#something so fervent and impulsive and overwhelming about it that's just beautiful

[sfsolstice]

exurb1a, from "You Will Have Been" in Poetry for the Lost Because I'm Lost Too

[ficninja]

A Beautiful Night Indeed

So I did a thing...

I wrote a Penelope and Colin fic! I haven't written anything in so long that I seriously surprised myself. I just couldn't help it, I've become so obsessed with them. I wanted to post it here for anyone interested in reading. It's an extended scene I guess, a wish fulfillment if you will, of what I wanted to happen after their dance at the Vauxhall Ball in episode 01 "Diamond of the first water."

Pairing: Colin Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington Summary: Colin is protective of Penelope after Cressida spills her drink on her. Colin doesn't want to let go of Penelope's hand after their dance. Colin is confused about his feelings and Anthony calls him out on it. Colin wants more than anything for Penelope to trust him

A Beautiful Night Indeed

It was a beautiful night. Penelope had arrived to the Vauxhall ball a half an hour early with her Father and sisters. They were just in time to see the lighting of all the torches surrounding the expansive gardens right as the Sun began to hang low in the ever darkening sky…

Standing near the orchestra dining area, watching the dancing begin, Penelope looked around avoiding being spotted by one of her sisters. She was surprised when she heard Colin say her pet name.

“Pen…” Colin approached Penelope. He never had trouble finding her in a crowd. He was constantly captivated by her stunning red hair. Her hair beckoned him like a glowing fire, his eyes always drawn to the beauty of the permanent sunset. She was standing alone expectantly, he surmised she was looking for someone.

“Colin…” Penelope sighed adorably which made him smile to himself. She had the cutest voice, he had always thought so.

“I did not know you would be here.” Penelope was pleasantly surprised to see him. His height towering as he walked closer, making her feel small and delicate by comparison.

“Sorry to disappoint.” Colin teased, causing her to smile. She was never able to resist this pull he had on her.

“Have you seen Miss Thompson?” He inquired. Miss Thompson had many suitors and Colin supposed he should try to get to know Penelope’s cousin a bit more, lest his interest wane.

“She is ill.” Penelope informed him, a bit dispassionately, her smile faltering. “My mamá had to stay home with her.” She continued. “Papá had to chaperone.”

Colin looked over his shoulder to see Mr. Featherington enjoying a refreshment and in an animated discussion, completely unobservant of his youngest daughter.

Colin turned back to Penelope giving her his complete attention, the inquiry into her cousin’s whereabouts fleeting. He did not like that she was vulnerable without her Father’s gaze on her.

“I’m quite enjoying the fact that he is here.” Penelope’s smile picked back up and Colin recalled that she enjoyed spending time with her father… away from her neglectful mother.

Mrs. Featherington should be there as well, Colin thought to himself. This was Penelope’s debut season. What mother, wouldn’t accompany a daughter as sweet and innocent as Penelope everywhere?

“Mamá would never allow me to wear a dress like this.” Penelope’s smile brightened the darkened garden even more. “Not yellow enough, I think.” She giggled self-deprecatingly.

Colin had taken note of how especially lovely Penelope looked that night. Although it was hard for Penelope to look bad, given her cute face and enchanting hair, her mother seemed to be trying to detract from her looks with every yellow frock she forced on her. He would acknowledge that according to Eloise having a nice face and pleasant hair should not be considered an accomplishment. But given the lack of genteel stock in Penelope’s lineage, it was indeed a glowing accomplishment in contrast to her older sisters, at least according to Colin’s preferences.

Before Colin could genuinely compliment Penelope’s dress, Cressida Cowper appeared and interrupted their conversation. Accompanied by her entourage of ninnies, they pushed between he and Penelope.

“Mr. Bridgerton...” Cressida’s voice really grated on Colin’s nerves. “I believe you owe me a dance this evening. And I only have one more space remaining on my card at present.”

“How convenient.” Penelope observed, her words so softly spoken that Colin almost… almost didn’t hear her. But her tremulous voice carried over to Colin. It was like a melody… a song only for him in contrast to Cressida’s.

Cressida thrust her dance card out to her side and simultaneously spilled her drink on the front of Penelope’s dress. “Penelope, I did not see you there!” Cressida feigned shock.

Penelope gasped in sheer mortification, turning away from them as the blast of cold liquid slid down her chest. She looked down to check her dress, thanking heaven that the drink was clear and would not stain. Penelope felt heat color her cheeks and her eyes began to water. She was so proud of the way she looked that night and to have this happen to her at Cressida’s hands and in the presence of Colin no less, she thought she would pass out from the humiliation.

Colin glared at Cressida. How dare she attempt to injure Penelope’s person with that drink and right in front of him. He thought to himself, if Cressida was not a Lady and barely one at that… His anger peaked at the mental image of what he would do. His nostrils flared at her before he turned his attention back to Penelope.

“I’m afraid I cannot offer you that dance, Miss Cowper.” Colin’s voice barely remained courteous. “I am to escort Miss Featherington, to the floor.” His decided rejection of Cressida caused Penelope to turn around, astonished.

Penelope’s blue eyes, glossy with embarrassment, met his. Colin had a fierce look on his face. Determined he was, not to allow anyone to mistreat her in his presence. He reached for Penelope's gloved hand, slipping her tiny feminine satin-clad fingers through his larger masculine ones, as he glared once again at Cressida before escorting Penelope away and onto the dance floor.

Colin spun Penelope into position just as the spirited dance started. His fingers glided across the brocade material along her upper back. Her soft tresses skimmed across the back of his hand… This was one of Colin’s favorite dances and he smiled down at her excitedly. Penelope was an amazing partner. The embarrassment caused by Cressida eased from her eyes and she matched his enthusiam for the dance. The eager smile on her face as he spun her around caused an ache to invade inside his chest. The protectiveness he felt moments ago seemed to increase ten fold and everything inside of him wanted that smile to remain on her face for the rest of her life.

When the dance ended, Colin found himself irrationally thinking of a reason to keep Penelope's hand in his. An illogical impulse, given it would be improper since he was not officially courting her. The reminder to himself, that he was not in fact courting Penelope Featherington, but had expressed an interest in her distant cousin caused him to be inexplicably confused and annoyed with himself. The annoyance he felt was upsetting to him and he clenched his jaw in vexation. Just as he was about to convince himself to let her go, the announcement began…

“Ladies and Gentleman, a most extraordinary event is about to take place.

Right this way!

Come! Come!”

Colin looked down at Penelope just as she gazed her startled blue eyes up at him. Just looking in her eyes soothed away his baffling aggravation. He smiled at her mischievously as he pulled her along side him continuing to hold her hand. Definitely not letting go of her now.

Penelope was delighted that Colin wanted to continue their time together at the ball. The way he looked at her during their dance… she knew it was just a result of his protective nature. She believed he was genuinely outraged by Cressida’s behavior toward her. But his continued attention made her heart soar, even more than usual, just from being around him. A sort of magic seemed to envelop them, almost as if Colin was finally seeing her as a woman and not like a little sister. Penelope worried that the let down from reality settling around her again would break her heart irreparably.

“Come along, Pen. We must not miss this most extraordinary event!” Colin continued to grin at her as he pulled Penelope along.

Colin spotted an open section near the edge of the crowd and stopped there. It was a bit darker there, secluded away from the torches, and he couldn’t make out everyone around them. He tugged Penelope a bit closer in front of him as more people surrounded them.

He noticed that she trembled a bit, so he leaned down near her ear. “Are you ok, Pen?”

Penelope was looking forward to the show, whatever this would be, but she had never been quite comfortable with the dark or with surprises.

Penelope felt Colin squeeze her hand and she looked up at him. His blue eyes warm with concern. “Yes, I’m ok. It is just a bit scary is all.”

Colin smiled at her then and her heart skipped a beat. “Everything will be ok. I’m right here. I would not let anything bad happen to you.” And she knew, she could feel that Colin meant it.

“Do you trust me, Pen?” He asked, holding her gaze fervently.

Looking into his eyes so close to hers was intoxicating and Penelope began to feel a little unsteady on her feet. She swayed a little as she answered him. “Y- Yes, o-of course I trust you, Colin.”

Colin noticed that she stuttered a bit, but she seemed to get her bearings.

“Good.” Penelope’s assurance that she trusted him, did something to his insides and Colin felt unbalanced.

The announcement picked up again…

“It is with great privilege I present Vauxhall’s newest spectacle of illumination. Feast your eyes above and allow all that is radiant to overwhelm you!”

Penelope squeezed Colin’s hand just as the lights illuminated all at once above them. They were surrounded by the glass bulbs! The brilliance was magnificent. The sudden amazement caused Penelope to step back into Colin. His chest cradled her head and his other hand, that wasn’t holding hers, grabbed her waist to steady her.

The MC continued,

“Wonderful Light! Thank you!”

“Its alright.” Colin murmured softly into her hair. She smelled like orange blossoms. Colin could not keep himself from breathing her in. He wondered if it was just her hair or if she smelled of the fragrant flower all over her body. The hand holding her waist moved unconsciously to the ends of her rosy hair, his fingers delicately caressed the softness of her strawberry locks. Colin’s mind was muddled, he closed his eyes in contentment, memorizing the texture of her hair. He couldn’t think straight. He had to stop himself from dropping a kiss to the top of her head, the need to be a comfort to her began to outweigh his reason.

Penelope thought she imagined Colin’s fingers in her hair. The closeness of his body to hers was heady… She closed her eyes briefly, relishing in the warmth of him behind her. She inhaled at the pleasure of her current situation. She’d never been this close to Colin. The electrifying heat of his body pressed against hers was causing her to be incoherent. She began to breathe in shallow pants, her breaths coming quickly. Unsettled by her reaction to him, she moved away from him, letting go of his hand.

Colin felt the immediate loss of the warmth radiating from Penelope’s body pressed along his front. When she dropped his hand and moved away from him, he felt the grimace on his face and heard the growl in his throat. Desperate to have Penelope near again, he grabbed her hand and turned her to face him.

“Pen…” Colin spoke her name, not knowing what else to say, but also needing to stop her retreat from him.

Penelope looked down at her hand grasped in Colin’s, realizing that her glove had slipped off. “Oh…” was all she could say. The moment felt unmistakably intimate, him holding her hand again, this time bare.

“I’m sorry.” Colin apologized when he realized he’d unintentionally removed Penelope’s satin glove. “Allow me…” He bent down and retrieved her glove from the grass, her bare hand remained cradled in his the entire time.

His expression mischievous again, as he rose to his full height. “I guess I’m to keep it as a favour now.” Colin teased Penelope. He needed to take away the self-consciousness he saw in her eyes.

“Are you going off to battle then?” Penelope teased Colin back, unable to resist his ever present charm. She could think of no other time a lady’s favour was given.

“Well, there seems to be a fight for refreshments. And as a Gentleman, I will gladly enter the fray to procure something to drink for you, Pen.” Colin folded Penelope’s glove and slipped it into his inside jacket pocket finally letting her hand go reluctantly.

Colin looked down at Penelope adoringly. He couldn’t help himself, stepping closer to her, he whispered. “Wish me luck in battle?”

Penelope knew Colin was teasing her again, but he made her breathless. “Good luck.” She smiled and then she bit her bottom lip. “Promise me that you will return it me?” She looked pointedly to his chest where her glove rested inside his pocket.

Colin could only focus on the lushness of her mouth as she bit her full bottom lip, he was beginning to feel dizzy like he was spinning… spinning out of control. “You trust me, don’t you, Penelope?”

“Of course, Colin.” Penelope didn’t recognize her own voice. The huskiness of it, she couldn’t control as Colin inched even closer to her.

Colin bent down, next to her ear and whispered. “Good girl. Stay right here for me. I’ll be back.” He leaned in close enough that he smelled her intoxicating hair once more before he pulled himself away from Penelope and then walked toward the refreshments.

As Penelope watched as Colin walked away, his tall regal form a feast for her eyes, she noticed his brother Anthony walk up to him.

Colin was taking deep breaths to regain his composure as he walked away from Penelope. He felt a hand on his arm and turned to find Anthony with a stern expression on his face. He followed Anthony’s gaze to Penelope.

“She’s so young Colin… you need to try harder to conceal your… baser interests. Stop touching her so much. Don’t forget yourself. Penelope is a proper lady.” Anthony scolded Colin.

“I was not… I did not… for you to imply…” Colin couldn’t even form a sentence in his defense as twisted as his insides felt by his brother’s insinuations.

“Imply?” Anthony continued. “I saw. Your hand on her waist, apart from dancing. Your hand in her hair. The caress of her bare hand… and this could have been in the view of half the Ton. It is a wonder her father did not come looking for her and witness these improprieties or I would be making arrangements for you to court Penelope Featherington properly!" Anthony’s eyebrows raised in admonishment. “… and not expressing interest in her distant cousin.” The distorted expression on Anthony’s face spoke to how he felt about Colin’s fleeting interest in Miss Thompson.

“It will be a miracle if this is not in Whistledown tomorrow and I am not forced to have to make an offer on your behalf myself.” Anthony continued to reprimand Colin.

“Anthony, I would never do anything to scandalize Penelope!” Colin declared passionately. He could not even conceive of hurting her that way. He found that the thought of Anthony having to make an offer for Penelope’s hand on his behalf did not scare him and that lack of apprehension caused him uncertainty.

“I know that you would not, Colin. And I am not suggesting that you are. I am saying that your feelings... unacknowledged... for Penelope are maybe getting in the way of your… sensibilities where she is concerned.” Anthony pointed out.

“My feelings… for Penelope?” Colin was so confused. Penelope was his friend. He had not meant to be improper with her in any way. But he had begun to acknowledge in his mind and body that Penelope was becoming a woman… in every way. His reactions to her may very well be putting her in danger from him.

“Yes, Colin. I have eyes. I see you clear as day. You may not be ready to admit to or are even aware of how you feel about her. You do have feelings for her, not just emotionally, but now physically as well and you need to think about what you really want long term. Penelope has… developed a lush womanly form. Her curves are tempting to you, I see. Miss Thompson may be more mature and more able to handle your… physical interests right now, where as you would have to wait a while for Penelope to be ready for that.”

“Stop! Stop right now, Anthony. Speaking about Penelope in this way is improper and I will not engage with you any further on this.” Colin found his fists were balled up and his anger, at his brother was a tangible thing in his mouth… a vileness that he could taste. Anthony’s criticism of how he had handled Penelope and even more his comments on how her body had developed the curves of a woman, the kind of woman that Colin realized he was irresistibly drawn to, would be his undoing.

“See, you did not even mention Miss Thompson. Your irascible temper with regard to any perceived slight of Penelope…” Anthony spoke to Colin’s unexpressed feelings for Penelope, again. “All of that emotion… that is about Penelope Featherington.”

Colin clenched his jaw tightly and rolled his eyes at the truth of his brother’s perceptions. He balled his fists against his side as well.

“I am not telling you what to do, so do not look at me like that. I am merely pointing out that if you keep carrying on like this over Penelope and you keep finding yourself behaving in the manner in which you have tonight, you will not be in a position to make a decision. It will have been made for you. Does she not deserve for you to truly choose her? And loathe that I am of a match between you and Miss Thompson, I do not want you to have to contend with hurting her either.”

Colin took a deep breath before addressing his brother again. “Penelope is dear to me… so dear that I - I treasure her and our friendship. I would never hurt her intentionally, brother. That is all I’m willing to say on the matter. I do not wish to discuss Penelope with you any further here like she is the topic of some common gossip. I shall escort her back to her father, after the fireworks are over. Colin declared and then walked off, feeling immensely frustrated.

“See that you do, Colin.” Anthony called after him as Colin disappeared.

Colin turned from the refreshment table and spotted Penelope immediately again. His eyes seeking her siren hair. She had remained just as he had asked her to. A good girl for him she was indeed.

When Colin finally returned to her with refreshments, Penelope’s bright expectant blue eyes found his troubled ones.

“Is everything ok, Colin?” Penelope asked softly. “I saw you speaking with your brother…”

Colin smiled at her slightly as she drank her lemonade. He could not help it. She was so sweet, the most kind-hearted person he had ever known aside from his mother. Her concern mollified him. His anxiousness over his conversation with Anthony slipped away easily in her presence.

“Penelope, your dress is lovely tonight. I wanted to tell you that before Cressida showed up.” Colin could not help it, even after being cautioned by Anthony of being improper with her, he inched closer to her and took her bare hand in his again.

“Thank you, Colin.” Penelope sighed. The warmth of his hand surrounding hers made her breathless again. It felt almost as if Colin did not realize what he was doing.

“May I ask, how it came to be this rather fetching shade of pink and not yellow?” Colin teased her again. His eyes sparkling at her. They now looked the exact opposite of when he arrived with their drinks.

“Well, I was allowed to choose the color for myself, rather than mamá.” Penelope admitted. Her cheeks brightened to a beautiful shade of pink.

“You did well, Pen. It looks exquisite against your sun-fire hair and makes your porcelain skin look like the finest silk…” Colin looked down at her feeling inebriated, his voice betraying his ardor. His stomach flipped when he noticed her licking her pink lips before she spoke his name on a melodic sigh, again.

“Colin…” Penelope couldn’t believe he had actually described her that way… passionately… his voice filled with longing.

Colin raised Penelope’s hand to his lips, just as the music started for the next dance. He kissed the back of her fingers of her bare hand and Penelope was startled at the softness of his lips on her. She did not know what to say… She could not form words. All the breath had left her.

“One more dance, Pen? Before the night is over.” Colin requested. His eyes never leaving hers and her hand securely grasped in his. He didn’t have an excuse for his continued behavior with her and he found he didn’t care to continue to contemplate.

“I’ve never danced this one… in public.” Penelope admitted. She was so unnerved by Colin’s continued attention she would have agreed to anything at that point.

Colin smiled down at her, playfully. “Do you trust me, Pen?”

“Of course, Colin.” She assured him again on a sigh. “But this one is… what if I miss a step?” She was doubting herself and her ability to actually move after Colin’s kiss on her fingers.

“Penelope Featherington, you are an amazing dancer. You will be fine. He pulled her closer to the dance floor, but waited for her acquiescence. Colin looked her over as if he couldn’t bear for her to refuse him. "Please do me the honor?”

“Yes, Colin.” She smiled brightly at him. Her smile more luminescent than the globes of artificial light, her eyes sparkled more than the fireworks display. She even rivaled the stars that night as he spun her around and around on the dance floor.

It was a beautiful night indeed.

[ageofevermore]

Golden

summary → in which Harry doesn’t understand how he can possibly love such a small baby so painfully much. 

word count → 1.7k

note → this might require a few deep breaths because oh lord, i really laid the fluff down thick. 

add yourself to my taglist

When you and Harry had fallen pregnant it was unexpected. You had been talking about starting a family in the near future, but hadn't felt the need to fall in deep. You were aware of the problems you might face with natural conception, especially due to the stress of being employed by the entertainment industry, but just three days after your conversation, the both of you had gotten carried away in a moment of beautiful love.

You had been on birth control ever since your seventeenth birthday when your mother figured you might begin to explore your sexual desires. It was something she was quite open about, making it easier to tell her that you were seeing a green eyed wonder called, Harry.

It was just after a morning run through LA that you took a test. It was some cheap brand, an impulse buy after laying in bed worrying about your lack of protection weeks prior. You had been paranoid for days, your cycle abnormally long and lacking the usual symptoms of tension and muscle aches. Instead, you had full fledges cramps and headaches.

When the first test came back positive you almost fainted on the floor of your en-suite. Harry was just downstairs and heard the unusual commotion. You were usually light on your feet, a classically trained ballet dancer as a child. It was worrisome to find you doubled over on your hands and knees beside the tipped over nightstand. Harry had immediately rushed to your aid, collecting your frame in his hands and pressing soft kissing to your forehead until he could get your attention. Your eyes were dazed, hands balling into the fabric of his thick black jumper. You were completely beside yourself with joy.  

"What's a'matter, moppet?" He mumbled against your forehead, pulling your legs over his lap so her could bring you closer. He softly pried your hands away from his jumper, kissing your clenched knuckles fervently. "Scaring me, love. What's got you so worked up?"

The thought of the positive pregnancy test in your palm brought on a new wave of tears. The tip of your nose trembled as you broke into a wide grin, breaking down completely into Harry's chest with gleefully shocked giggled. Harry didn't waste a minute, wrapping his arms around your middle and pulling you closer to his chest. Your legs wrapped around him like a koala, but it only made this moment sweater for you. For now, you were the only one that knew about the growing baby making a home for itself inside of you. For years you had overlooked how special this moment would be.

"Pet." Harry cooed, bringing his fingers down your spine. The metal of his rings was cold when he lifted your shirt and tickled your back with scratches. "Gotta tell me what's got you so giddy."

Uncoordinatedly you smashed your lips against Harry's. Your teeth knocked against his harshly, but all you could manage was a smile that left his lips wet, "We're parents." Your whispered.

-

The end of your pregnancy was brutal, complete with unbearable braxton hicks and obscene swelling. You had been riddled with insomnia for weeks as well, and the throbbing in your fingers was brought on by the wedding band stuck between your knuckles that even elevation and heating pads couldn't help. Harry had done his absolute best to make you comfortable, but even his hour long foot rubs and 3am snack runs did little for you. None of that was relevant now, nor was the stitching holding your torn vagina together. Your baby, sweet Indie Anne Styles, was here. She was perfect, and she was finally before your eyes.

Her warm pink body was flush against your chest. Harry stood off to the side, tears blurring his vision as he took in the picture before him. His first true love was embracing their own little mini. He had no doubts that his little Indie was a product of the truest breed of young love. Indie, Harry wasn't so sure the big name fit her little body and button nose.

"Look at her, lovie." You sniffled, running your finger down her cheek. She had finally stopped wailing, settling into your warmth and letting herself fall asleep in your embrace. You were certain birth was tiring for babies, glad to see that your little love was resting up now and getting ready to experience the life you and Harry had shaped just for her. "She's perfect."

"Knew she would be, love." Harry came closer to the both of you, bending down to press a kiss to your sticky forehead. He loosely grabbed the newborns hand, chocking on a sob when she gripped his thumb. Her grip was tight for such a tiny human, and already Harry was sure he wouldn't be able to live every day with a heart so heavy with love.

Your husband was barely keeping himself together over your shoulder as he admired your daughter. You had gently coaxed a pacifier between her lips after watching her squirm, and the soft pink plastic only brought Harry a new wave of overwhelming love and protection. He never wanted anything to hurt his littlest love, his precious baby Indie.

"Thank you, pet." He cried into your crown, pressing gentle kissed to your hair and face at an uncomfortable angle. He didn't want to hurt you, but he needed to thank you for this moment. It was everything he had always dreamed of and so much more, "Thank you for her. Thank you."

-

It had taken Harry three weeks to call Indie her name, having a habit of referring to the newborn as 'his little angel'. You didn't mind the title, but hearing her name on the tip of his tongue made you weak. He had taken great to becoming a father, like you knew he would. You had never had any doubts about just how unconditionally Harry would love your little human. He was up with you during every feed, changing all the diapers until you were healed enough to bare standing at the change table for long stretches.

He bought only the best for his Indie too. Her nighttime routine was prepped with high end vegan moisturizers and ointments. Her diapers were made of organic, non toxic, vegan materials. He didn't care for prices, only quality. Harry was as relatively humble man. He never talked about wealth or thought it as anything valuable, but he also, despite what it seems, didn't splurge on high end products often. He had his limits and boundaries, but his money was used wisely and not thrown away on material. He refused to let Indie soak in a cheap diaper though, even when you assured him that most diapers were exceptionally made and there was no need to spend a few hundred dollars every month.

It didn't take long for Indie to form more defined features, one being her insanely bright blue eyes and thin strands of soft blonde hair. You weren't quite sure where your baby girl came from to be honest, seeing as your eyes weren't near the same shade of color as hers nor were Harry's. Her hair was ungodly as well. Almost like your favorite disney film, her locks were strikingly golden. It had only taken a month before you caught Harry above her crib, whispering a fond, "Good morning, golden girl."

Golden had been her name since that dewy spring morning. You couldn't see her as anything but, adoring the nickname Harry had brought upon the three of you. It was odd when you had family visiting and they would refer to your precious Golden as Indie.

It was just after two am when the shrill screams of your infant severed the sleep you and Harry were catching up on. His arm was thrown around your waist, and for a minute neither one of you moved. She was going through a growth spurt meaning the usually laid back baby you shared a house with was needy and desperate for her fathers attention and your satin milk. It was hard to give her what she wanted at times. You knew she was hungry, but she didn't want to leave Harry's arms.

That had happened just the other day. With the luck you were working on, you had forgotten to pack away another pre-made bottle. She was eating so frequently you hadn't had the need to pump, but that decision came back to bite you when she woke up from her nap hungry and only wanting her daddy. You both had eventually figured out a way to please her, but it had been frustrating and stressful on the three of you alike. It was safe to say you were always on top of bottles now.

When Harry finally did pull away from your warmth, he kissed your temple before feeling the room, not before you heard the last of his mutter, "I'm coming, Goldie."

You were sure your heart exploded in that moment. When you saw him again, this time with a squirmy baby impatiently suckling on the nipple of a pacifier, tears were gathering in your eyes. You smiled widely down at your little love, affectionately stroking her cheek. You settle her against your chest, wincing when she latches, but relaxing when her sucks become rhythmic and predictable.

In the darkness Harry couldn't make out your teary smile, instead just moving around the master and preparing another diaper for Goldie, having felt the wet one when he picked her up from the crib moments ago. He could hear you praising the baby for doing such a good job, promising that it was okay if she woke up every thirty minutes, but what caught him off guard was when you brushed your thumb over her cheek and whispered, "Look just as pretty as your Daddy, Goldie."

"Y'heard that, huh?" He stuttered. He knew you weren't too fond of the first few nicknames he had given Goldie, and he was almost fearful that you would reject his shortened version of Golden.

You rolled your eyes softly at his question, patting a patterned on your baby girl's diapered bottom as she nursed with sleepy eyes. "I think it's cute, fits her."

Harry smiled widely at the pair of you, the dim moonlight capturing the perfect moment in his memory. His love for you and Goldie somehow got deeper every day. He never wanted to leave this stripped down midnight moment. This perfectly golden moment.

[thepeakyfckingblinders]

āmentĭa || Thomas Shelby x reader

⤠ MASTERLIST⤟

Anon requested: “Can I request #16 with a jealous tommy, angsty pretty please?”

Summary: n.16 from prompt list: “Another’s hands on her skin” Warnings: swearing, anxiety, angst, a bit of smut, jealous desperate Tommy making my soul ache

Author’s notes:

Behind each one of these works there are sleepless nights and something really close to multiple mental breakdowns, so, please, take a minute to send me a message about it, I need actual feedbacks to understand how to improve my skills and grow ♡

Paragraphs written in italics are flashbacks.⤟ IMPORTANT

Sentences between bold quotation marks (❝  ❞ ) are Tommy’s thoughts.⤟ IMPORTANT

I wanted to thank you darlings for all the love you’ve been sending me, you truly make me happy, I’m so grateful to share my works with you ♡

I’m sorry for being this late, but I’ve been really busy in the past days and writing is never just easy, it demands concentration and effort, plus I don’t want you to be disappointed, so I’m always extra accurate while working. I hope this is worth the wait!

If you want to be added to my tag list, please, directly message me

I’m Italian, English isn’t my first language, so I apologize for every possible mistake I made. Also, please, help me improve my writing by telling me if there’s something wrong

ENJOY!

āmentĭa [amentiă], amentiae  feminine noun I declension

1. compulsion, disturbance, raving, hysteria 2. malaise, vexation, affliction, regret, 3. viciousness, anger, furor, choler, 4. impetum, violence, heat, rush, impulse 5. separation, rupture, abandon 6. paroxysm, yearning, eagerness 7. infatuation, frantic desire, amorous fervour

Heavy rain incessantly hit the windows sideways, giving life to a perpetual recurrence of dull sounds relentlessly haunting Tommy’s eardrums, yet he remained laying on his cold bed, motionless, with his glacial stare disturbingly fixed on the ivory ceiling. His bare chest kept raising and lowering in toil, labored breath coming out of his slightly parted lips in agonizing sighs, goosebumps slimily crawling on his more than ever pale skin, due to the extremely low temperature in his room; still, he didn’t seem to care.  Two deafening chimes abruptly ripped apart the bleak air, midnight struck with no mercy, inexorably, raiding into his black lungs, plundering all of the oxygen he had left. The day had eventually come, the day in which he would’ve lost you, forever. Thomas brusquely stopped breathing as his raw flesh seemed to lacerate, it felt like the Devil’s acuminate claws had pierced his ribcage, penetrating through his bones, carving to reach his cardiac muscle, ruthelessly stabbing it, brutally slicing into his stomach. For a full, interminable minute, blind panic took over his paralyzed body, having him pant and whine, making him look like a dying animal in pure agony, while his empty gaze never left the spot right before his dilated pupils. Tom had met you three years before, by the time war had just come to an end: it’d been only a few months since Harry had hired you to help him handle the pub, and when the Shelbys finally entered the Garrison again, after four long years, you clearly didn’t have a clue of what was going on.

Your boss had tensely hurried to instruct you on what your job was for that night, apparently, it only consisted in following those three men in their private room, favoring their every wish, always with a smile and kindness. You remembered looking around the tavern, deeply confused, since the whole clientele had suddenly fallen deadly silent: every man in there was gazing at the ground and taking off his hat out of respect, causing you to be even more disorientated by that odd situation. “Just keep your head down, y/n, those guys are dangerous, I mean it. They take whatever they want, whenever they want, whether people like it or not” Harry’s words kept echoing into your mind, Tommy’s crystal eyes immediately piercing your soul when you quickly reached for their privè. There was some sort of  unsettling stravation sailing through his granitic irises, while he shamelessly stared at you, barely blinking his eyelids, and a cheeky grin peered out on his angular face. Breath unexpetedly shattered into your throat, your forearms rippled with evident goosebumps, as you truly began to see what that previous alarming reccomendation was about. Your heart grievously skipped a beat because of that abrupt scene mercilessly flashing before your tired eyes. A huge amount of air was forcefully shoved down your pharynx in a miserable effort to put to rest any of your conflicting emotions, yet you didn’t seem able to abort your detrimental thoughts; once more, your restless glare fell on the wooden pendulum clock pinned to the wall in front of your queen size bed. “Oh my God, what happened?” Thomas watched your hexyl hand shake before your open mouth, an expression of pure horror mixed with shock virulently took over your soft features at the sight of bleeding abhorrent wounds mutilating his marble skin. “Let me in” That order dropped from his busted lips, but it sounded like nothing more than a feeble prayer, as he painfully cought up blood on your doormat. His stomach unusually clenched when he sensed your tiny arms carefully wrap around his torsum for the very first time, in order to support his weight, thus his head innately tilted in your direction, making your noses rub one another by accident, while his icy-blue eyes carved deep into yours. “You’re a fucking angel” He whispered at the end of his rope, already being in a state of partial unconsciousness, therefore it took only a few more instants for him to effectively faint in your warm embrace. That brief memory led Tommy to hastily lift his back, a crippling feeling of anxiety, along with deep overwhelming fear, came unbidden, having him struggle to inhale as much oxygen as possible, while he crawled towards the edge of the mattress, then sitting and propping both his elbows right above his knees; his left hand convulsely run through his face, like that simple gesture could’ve helped him get rid of those loathsome sensations devouring his guts from the inside. Bells rang again, another hour went by, time continued to unrelentingly slip between his fingers. “Just be rational for once!” Tommy ferociously shouted in your face, thick veins appallingly throbbing in his neck, blood traces invading his white orbs; as usual, he was plainly too despotic and hardheaded to let anyone around him make their own decisions. “I don’t see what the problem is, Thomas. You’ll find another bloody bartender, for God’s sake!” Soon afterwards your reply brusted out in another yell and your hands started franticly moving into the air, as you were strenuosly fighting for your sacrosanct right to finally leave Birmingham and move to Paris to begin a whole new life, putting all of that shit behind you.  Yet, before your brain could process what was actually happening, you felt your back hardly clash with the cold brick wall, Tom’s mighty figure trapped yours forthwith, one of his fists vehemently grabbing a consistent strand of your hair, so to make your mouths collide in an unexpected tempestuous movement. “That’s my fucking problem” An atrocious knot cluttered up your gullet, forcing you to scarcely gasp for a fresh breath again, your velvet fingertips unwittingly went to brush your slightly wet lips, due to a lonely tear which had just tumbled from your full lashes. You could almost sense his touch on your fervent skin.

Faltering, you dragged yourself on your feet and your shoulders shriveled, for a cool draft brutally hit your quivering body; with heavy steps, you reached for your wedding dress armonically rested on a copper mannequin. Ivory tulle coursed amidst your fingers, while your blurred vision remained anxiously fixed on that wonderful piece of haut couture at the fathal stroke of the third hour of the morning. “You belong to me” That husky grunt lingered the soft skin of your naked chest, instantly followed by Tommy’s luscious kisses, his callous palms utterly enveloping your curves as your live flesh superbly engulfed every inch of his length and his hips kept diving into yours, miraculously giving life to an exquisite blend. He was revelling in the sight of your erotic beauty, he couldn’t just avert his thirsty glacial irises from your winsome shape now twitching with raw pleasure.

Those ruthless sequences of images irretrievably haunted his dark pupils, unfolding into his head over and over again. Thomas squeezed his eyelids nearly in physical pain, allowing himself to drown in his bittersweet memories: he was still perfectly able to feel your edges fill his hands, your voluptuous voice reawaken his numb ears, your mild thighs fondling his sharp pelvic bones. “Fuck!” All of a sudden, his hoarse tone clamorously reverberated in the room, brutally tearing apart the previous stillness, while Tommy berserkly stood up and, affected by a pernicious choler, he savagely ravaged every single thing in his path, until the floor was completely covered in shards and his breathing showed clear symptoms of hyperventilation. Everything was shot in pieces because of him, because of his pathetic selfishness and his shameless arrogance; you had loved him from your skin to your bones, never leaving his side, offering him a safe harbour from his private hell, stoking that cataclysmic fire, only to let it consume yourself with each passing day. He’d always been aware of that, in truth, he’d always felt the same about you, still, he had treated you like nothing more than one of his whores; afterall, it was just a matter of priority, and business was his one and only priority, obviously. So, when you had eventually presented him with a definitive choice, demanding to know  what your strange affair truly meant to him, he had almost laughed in your face, deliberately making it clear that, whatever that thing was, it would’ve never become something more.

The thought that in the end you might have really left him didn’t even remotely cross his mind, not once; nevertheless, barely a year later, you were about to marry another man, and it was too late for him to fix all of his uncountable mistakes. ❝  There will be another’s hands on her skin, Tommy. He’s gonna hold her, he’s gonna take your place, and it was your fault, you wreck everything you touch ❞ That voice inside his brain continued to scream that obnoxious truth with no mercy, steadily driving him to madness, violently gouging dire tears from his hollow eyes. Intoxicating fury festered his already rotten blood, pushing him to throw several raging punches at the door, excruciating shrieks kept escaping his maw, until two deep dents ploughed it and his bleeding knuckles broke under the abnormal strain of his animalistic blows.  Thomas surrendered to his agonizing sorrow, soon he let his empty corpse fall against the damaged wooden surface, his fractured fists henceforth laying along either side of his bust, while his growling voice didn’t seem to find peace, as it was still spilling from his lips into deafening cries alternated to beastly snarls and sporadic curses. Sure, Tommy Shelby had learnt far too soon what pain and darkness were, he had experienced death, loss, abandon, even the gory war itself, but never before that wretched day he had felt his soul disintegrate into his aching ribcage in such a diabolical, cruel, inhuman way.

tag list:  @spidey-pal, @shadow-of-wonder, @shelby1baby, @peachlle, @livvtheangel, @myjbphase, @namelesslosers, @crazyonesarethebest, @vxxn128, @keithseabrook27, @spaghettirogers, @writingstudent​

[arsmara]

Captive Prince model AU

-

Damen flinched at the loudness of his steps. He slowed his paced a little bit but he knew it couldn’t really be helped since this particular corridor in all its majestic arches and tinted windows seemed to be as deserted as the previous one he came through.

Damen didn’t know if this precise quietness in the whole campus was a constant state of the University of Vere or if it was merely a consequence of everyone already being gone to save the seats for the tournament that was about to take place in about an hour. He didn’t mind the silence, to be honest. The building was quite the sight to see, so being on your own and lost was not really an issue as much as a risk of finding yourself overwhelmed in its extravagance and detail with the turn of every corner.

The only problem was he couldn’t remember the way to the locker room and there was no soul around to ask.

He had been walking for the better part of the last hour and the daylight had already dimmed to a bright orange hue all around him.

Damen could vaguely recall Nikandros telling him to go across the first courtyard and past the fountain (“Wait, an actual fountain?” “Yes, Damen, a fountain with colored fishes. Pay attention”) and take the north corridor, so he had walked with no luck through not less than four courtyards with different sets of ostentatious gardens and although there were definitely people there frolicking about in the private sections, that was the kind of scene he’d dared not interrupt. Not even in desperate need for indications, as he was.

Veretians, he thought when a barely concealed giggle followed by a moany ‘ow’ rose from behind a neatly trimmed flowery bush. For all the fuss on nudity, Veretians were really a case in study on disregard for privacy when dealing with their perversions.

When finally spotting the exuberant fountain (hidden between a thick clump of blue hydrangeas) Damen found himself before two doors that he assumed divided men and women’s room. With a relieved sigh and after readjusting the heavy bag on his shoulder he opened the door in the left.

He suddenly found himself in a very illuminated space with tall windows that reached the ceiling in the entirety of the wall across from the door. The atmosphere was warm and thick with the smell of something chemical in nature, acidic and strong, that Damen could not identify but weirdly reminded him of the lemony cleaning products to scrub bathroom floors. Looking around he saw that there were no chairs or benches but a wide circle of easels each with a wooden stool placed behind.

And then, inevitably, his attention was dragged to the very center of this arrangement. There was a pale and luminous effigy of some sort, human sized and with white feathered wings, sitting on a makeshift dais right in front of him.

‘Alright, this is…definitely…not the locker room.’

Damen blinked into the scene so as to command the view to rearrange into something logical. A pale fraction of skin was visible in between feathers and creases of white fabric that wrapped around its slender body and pooled around it on the dais. Even partially covered by the wings one could see the strands of fair blond hair in the nape of a very human head.

Of all the things he would have expected to find when crossing a doorway in a foreign building in a foreign land, this was the farthest from it.

Then the creature turned his head slightly to the side and Damen saw that it was, actually, a man. A beautiful blonde half-naked winged man sitting in a pose that seemed elegant and tiresome at the same time. A halo of sunlight burned through the edges of his head and feathers making it seem as he had a glow coming from within. A true celestial vision right out of an akielon myth.  

Or one of his weirdest sexual fantasies.

“You’re letting the draft in.” The blonde spoke without lifting his eyes from the phone in his hand and with a hint of annoyance in his voice of someone who has repeated this too many times before.

Damen was actually letting the draft in, though. He had been holding the door handle this whole time frozen in the entrance for the whole minutes that it took him to make sense of the scene. Damen rushed to shut the door and the loud sound echoed in the vastness of the room. He soon realized that he should have stepped outside before doing so but he quickly brushed the thought away. It was too late for that.

“Sorry.” said Damen in veretian. He had been in Vere for the whole day and the language came naturally to him at this point. “I-- got lost.”

The other man turned to properly look at him for the first time. He had striking blue eyes that scanned him from head to toe only to stop at his chest. Damen felt like he might have been doing something to his heart because it skipped a beat in the process. He wondered how all of this could be so unusual but so enticing at the same time.

“I’m afraid you are way off route, sweetheart.”

Damen looked down to realize that the focus of his attention was at the insignia on his jersey.

He offered a slight smile “I know; I came to represent my university in the sport summit.”

“Did you now.”

“Yes, I’m looking for the locker room.”

The blonde stared at him for some more seconds before turning back to his phone “Next door.”

“Thank you,” it seemed like the polite thing to say instead of ‘what the fuck are you supposed to be’ as he so fervently wished to ask.

Who was Damen after all, to question veretian worshipping practices. Or whatever this was.

“Do you need instructions to leave the room too?”

With a start Damen saw that the blonde was again staring sideways at him with those grave blue eyes edged in displeasure at his presence. “I – thanks. I know my way out.”

“¿Do I have to escort you out then?”

In spite of the provocation, he felt the corner of his mouth rise. “I would very much like that, but I’m afraid your wings might not make it through the door.” He saw the slight shift in the blonde’s gaze and Damen savored the pinch of satisfaction to notice he did not expect an actual response, “they’re quite large.”

The man tilted his head like a cat assessing a confusing behavior in his prey.

“But you did make it through.”

Damen couldn’t help but laugh at that. The veretian was spikey, he wasn’t expecting that. He wasn’t expecting any of this, really.

“Feeling better now that you took that off your chest?” said Damen drunk in the thrill of the rare moment. He knew that his size could be striking outside of Akielos. It was even in Akielos at times.

A smirk appeared in that pale face and he felt a shiver run down his spine, “It’s always a pleasure to welcome our rival brothers from Akielos,” the blonde continued, “especially since you all always seem to be on edge in matters of patriotic honor to my outmost enjoyment.”

Veretians and Akielons weren’t enemies and they hadn’t been for centuries, but there was always a natural rivalry that rose whenever the nations crossed each other paths in any scale. Never going beyond teasing but often shifting into subtle statements of one’s superiority over the other in matters of politics, sports and arts. Anatomy was also a favorite topic, apparently.

This seemed like the usual friendly banter, although it was common knowledge that Veretians seemed to enjoy disguising their true intentions under flourish and sweet voices.

Some poisons are inconspicuous, he reminded himself.

“I’d say you don’t know enough Akielons to back your remarks” said Damen.

After a moment the blonde spoke. “You’d be right.”

He felt, strangely, slightly pleased by this notion.  

“Although you could still prove me right” The blonde continued with a defiance set in his stare “I haven’t even yet pointed out your barbaric tradition of stripping naked to fight on the dirt like animals trying to assert dominance.” he then faked a surprised look “Oh, is that what you came to do?”

“Wrestling, yes.” Damen felt his grin widen in wit. “And let’s not pretend that you had the cultural equivalent back then, only it ended in rape.”

The blonde glared at him “Someone has done his homework I see.”

“Someone is a political science major.” And had studied veretian language and culture for three semesters.

“Really? I was just wondering what your major was. That wasn’t my first option though.”

“What was it?”

“Barbarian.”

The barbed words of the veretian did nothing but encourage him to fight back, to keep the mood weird and spicy and see where it would take them. He held his tongue, however, as he now was noticing what he had overlooked in his initial shock. In a quick glimpse he noticed the canvases on the easels. There were splotches of colors starting to become shapes and some strokes giving volume to a close impression of the winged figure. Many shades of white, yellow and red. Blue for the sky behind, peeking in the background.

And for his eyes.

Ah. Everything was finally falling into place.

He had approached the easels in a seemingly unconscious impulse to study the paintings better, and when he raised his eyes he saw the man had followed his movement with a quiet tension locked in his jaw and frown. Damen felt a rush of regret at his own boldness. He should have asked before getting closer when they were alone in a room and he was still a stranger. He cleared his throat to casually ease back into conversation.

“So, are you a model?”

A pale eyebrow raised in his direction. “Do you think I’d wear wings and an open dress for personal choice?”

“Well,” Damen openly studied the attire, earning a scorn of the guy himself in return, “that is actually a chiton, a traditional Akielon attire,” he smiled as he stepped a little closer, “and I wouldn’t dare judge you on choosing to wear it.”

“Is it?” His lips curved in a cold smirk, he seemed to be holding an insult somewhere in there.

“Yes.” Damen shrugged, and then his mouth quirked helplessly. “It suits you.”

The blonde rolled his eyes. “Spare me the compliments, I’m not able to kick your ass from this position.”

Damen felt his smile widen. “Even if you could move, you probably couldn’t beat me,” and added “I’m really good at wrestling.”

The model huffed a humorless laugh.

“I guess we’ll never know.”

‘I guess you could know if you wanted to’ Damen didn’t say. He wasn’t supposed to flirt with Veretians, he knew. He almost could hear Nikandros scolding him. And Kastor. And his father…

A sudden realization caught his eye as he looked around one more time. “Why would there be paintings and model but no artists present?”

“We're on a 20-minute break,” the model said, “but technically there is an artist present now,” he turned his blue gaze back to him. "I also attend this class.”

"Oh? And how do you manage to paint yourself while modelling at the same time?"

He stopped himself from answering right away, visibly hesitating as he likely realized that he was interacting with a stranger on private matters.

"We," he finally pointed at the easels around him "all have to model for this class." A frustrated look. "It’s my turn today.” He let his displeasure show in every word.

A startling sound erupted from the door behind him. Someone was trying to push it open quite unsuccessfully. Damen arched an eyebrow to the other man in the room and he just gave a look that seemed to say do as you please and went back to scroll through his phone. ‘alright’ thought Damen as he went to open the door and a dark haired man entered the room with two steamy paper cups in his hands and walked past Damen to sit on one of the stools beside the model.

The winged man groaned a protest. “Lazar, could you please not let the door open while I’m in this state of nudity?”

“Vannes is coming behind me,” said the man as he handed him one of the cups and with a mischievous grin and a bow added, “Your highness.”

“Thank you,” said the blonde without acknowledging the mocking title. “Vannes, close the door.”

Damen turn around and saw a woman standing in the doorway staring intensely at him to then stop at the blonde man.

“My my, Laurent has a visitor,” she declared with a hint of provocation in her charming tone.

Laurent.

Damen couldn’t stop the rush of triumphant satisfaction from showing in his face at this new piece of information, but he could feel the curious gaze of the newcomers piercing him still, so he smiled and said, “I was just passing to admire Veretian aesthetics.”

“I see. Did you find something pleasing to the eye?” she asked, ignoring the poorly concealed scowl in her direction.

“He was just entertaining me while you left me to rot here.” intervened Laurent in a calmed tone.

“Quit being a bitter old man, you’re gonna wrinkle” said Lazar.

“Grampa Laurent” added the woman sipping from her own cup.

“Do you realize” retorted Laurent “that I have the power to ruin your work just by slightly shifting my leg to the side” he smirked at the pure horror that showed in both their faces. “Yeah, I thought so.”

Damen very deliberately did not entertained the thought of his legs parting underneath the cloth.

“You’re really playing your cast iron bitch card today.” Said Lazar with a cold grin.

“What I’m doing,” Laurent retorted, “is merely trying to protect my remaining dignity.”

“I say you must be hallucinating as to believe you still have some dignity left.”

“I say that’s probably because I’ve inhaled all the turpentine in the air.”

“It is quite heavy to breath in here.” Damen noticed.

“Oh no, that’s just the sexual tension in the room.” Lazar said in a low voice to Damen.

Laurent pretended not to hear.

“Is your friend gonna join us the rest of the session?” asked the woman, eyeing at Damen’s full body while producing a case from her bag where she seemingly kept her brushes.

“He was leaving for the sport summit to celebrate the new alliance between us and the university of Akielos.” He stopped talking just to add. “And he’s not my friend.”

“Really?” asked Vannes with renewed interest. “Tell me, are there Akielon women among your team?”

“A few, yeah. Although it’s mostly men.”

Vannes and Lazar exchanged a look.

“Are you really considering dropping the session to go check on some sweaty muscles.” Asked Laurent.

“Laurent,” Lazar said “It’s Akielon sweaty muscles. In the nude.”

Damen blinked in amusement at that. “We don’t really compete in the nude anymore, you know.” At least not since a couple centuries ago.

“Anyway” added Vannes, “consider this a better alternative to an anatomy class.”

“We’re doing it in the name of art and beauty.” Said Lazar already heading to the door. “Tell Berenger we’re failing the class for a good cause.”

“I’m not telling him anything on your behalf.”

Damen saw them leave and then they were alone in the room again.

They stared for an awkward instant until Laurent broke the silence, “So?” Why are you still here, he didn’t have to articulate.

The truth was, Damen didn’t even know why he hadn’t left yet.

He wasn’t going to tell him that, of course.

“It seems you’re to remain here for a while longer.”

“Well, it seems like you are doing exactly the same thing still.”

Damen looked at his position on the dais. “You are not allowed to move at all?”

“Nothing escapes you, does it.”

“Do you need anything?” asked Damen. “Before I go, I mean.”

Laurent closed his mouth suddenly taken aback by the offer, like kindness was the last thing he would expect from Damen. He narrowed his eyes as trying to read into his real intentions.

Damen shrugged. “Fine.”

“Wait.”

Damen froze in place having already turned away. He felt the corner of his mouth twitch in an attempted smile but he knew better than to aggravate Laurent any more. Judging by all the words exchanged today, he seemed to be on edge by his situation.

He heard Laurent give a long-suffering sigh. “Would you plug my phone?” He held his phone up as to illustrate the request.

Damen was beaming to comply but he held back just enough to look as pleased as he felt but not as much as to rush into his proximity. He reached for the phone and the accidental brush of fingertips with each other brought a sudden spike in his heartbeat.

“Where’s the charger?” he asked.

Laurent pointed at one of the bags hanging on the nearest wall. “Outer pocket on the left side.”

Damen plugged his phone and when he did, the screen lighted up for a short moment. The picture displayed was a painting of a very green landscape with a brown horse looming in the background. The brush strokes where rough and noticeable in certain areas but it held a lot of detail in others. It was eerie and delicate and probably it was Laurent’s work. It felt very intimate to see it, it probably was rude to do so. Damen looked away.

Laurent cleared his throat.

“Thank you.”

Damen raised both eyebrows at him. “What, are you so humbled by me plugging your phone that you decide to yield now?”

Laurent gave a soft chuckle and Damen thought he would never recover from the ecstasy of it.

“I think we are both running out of time to continue our tête-à-tête.” Laurent smile seemed honest now.

Damen conceded with a nod.

“I should really go now. My team can’t hold up without me” And Nikandros most likely must be wishing a slow painful death upon him right now.

“Aren’t you confident.”

“I know it.”

“So you think you’ll do well?” Laurent added with a hint of amusement.

Damen let his determination show in his expression. After all, he knew the extent of his capabilities.

“I intend to win.” Todays was only a friendly match, the real competition came on Thursday, but Damen meant it all the same. He always aimed for victory.

Laurent’s gaze fell on him. “That is,” he said with a defying undertone “if you ever leave.”

Damen smiled “Goodbye, Laurent.” He made the word roll in his tongue with a touch of heavy accent that made the blonde blush slightly, or so he wanted to believe.

He made his way out without looking back, feeling a warm hint of euphoria in his chest that he blamed on the anticipation of the tournament instead of the brief encounter with the amusing scene in the art studio. The darkness outside the bright room suddenly felt too unappealing compared to the scrutiny of the pair of blue eyes left behind.

It almost made him forget once again where he was supposed to be right now.

This was already becoming ridiculous.

-

Laurent stretched his limbs to let the blood reach every corner of his aching body. Curse Lazar for suggesting the costume.

Of course, if he hadn’t wear anything he could have taken a break with the rest of them, and he blatantly refused to pose nude. But such an attire required not only to not cover himself for warmness sake in between sessions (blame the blasted feathers and their proneness to fall away), it also made it impossible to move at all, for if a dressed model broke the pose all the creases and exact placement of the folds could never be replicated again and the image would be compromised for the artists. It was, utterly, a deadly trap.

At least he got to keep his underwear on. Small victories, he thought.

The numbness of his legs after spending the last two and half hours sitting in the same position had luckily dimmed away as he discarded the wings and finally made his way to the locker room to get dressed.

It was dark outside and the campus was quiet now that the tournament had finished.

He wondered if the Akielon won. Then he stopped himself from thinking in the Akielon.

Laurent walked to his locker and opened it. He considered taking a shower for a moment, but it was late enough to risk losing the train. He could relax later, at home.

He let the fabric fall around him –the chiton, he thought with a bitter grin –, and shivered in the cold air on his skin. He then proceeded to look for his clothes inside.

A rush of fast paced steps cut through the silence and the sound of someone storming into the locker room set his senses on alert, tension locking into his limbs, ready to act.

Laurent waited for a second, assessing the possibilities, before he peaked from behind the locker row to see who it was.

“Oh” a familiar voice. “Hi, again.”

Of course it was him. Laurent rolled his eyes at his own bad luck.

He noticed Laurent standing in just his underwear and quickly averted his gaze with a sudden blush darkening his cheeks.

“Sorry, I um…” he then pointed forward and disappeared through the adjacent locker row.

“You seem to really be angling for eloquence, I see.”

He heard the man snort softly in reply. Laurent was silently grateful for his tact to not step into Laurent’s space when he was, impossibly, in a more exposed state of dressing that the previous one they'd encountered each other.

Or where he had encountered Laurent, more precisely.

“I came to retrieve something; I’ll be leaving right away.”

Laurent ignored him to continue working himself into his clothes. It felt amazing to have pants on after so many hours of just the nothing. He was focused in getting inside his oversized grey jumper that had been Auguste’s before, when he heard the other man clear his throat as looking for an opening in conversation.

"Yes?"

“Are you heading home?”

“I am.”

“Alone?”

Laurent stopped in his track. He went round the lockers to face the Akielon properly.

“Why?”

The man frowned slightly at this, “It’s late.”

“The train station is nearby.” Laurent shrugged.

The Akielon smiled reassuringly and showed a pair of car keys, “I had left my keys on top of the lockers.” He explained, and then, “I can take you.”

Laurent stared intently at him. He was positive the man, either moved by his noble Akielon code of honor or just his own kindness held no ill intentions beyond the offering. He showed an openness that was hard to ignore once you managed to look past all of that body (and honestly, there was a lot of it). That didn’t meant Laurent had to easily go with it.

“I’m perfectly capable of going on my own.”

“I don’t doubt it. But I didn’t expect to find you again here and now I did, I won’t be able to rest easy knowing that I left you to go on your own at the risk of getting mugged or kidnapped.”

Laurent fought down a chuckle.

“Have you ever listened to yourself talk? I don’t know you, you could be a terrible driver and doom me to a very tragic accidental death or you could be a criminal, for all I know, luring me into your car to get your way with me.”

Something passed over the Akielon’s face then. For all his determination and air of leadership displayed before he now looked truly defeated by the mere thought of him hurting Laurent. Or maybe the thought of Laurent distrusting him.

“I would never touch you without your consent.”

Laurent deliberately brushed away the thought of the possible scenario in which he actually consented.

“Yes well, that isn’t happening tonight or ever.” Laurent grabbed his bag to walk out. It was late alright. “It’s not personal, it’s just a matter of common sense. I don’t even know your name.”

The Akielon’s eyes widened a fraction at this notion. Of course he had not realized.

“I’m Damianos,” he then added with a smile, “but my friends call me Damen.”

“Damianos” he tilted his head in acknowledgement. Not that it would matter, he still wasn’t going to go with him and this would likely be the last he’d see of Laurent.

He let the moment stretch as he checked on the time in his wrist watch. And when he turned for the door Damen interrupted once again his attempt to escape the overwhelming presence of him.

“What if,” he spoke slowly as to not scare Laurent any further. Not that Laurent was actually scared of him in the first place, “You drive us there.”

Laurent blinked into the picture of Damen purposely handling the keys to him in an act of foolish misplaced trust.

He truly would get himself killed at some point in his life.

“And you can hold on to my wallet and passport the whole time.”

Laurent gazed back into the Akielons honest expression. He didn’t know if the sudden interest he felt was towards the idea of him openly putting so much trust in Laurent or just the fact that he seemed to have the whole control of the situation; he knew that if he just told him to fuck off he’d leave him alone and yet –

He was actually starting to see the appeal in getting home earlier than expected.

-

[ranjxtul]

The Sky Bends Before it Breaks || Katherine Howard

tw for brief sexual abuse mentions and i’d totally add a read more option if i knew how, so i apologize for the long scroll

The sky bends before it falls. That phrase rang through Katherine’s head as she lay awake, it was from some song or poem she’d heard, but she couldn’t place it. That didn’t matter to her though, only those six words rang through her mind, devoid of any real meaning by now. Normally Katherine, or really any one of the queens would have thought about those words with reverence, especially Parr. Parr loved words and their meanings and connotations. She loved prose, stanzas, lines, and phrases that conveyed such emotion that. She loved words that signified a certain level of sorrow. Katherine always thought words were how she coped. The others, more or less cared about such intricacies, but not a one of them could deny the power of words.

Katherine had been executed because of the words in a law. She’d also been executed as a child, an eighteen year old child, who had men force themselves upon her from age thirteen until her death. She remembered her execution in vivid detail; everything from being dragged up onto the platform to the tears streaming down her face as the sharp metal blade connected with her neck piercing flesh and bone. Much to her satisfaction, there’d only been a minute amount of pain. She now knew that was because her spinal cord had been severed cutting off any nerve impulses, and therefore pain.

The pink haired girl had dreamt about her execution that night, and she awoke clutching her neck, a burning phantom pain spreading from the back to the front. Her eyes blurred with tears and her chest constricted. Try as she might, no oxygen found its way into her lungs and the dark of the night did not disappear. Frantically, her hands searched for a perforation of her skin, or something that would warrant the stinging on the back of her neck. Wide eyed and fighting to escape the immense terror ripping through her soul, Katherine Howard jerked up in bed hunching over her knees. Black spots clouded her vision, and subconsciously her hands tightened around her throat trying to stop the pain.

The ax had been right there piercing the soft flesh at the nape of her neck. She was still there. Every detail of that day flashed in her mind’s eye as panicked, reliving everything for not the first, but the second time that night. Somewhere in the back of her mind, where a semblance of cohesive thought still existed: she wondered if this would ever end. Finally as the ax went down, Katherine squeezed her eyes shut again.

Blackness, nothing but blackness remained painted behind her eyelids. Her lungs at once let go of the air they’d been holding in and a strangled gasp escaped the girl’s mouth. She covered her mouth with one hand so as to not wake up any of the other queens. The phantom pain in her neck slowly began to subside and through some involuntary action, she began to heave quick erratic breaths in and out of her air deprived body. The swirling panic and overwhelming sensation still engulfed her senses.

Just as blood coursed through her veins, the pain and fear brought about by her execution washed over every inch of her body. At least now Katherine was somewhat aware. She tried to remember anything Jane told her that could help her cope with things like this. She wished Jane were there, or that she could go get her, but she woke her up enough.

The perceptive blonde had been the first to notice Katherine’s weariness and anxiety. A previous lifetime filled with betrayal and abuse didn’t look favorably upon a new one. Of course the queens all had taken a considerable amount of time to warm up to each other, and the show helped them to do so, but Katherine found herself unspeakably uncertain even now sometimes when she adored every woman she lived with. Ever motherly, Jane noticed nearly right off the bat.

The first time Katherine had experienced a panic attack around Jane, she was ashamed. Vulnerability didn’t come easily at first. Thankfully, Jane had seen to it not to push and just be there as needed. Soon after, she’d asked Katherine about it and taught her a few ways to breathe and pull through these, and helped her breathe when she was there. Parr helped too, sometimes Anna. Now, when she was alone, she really needed their help but couldn’t get it because she felt paralyzed, and she couldn’t bring that knowledge to the forefront of her consciousness.

She did all she could in that moment, which was to let the terror of everything run its course. Katherine fought to keep air flowing in and out of her lungs as thoughts of Henry and her execution swirled. He hadn’t bothered to show up. He hadn’t even bothered to see her die after he so fervently wished it.

The heads of Culpeper and Dereham, two of the men who abused her, on spikes seemed to come alive at her execution, that day, and in reminsencense. She was a child. She made a show on the scaffolding like they all wanted, and thanked Henry for being gracious. She thanked him; she thanked him for her death.

With that thought, Katherine heaved out a deep breath which changed into a gut wrenching sob halfway through. None of it left her, and none of it ever would. She was grateful to be able to tell her story and correct history in the show. People needed to know that his story in the books wasn’t his wives’ stories. Each night however, she was reminded of every despicable man in her life by the lyrics of her song. Maybe it would get easier to remember these things, but as Katherine sat, shaking with sobs on her bed at four in the morning, she didn’t believe that.

When the tears dried themselves, she lay back against the pillows, only then noticing her hair, damp with sweat. Sleeping again would be futile, no matter how much exhaustion nagged at her mind, She could read maybe, Parr had lent her a few titles. In the dark, she glanced toward the desk near her bed, debating in her mind. Ultimately, exhaustion won out and she rolled over.

The numbers of the clock on the bedside table read 5:10. The sun would be coming up soon. Katherine could watch the sunrise perhaps. Despite all of its romantic and beautiful connotations, she’d never actually watched a sunrise. Mindless musings passed through the girls mind until one phrase stuck out. The sky bends before it breaks.

She repeated the sentence in her head several times wondering where it’d come from. Maybe one of Parr’s poems. Regardless, the sentence had left an impression in her mind. If it came from poetry, then it probably had some deeper meaning. Katherine assumed it meant a state of mind or something like that; she’d never bothered to ask. Regardless, as she watched the black begin to fade into greys, that phrase remained in her mind.

Much to her surprise, Katherine’s eyes started to droop closed. She wanted to fight sleep, but the more she tried to, the more it seemed inevitable. With little successful resistance, the girl found herself falling back into a state of unconscious.

Upon waking up next, it was sun flooding in the window that roused her instead of a night terror. She groaned under breath as she rolled over to look at the clock: 9:22. Katherine sat up and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand before pulling the covers off of her legs and swinging them over the bed to get up.

Katherine passed the mirror propped up on her dresser with little notice until a flash of red caught her eye. Stopping dead in her tracks, her mind began to spin. She stepped backward until she could see the in mirror again.

Angry red scratches sat scattered around her neck. Katherine frowned, the hazy memories of her night terror crystalized as she stared at the vicious red. A rush of tears threatened to fall as anxiety from the night and now the prospect of the other queens seeing the aftermath rushed through her veins. She shook her head trying to shake away the creeping anxiety. She’d be okay. If she looked upset when she walked into the kitchen then the others would take more notice, she reasoned.

Sucking in a wavering deep breath, Katherine adjusted her long black and pink locks so they fell in front of her shoulders, their width helping to obscure some of the red. Before she could ruminate on the situation and think herself further into a corner, Katherine exited her room.

By the looks of the rest of the rooms on the hallway, everyone was downstairs. Jane had probably made them all breakfast. The smell of cinnamon wafting up from the kitchen confirmed this as Katherine made her way downstairs. When she entered the kitchen the first sight that greeted her was Anne and Anna arguing about some tweet they saw with Aragon sitting in the middle of the two eating, looking like she’d rather be anywhere else.

Parr sat at the barstool with one leg tucked underneath herself and a large mug of coffee sitting in front of her. Jane sat near her on a different barstool and looked up when Katherine came into the kitchen, “Morning love,” she greeted, “I left some in the microwave for you. It should still be hot.”

Katherine ducked her head, “Thanks.” She retrieved the thankfully still warm plate of french toast from the microwave and took a seat across from Anne squared and Aragon.

“No problem,” Jane shook her head with a smile.

Anna took a moment to pause her discussion with Boleyn to greet her girlfriend, “Morning,” she grinned leaning over to give Katherine a quick kiss on the cheek. Despite her best efforts not to, a pink blush crept up to her ears.

“Morning,” she mumbled back a grin of her own spreading across her face before she dug into the french toast on her plate. With that, Anna resumed talking to Boleyn over Aragon. Katherine nearly forgot feeling any anxiety as the normalcy of the situation settled in. Jane and Parr having a quiet conversation over at the barstools.

She ate quietly until she realized she’d never gotten anything to drink, “Hey, do we have any coffee left or do I have to make some?” She asked Parr who was the only to have a coffee mug out at that moment.

Parr looked up from her conversation, “Uh, yeah, I think so. I had to make a fresh pot for this one,” she said nodding toward her mug.

“Thanks,” Katherine nodded standing up from her seat and going to pour a mug of coffee, which she thankfully didn’t have to make. In the process of reaching up to get a mug, some of the hair she’d used to obscure the scratches on her neck fell out of place. As soon as she felt her hair falling over her back, she immediately put it back over her shoulder. Pouring her coffee, she glanced at Jane and Parr who were still talking and Anne and Anne who were still preoccupied. Aragon had her phone out, seemingly reading something, probably a bible app. Anne had showed her that once when she’d forgotten to bring her bible back from church one week and ever since then she’d taken to using the app.

Katherine sat back down with her coffee to finish eating only for Anna to be tapping her shoulder, “Hey, look at this. We found Luther characters as vines.” Katherine glanced over with a grin. Luther was the television show that the large majority of the queens discovered and loyally watched now. Only Katherine and Aragon didn’t watch it, but Katherine had seen enough snippets to be relatively familiar with it.

Katherine let out an earnest laugh with Anna when the video finished, “That was funny!”

“Yeah, and there’s more. We’ve been sending them to each other,” she explained nodding to Anne who nodded in confirmation.

“Send me the ones you think I’d understand, I liked that one.”

Anna grinned, “Yeah, will do, we--”

Jane cut her off, “I don’t mean to interrupt dears, but we have a matinee, and Kat isn’t ready,” she said with a sympathetic shrug.

Katherine glanced at the clock, “Oh, yeah, we don’t wanna be late. We can talk more on the way there,” Katherine promised Anna kissing her on the cheek before heading off to get ready.

Once she was gone, Aragon looked up, “Am I the only one that noticed her neck?” Almost immediately three pairs of eyes landed on Cleves, who held her hands up in defense.

“I swear I’m not responsible, besides I didn’t notice,” she protested. Jane raised an eyebrow in question. She saw Katherine as her daughter, so Aragon’s question set off alarms when Cleves claimed she hadn’t left any hickeys. Jane could handle the idea of Katherine ending up with a few marks from Anna as that was perfectly safe and done out of love.

Boleyn spoke up next, “Okay, I didn’t see either.” Parr shook her head in agreement and paused a second before she nodded toward Aragon cueing her to explain.

“When she went and got the coffee mug, her hair fell back and I couldn’t see too many details, but streaks of her neck were red and inflamed. They looked like scratches.”

Parr frowned, “Could it have been one of your dogs Anna?”

The German shook her head, “No, they were all up last night… should we ask her about it?”

Jane shook her head, “Not right now, and not all of us at once. She’d get overwhelmed by all of the questions. When we get to theatre Parr and I could talk to her? Since we share the dressing room with her?” The blonde suggested with shrug. Collectively, the other four in the kitchen agreed this was a solid plan. Boleyn opened her mouth to say something, but quickly shut it as Katherine made her way back into the kitchen. She wore casual clothing that consisted of leggings and a sweater, nothing out of the ordinary but her hair still lay over her shoulders.

“Are we ready to go?” the girl asked shifting her weight from one foot to the other. It had dawned on her while she was getting ready for the day she’d have to have her neck exposed to get ready for the show. She had her choker as part of her costume though. Ideally, that would cover the scratches, but at the thought of something wrapped tightly around her neck, the queen was filled with trepidation.

“Yeah, love. Let me get my bag.” Jane nodded standing up from her spot to get her purse from the living room. Aragon followed in suit to grab the small bag she carried and Parr reached for her wallet while Cleves and Boleyn joined her waiting at the door.

Cleves could sense anxiety emitting from the girl beside her. The rigid posture and the tight grip on her phone were external indicators of the feelings Katherine was fighting so hard to keep down. Anna wrapped an arm around Katherine loosely, “You look adorable in that sweater,” she complimented hoping to bring a genuine smile to the girl’s face.

Katherine nearly flinched away at the gentle contact, but as her peripheral confirmed that it was indeed Anna, she forced herself to stay relaxed. “Thanks,” she said smiling a brief smile in response to the compliment. That may not have been the response Anne was searching for, but at least it was something.

Katherine’s mind began to wander in the short lapse of silence. She barely heard Jane say they were ready to go, and on autopilot her legs moved toward the door. On the short walk to the theatre Katherine made no attempt to engage in conversation, which was in hindsight a telling move. Everyone noticed when the normally energetic Katherine Howard made no attempt to engage in conversation.

She was too busy arguing with herself about wearing the choker amidst seeing Dereham, Mannox, and Culpeper’s faces on the men they passed on the street. Logically, she could sort out everything, but the further and longer she thought, the more logic strayed from her consciousness.

Upon arriving at the theatre, the six parted ways to get ready for the show. Katherine gave Parr who held the dressing room door open for her a nod, “Thanks.”

Parr shook her head, “No problem kid.”

Katherine sat down at her station and stared into the mirror appraisingly. Some of the red was beginning to peak out, and Katherine wanted to grab hair and pull it over further to cover it, but that would make everything more noticable. Instead, she focused on her makeup.

Rather than calming her, the mundane motions of putting on makeup agitated her further. With nothing else to focus on, and no want to join in on Parr and Jane’s conversation, she was left alone to her thoughts of her execution and her dream. She’d been doing so well with night terrors, waking up less, and being able to handle them alone, but the previous night had ruined her streak. That frustrated her. Parr and Jane probably got sick of being woken up by them and it had been about a week and half since she’d had to get any either of them or go sleep with Anna.

“Kat,” Jane’s gentle voice drew her out of her haze, “you’re starting to shake. What’s wrong?” She hesitated before adding, “Does it have something to do with your neck?” By then, Jane and Parr had managed to get a better look at the red scratches lining Katherine’s throat. Both of them suspected the same: a night terror. Neither wanted to say it though, getting Katherine to admit it would make her feel more in control.

The girl froze and against her will nearly, a hand flew up to touch the side of her own neck as if to protect the two from viewing the damage. She recoiled at her own touch, feeling the phantom blade grazing her skin as her hand did. Her breaths began to speed up and she started to fidget with the ends of her pink hair with shaking hands. “I- Yes?” her admission came out meeker than she wanted to sound. “I had a bad dream last night of,” she paused biting down on her lip as the combination of consuming anxiety and speaking about everything caused tears to prick in the corners of her eyes.

“Of?” Parr prompted gently before glancing at Jane to watch her reactions. Clearly, whatever she dreamt had upset Katherine to the point of an anxiety attack, borderlining panic attack.

Katherine didn’t know if she wanted to panic or cry, or both. She wanted to tell the two women staring at her with their concerned eyes, but as she opened her mouth to do so, no sound came out and no breath came out. The breath which would have been used to speak remained trapped in her lungs. She fought to pull in another breviloquent breath so as to let out the air trapped in her lungs upon another chance at exhale.

Instead of a smooth breath out, a garbled gasp escaped her mouth along with the mumbled word, “Execution.” Jane and Parr hardly understood what she said, but they didn’t need her to repeat it. The scratches ringing her neck further affirmed that she’d dreamt of execution if they hadn’t fully understood what she said. Now, Katherine’s eyes were unfocused and one hand anxiously clenched and unclenched holding onto the edge of her sweater.

“Kat, can you hear me?” Jane asked moving to kneel in front of Katherine. The girl made no indication she’d heard her at all. “It’s just me, Jane,” she continued, gently placing a hand on her shoulder hoping to ground Katherine in the slightest.

Jane’s touch didn’t register as Jane’s touch, by now it was Henry, and then the guards. She still couldn’t flinch away though, with a buzzing mind and near complete inability to breathe any notion of wanting to move fell flat before she could attempt to act on it.

“Hey, try to focus on me. You aren’t there, you’re here, in the twenty first century. They can’t hurt you.”

No response.

“Katherine, I need you to try and breathe with me,” Jane tried taking on a firmer tone than before hoping to break whatever consumed Katherine’s mind. “Here, if you can hear me, follow my breaths,” Jane said beginning to over exaggerate her breathing so Katherine could imitate it.

A faint sound pierced the wall of panic clouding Katherine’s brain that she identified as Jane’s voice, telling her to breathe. She wanted nothing more than to breathe and get rid of the tightness in her chest and the insidious fog in her brain, but her body didn’t want to cooperate. Still, she tried to focus on Jane and what she was doing.

Finally, Katherine managed to exhale and relieve some of the pressure in her chest, which allowed her to transition from very few breaths to short quick breaths. Jane nodded, “Yeah, that’s it. That’s good. Keep focusing on me. Keep breathing,” Jane urged giving Katherine shoulder the faintest squeeze hoping then maybe it would help ground her.

Jane sat patiently breathing with Katherine and providing words of encouragement until Katherine’s eyes fully unfogged and she was able to take a couple deeper breaths successfully, “There, you did a such a good job. You’re safe here. Good girl.”

Katherine looked at Jane still kneeling beside her and another wave of stronger emotion hit her, not panic, but guilt. “I’m sorry,” she whispered beginning to fidget again. Jane took her hands to stop them from fidgeting and indulging anxiety.

“You don’t need to apologize, it’s okay,” she assured the girl. Katherine looked away tears threatening to fall again and Jane’s hands left hers for a split second, only to return shortly. When she looked back, Jane had moved her chair so she was sitting directly across from her instead of kneeling. “It’s okay,” she assured again.

Without warning, Katherine threw her arms around Jane as her tears began to fall freely, searching for any solace. The blonde didn’t hesitate to wrap her arms around Katherine tightly. She rubbed one hand up and down her back and Parr who’d watched the whole spectacle with concern, moved to kneel beside them. She put a hand on Katherine’s knee to let her know she was there.

Katherine tightened her grip on Jane the minute she felt Jane embrace her. The tears came from pent up upsetness and guilt. “I’m sorry,” Katherine mumbled again into Jane’s shoulder.

“Hey it’s okay, I promise,” Jane said giving her an extra squeeze. “Can I ask you something?” She felt Katherine nod, “Why didn’t you get in bed with Anna or come find me or Parr?”

Katherine sucked in a shaky breath, “I- I was panicking. That’s when I ended up hurting myself,” she paused referencing her neck, “and I didn’t want to bother you or her, and I didn’t want to sleep with Anna. I’m with her enough already, I don’t want her to think I’m too clingy or something.”

Jane frowned, “We’re never bothered to be there for you, love. And Anna would never think that. She adores you so much.”

Katherine emitted an audible sigh, “I just don’t ever want to be a nuisance, even if currently none of you think I am. I know I’m a lot and I have those dreams a lot, and off days, and I know I’m not the only one, so I just feel bad about it.” Katherine’s assertions came in rapid succession ending with her breaths once again speeding up.

Parr spoke up, “You went through hell in your last life, we understand, and just because we may have problems doesn’t mean you need to minimize yours.”

Jane pulled away just enough to look Katherine in the eyes, “Parr’s right, and any one of us would agree with that.”

“I just had a good streak going. I’d managed to go almost a week and a half without waking anyone up and my nightmares were getting worse then-” Katherine stopped herself debating on whether or not it was worth it to go into more detail on her dream, knowing it could send her on a spiral.

“Then what?” Parr prompted.

“It felt like I could feel the ax last night. Their heads were on spikes, and when I woke up it still felt like someone was trying to… cut my head off,” she forced out taking a breath before continuing, “then on the way here, I kept seeing men and they turned into them. I don’t know why, my dream didn’t even have to really do with them, but for some reason it happened,” Katherine explained beginning to sound defensive.

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” Parr said raising a brow.

Jane nodded in agreement, “We trust what you say. Right now worry about calming down and taking care of yourself,” she insisted moving to wipe away some of the stray tears on Katherine’s face. The girl nodded inhaling and counting through it and repeating the process through exhale.

Suddenly, Katherine became alert again, “The show! What time is it? I have to get ready I-”

Jane cut her off, “Kitty, it’s okay. We’re not out of time. Can you do the show?” Jane asked intending to double check with the girl.

She nodded, “I want to, I need to. My only thing is the choker with my costume. I’m not sure I can put something tight around my neck…” She admitted going from keyed up a more timid disposition in the process of her assertion.

“If you want to perform we can loosen the choker, and if it comes down to it, just don’t wear it today,” Parr said standing from her position kneeling and offering Katherine a reassuring smile, which to her delight, was returned in the form of a small smile. Undeniably, anxiety still simmered in Katherine’s eyes, but she seemed better than before.

“Okay,” she nodded.

In the end, Katherine forwent the choker, and the matinee went splendidly. She put on the stage bubbly persona with ease. It made her feel better in a way. She assumed it was because she was distracted. Thankfully, the group didn’t have a night performance because by the time Katherine got off stage she was ready to take a nap or at the very least rest.

“Great show guys!” called Parr walking into the dressing room. Jane and Katherine nodded appreciatively.

“I’m so glad we don’t have a show tonight,” Katherine admitted beginning to change clothes.

Jane nodded, “Me too. It’s been a long week.”

The walk home consisted of comfortable small talk and a very tired Katherine leaning into Cleves as they walked. Jane and Parr made special care to keep Katherine on the inside of the group so no men could stare or make eye contact with her, regardless of intentions.

“Anna, I want to take a nap. Come lay down with me?” Katherine asked looking at her girlfriend with pleading eyes once they entered their home.

The German nodded, “Of course. Couch or one of our rooms?”

“I don’t care, I’m just tired,” Katherine shrugged. Anna nodded and in a moment of spontaneity she picked Katherine up bridal style which caused the girl to let out a small gleeful shriek.

“Your room then, so you’ll be more comfortable,” Cleves decided starting up the stairs to the bedrooms.

Parr watched them go with a small smile before she made her way back into the living room where Boleyn had monopolized one of the couches and Aragon had curled into an armchair. Jane sat on the other sofa where Parr also ended up sitting.

“It seems like this week keeps getting longer,” Anne complained from her spot stretched out across the couch.

Aragon raised a brow, “This week is over, now.”

Anne turned her head to look at the other woman, “I know, but that doesn’t help my exhaustion or swelling ankles,” she proclaimed with a certain note of melodrama, “and I’m also starving,” she added as an afterthought.

“We could order pizza?” Jane suggested, “I don’t have any of what I’d need to cook or I would.”

Parr shrugged, “Pizza’s fine with me. Anyone have any objections?” Boleyn and Aragon shook their heads no. “Okay, I’ll go order it. I’m assuming the usual order?” She received a variety of affirmations before she slipped out of the room.

Aragon watched her go before turning her attention to Jane, “Did you guys talk to Katherine? She seemed less tense on the way home.” Boleyn perked up at the mention of her cousin. She propped herself up on her elbows to listen for Jane’s response.

“Yeah, I think she’s feeling better now.” Anne raised an eyebrow wanting more elaboration. Everyone had formed ideas on what might have been going on, but only Jane and Parr apparently knew. “And? What happened?”

Aragon shot Anne a look, presumably for her brashness. “She dreamt about her death last night, and woke up in a panic. She scratched her own neck raw in that whole process, and she didn’t want to wake anyone of us up.”

Anne frowned and Aragon for once beat Anne to the punch of speaking, “Poor thing.”

“Yeah,” Anne agreed with a nod, “usually doesn’t she wake up you or Parr or get in bed with Cleves?” she asked.

Jane nodded, “Mhm. She said she felt bad about waking us, thought we saw it as a bother, so last night she didn’t ask for any help.” That still irked Jane, the queens cared for each other greatly. They never saw helping each other out as an imposition. Of course she had to understand that Katherine’s anxiety played a large role in helping her form that conclusion, but something bothered her. It wasn’t the conclusion itself, but that she was at a loss for a way to help Katherine understand it wasn’t true.

Parr slid her desk chair back and closed her laptop. The pizza would arrive in about twenty five minutes if the website’s estimator was correct. She headed to exit her room and meet the queens downstairs, but as she passed the half open door to Katherine’s room she couldn’t resist peaking in. The sight that greeted her brought a smile to her face.

Katherine lay on her side curled into Cleves,very obviously wearing one of her hoodies with a blanket draped over her legs. Anna caught Parr’s gaze as she stood there, so Parr made her way in to let Anna know about the dinner plans. “She asleep?” Parr asked nodding her head toward Katherine in bed.

Cleves nodded, “Yeah. She dropped the minute she laid down.”

“Good, she needed to rest.”

“What happened exactly? I guessed she had a nightmare last night and hurt herself in the aftermath because she didn’t let herself go to anyone.” Cleves asked looking fully over at Parr.

“Yeah, basically the dream was of her death, and she tried to hold it in this morning too. She had a panic attack before the show,” Parr explained.

“Oh, that explains why she was so tired,” Anna frowned.

“Anxiety takes a lot out of someone,” Parr shrugged. Anna nodded in agreement looking back down at the sleeping figure curled so tightly up next to her. “Anyway, we ordered pizza for dinner. Jane didn’t feel like making any food. It should be here in about twenty minutes.”

She nodded, “Thanks, Parr. I’ll make sure we’re down there before it gets cold.”

The shorter woman nodded with a small smile, “Yeah, I’ll see you two then.”

Anna watched Parr make her way out of the room and then glanced back at Katherine who happened to stir just slightly so she could reposition her neck. The twenty minutes passed by quickly and soon enough, Anna found herself shaking Katherine awake, “Mm, no,” Katherine mumbled hardly opening her eyes before closing them again.

“Babe, you have to wake up. Parr order pizza and it should be here soon.” The prospect of food caught her attention and Katherine forced her eyes open.

“I”m hungry, but I’m also tired. Can you bring me food up here?” Cleves couldn’t help but to grin at her sleep deprived girlfriend. She was beautiful all the time, but a sleepy Katherine was adorable.

“We need to go eat with them, come on,” Cleves said, gently starting to move untangle herself from Katherine and get out of bed. For a moment more, Katherine lay there and watched Anna before forcing herself to sit up and get out of bed with a huff.

Anna stopped Katherine before she walked out to pull her into a tight hug. Katherine was surprised at the sudden bear hug, but she wasn’t complaining. Anna’s hugs were always warm and full of love, and this one was no different. “Hey, Kitty, I love you, and I’m here for you no matter what,” Anna said over her shoulder.

The declaration made a blush rise on the younger woman’s face. “I love you too,” she replied wrapping her arms around Anna even more tightly. The German stayed in the hug for a moment more before pulling away.

“Let’s go eat.” Katherine nodded in agreement conceding to walk down the stairs and join the other queens. As they walked, Katherine’s mind wandered for what seemed like the thousandth time that day, but for once it wasn’t in a bad way. Despite her insecurities and what anxiety told her, she could feel the love of the other queens in moments like these. She often wondered how this second chance at life had landed her in such a lucky position with these women.

Then, that phrase, the one she’d thought about that morning floated back into her mind. The sky bends before it breaks. That was true it did bend, and breaking was inevitable, but building it again wasn’t.

[bazypitchandsimonsnow]

Straight Boy

Part 4: love

Rated: M

Genre: Fluff

Word count: 1739

Chapter: 4/4 [All chapters]

Read on AO3

AN: Prepare for pure tooth rotting fluff :)

Tagging: @jeansjeansjeansjeans

———————————————-

“Tyrannus.”

My eyes open slightly. It takes awhile to get my brain back online and realise Baz has said something. Neither Baz or I have spoken in at least an hour. He’s sitting upright in my bed while he reads, and he’s always laser focused on his books. I don’t mind. I’ve been happily wrapped around his side like a smitten boa constrictor. It’s one of the many things I’ve found I love doing with Baz.

I lift up my head a bit from Baz’s side. Baz is looking ahead, glasses on his head, book still open. His expression doesn’t show anything, which can actually show more when it comes to Baz.

“What?” I whisper, voice scratchy from disuse.

Baz closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “My first name, it’s Tyrannus.”

My brain is still in sleep-mode, so it takes me some extra time to process exactly what he’s saying. But slowly, a grin spreads across my face. I feel giddy, like I’m I’ve been given keys to an entire warehouse filled with scones. “Seriously?”

Baz nods slowly. His face is still neutral, but I can see his fingers nervously drumming on his book cover. “Yes.”

“Your full name is Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch?”

He sighs, head tilting back against the wall with his eyes closed. “Yes.”

I burst out into loud, snorty laughs. I laugh so hard my stomach hurts. I have to muffle the noise somewhat in his silk pyjama shirt. This is the most I’ve laughed at anything. Which is ridiculous but I can’t stop. Baz sighs again and strokes my hair.

“Get it out, Snow,” he says, both exasperated and amused. “Knew you’d appreciate this.”

“You really are, a gothic romance villain!” I sputter.

“Yup. I should be living in a decrepit castle with an unkindness of ravens, I know.”

I lift my head up as I wipe a laughing tear from my eye. “Where the hell did a name like that come from?”

Baz grunts, something I think he’s picked up from me. “It’s a Pitch family name. My mother insisted upon it. But no one calls me bloody Tyrannus, obviously.”

“Obviously.” I shimmy up his body, resting my chin on his bony shoulder with one leg still thrown over his. “Why are you telling me now?”

He puts his book down so he can wrap his strong arms around my torso. His smirk is unbelievably smug. “Have you ever heard of not looking a gift horse in the mouth, Snow?”

I roll my eyes. “Well, yeah. I’m just confused. I’ve been asking about your name on and off for months and you’ve always said no. So, why now?”

“Well,” Baz sighs, “I don’t like telling people my name because it’s ridiculous, but I knew you would thoroughly enjoy it. So I thought, ‘what’s a better six month anniversary present than making Snow laugh his beautiful arse off with my stupid name?’”

My brow pulls together. “What? It’s not-”

“Look at the clock, love.” He tilts his chin behind me. I twist around, and lo and behold, the clock reads 12:07 in glowing red numbers. It’s officially been our six month anniversary for seven minutes. I turn back to him with a huge smile and full heart.

“You sap,” I whisper. “And here I thought you were just going to make me breakfast.”

“Oh, I’m still doing that.” He dances his fingers up my back, bursts of sensation exploding across my skin. “I was thinking cherry pancakes and chocolate milk, because you are actually twelve.”

My stomach is grumbles instantly, and Baz snickers. Ugh, I adore him, but he’s such a bastard. I poke his shoulder with more force than necessary. “Keep talking like that and you won’t get your anniversary present.”

His face is unbelievably smug, lip quirked and thin eyebrow raised. “Oh? And that would be such a loss for me?”

I narrow my eyes. Oh he wants to be like that, huh? I smile and use one leg to grind down on his crotch, hard. Baz yelps and jolts like he’s touched an expose wire, clinging to me so hard I can feel his nails through my shirt. He glares at me with his razor sharp grey eyes, and I put on the biggest shit eating grin I can.

“Yes,” I purr, “you certainly would.”

“Bastard,” he grumbles.

“Aw, harsh words, Tyrannus.”

He groans, letting his loll back as he rubs the bridge of his nose. “I’m going to regret telling you, aren’t I?”

“Maybe. But...” I throw my legs over him, full on straddling his waist with arms draped across his shoulders. “I’m glad you did. Thanks for telling me.”

His face melts. I love when it does that. Every bit of muscle tension just fades away, replaced with simple calm happiness. He holds my waist, pressing us chest to chest. “You’re very much welcome, love. I’m happy to tell you anything.” Baz puts a strand of hair behind my ear and traces my jaw with one callused finger. That still makes me shudder. “I trust you, Simon.”

Damn. Six months later, and he still makes my heart melt into a goopy puddle. I smile as I lean down to kiss him. He kisses me back, and we fall into a familiar rhythm. His cool lips fit into mine like they were made for each other. My hands bury themselves in his soft hair. He runs those amazing callused violinist fingers across the small of my back. We know each other so well now, even better than before if that's possible. I tug on his hair just right to get him to moan into my mouth. And he reciprocates by digging his nails into my skin, pushing a gasp and shudder out of me. Fuck, I adore him, I’m crazy about him, shit, I-

“I love you,” I whisper against his mouth.

Baz’s whole body freezes up. He pulls away from my lips with a wet pop, head almost slamming against the headboard. His pupils are huge in his wide eyes. He’s holding on to my hips with a death grip. We’re both panting, our heavy breathing loud in the night quiet room. Fuck. He looks so freaked out. I’m absolutely panicking. My heart is beating like a rabbit’s. I look down at the mattress.

“S-Sorry,” I say quietly. “I didn’t chew my words. That was impulsive. It just slipped out. D-Don’t feel like you have to say it back. I-”

“Do you mean it?” His voice is small, like a hopeful child. I look up again. His eyes are still wide. And his swollen red lips are slightly parted. It’s unbelievably distracting, which I don’t really need to be right now. I gulp down the lump in my throat. I may say stuff impulsively, but I wouldn’t lie about this.

I meet his eyes and nod slowly. “Yeah, I do.”

Everything happens far too fast. Suddenly, I’m flipped over on my back and pressed into the bed by the most intense kiss of my life. It makes my head spin, my toes curl, and stars explode behind my eyes. Baz keeps one hand on my face and the other over my heart. This kiss is even more all consuming than the one at Hampshire those many months ago. I feel like I’m about the melt into the mattress and through the floor until I hit the core of the Earth. And I’d be fine with it, because I’d die by Baz kissing me.

He finally pulls away. It takes us both far too long to catch our breaths. Baz keeps our foreheads and noses touching. He runs his bony finger over my cheek again and again. Even that is too overwhelming to let me to speak.

“I love you,” Baz whispers. “I love you so much, Simon. God, I've loved you almost since we met.”

All the air instantly leaves my lungs. I pull him down for another world stopping kiss. Our mouths move fervently, my hands clinging to his hair, him gripping my face. It’s like we’re over eager teenagers snogging in the back of a car. And I love it. I love him, so fucking much.

We separate when the unfortunate need for oxygen takes over. Baz hugs me, crushing us together, smiling against my cheek. “I thought I’d say it first,” he whispers playfully.

I laugh and wrap my arms around his back. “Well, I’m just full of surprises.”

His breathy laugh hits my face. “That you are, love.” Baz kisses just under my ear. Affectionate sap. ”Happy anniversary, Snow.”

“Mm.” I squeeze him even tighter. “Happy anniversary, Tyrannus.”

“Arsehole,” he grumbles. “Why do I love you again?”

“Because I’m nice and cute and really good in bed.”

Baz makes a dismissive noise. “I’d say adequate at best.”

I pinch his ankle with my toes and attempt to knee his stomach, but I don’t have enough room. I just sort of tap it, which makes him chuckle. “Bastard!”

“You love me,” he purrs.

Damn, he’s right. I love this stupid, teasing arsehole. So I kiss him again. We snog and laugh, rolling around my bed like idiots. I don’t know what we’re doing. Just tumbling and trying to grope every part of each other we can, it seems. Whatever. I’m having fun, with the man I love. Bloody Hell, I’m going to love calling him that.

There’s a banging on the other side of the wall, making Baz and I separate.

“Would you two keep it down?!” Penny’s voice is muffled, but I know she’s shouting. “It’s the middle of the night, you horny arseholes!”

“Give us a break, Pen!” I shout back. “It’s our six month anniversary and we’re in love!”

“Good for you! Shut up!”

Baz and I giggle together, still completely wrapped up in each other. He shimmies down and tucks his head under my chin, arms wrapping snug around me. He likes doing that, even though I’m shorter. He likes being close to me too.

“I love you,” he whispers against my chest.

I hold him tighter and nuzzle against his soft hair. I may have taken a strange journey of introspection and heteronormativity to end up here, but it was worth it. To be with Baz. Incredible, kind, gorgeous Baz. I’m so glad I met him. I’m so glad I fell in love with him.

“I love you, too.”

———————————————-

AN: So I finished this fic, then realised the whole "Baz's first name" was never resolved. I couldn't think of any way to integrate it in naturally, so here's this. Also wanted them admitting their love for each other. Baz and Simon deserve to confess their love in any universe! Thank you for all so much for your kudos, likes, comments, and reblogs. They mean the world to me. You guys always make me smile :)

So I've got a couple more requests to get through, but I'm also working on my big bang, so idk if I'll finish them/post anything new before January. But I'll always been reblogging snowbaz shit on here, so stick around for that haha. Thank you all again. Hope you enjoyed this ridiculous fic! :D