way. But I can promise you that your life will never feel like a cage. And isn’t that what this was all about for you anyway?”

And that stops you, here in the cold dark heart of London, here beneath a cascading streetlight on the opening page of 1975. Because Roger’s right.

He takes your left hand and lifts it to his lips, and you know exactly what he’s going to do even before he oh-so-feather-lightly bites your goosebumped knuckles. “Look, forget about it. Don’t worry. Don’t freak yourself out. We’ll get a drink, we’ll watch the fireworks, and then I’ll walk you home. No questions, no answers. You just let me know if you ever change your mind, okay?”

You watch Roger, his cheeks ruddy from the wind, halos of streetlights reflected in his eyes. And you echo: “Okay.”

#queen fanfic #queen fic #roger taylor fic #roger taylor x reader #but you can never leave fic #but you can never leave series #but you can never leave #queen #fanfic

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