#the hand-done gold detailing is stunning as always. looks even better in person

[naomiknight-17]

Just got this sweet print by @theshitpostcalligrapher framed! In a gold frame, of course. As is appropriate.

Now to wrap it up nice and wait for Christmas when my brother (who is obsessed with this joke) will finally behold its glory

[nxrthmizu]

kill em’ with kindness

fandom | miraculous ladybug 

genre | lila salt, so much salt 

summary | marinette takes the high road to a better life. 

w.c | 8.1k 

author’s note | had this idea for a few days after i wrote victory tastes bitter, which really blew up on ao3 (thanks for all the support <3). always wondered what it would be like if marinette just. played nice. so here she is, being an absolute badass. 

author’s note.2 | okay so since i did not write this in one sitting, i get that the story probably doesn’t flow as properly as it should. will edit if i ever find the will to do it. 

Marinette was done. They wanted her to be a model student? Fine. They wanted her to stop being mean? Fine. They wanted her to be friends with Lila? Fine.

Luckily for Hawkmoth, no akuma plagued the sky of the previous night, or she would rain hell on him. There was no more tolerance left inside her to spare, and she certainly wouldn’t go out of her way to make some for the manipulative pest problem Paris has had for way too long.

She looked up into the mirror, having exchanged her pigtails for a low ponytail, strands curled to frame her face. Bluebell eyes glistened with a fire that burned brighter than hope— Hope that her ‘friends’ would see sense. Hope that Adrien would be there for her. Hope that the good guy would always get the happy ending. No more being patient, no more being passive, no more putting up with things she didn’t have to.

If Lila Rossi wanted a battle, then fine, a battle she would get. Marinette was lowering her white flag, replacing it with a battle emblem that scorched red, redder than blood and redder than the anger her friends would feel when she was finished. No more peace negotiations. Rossi wanted a fight, Rossi wanted a challenge. Who was Marinette to deny her from what she wanted?

They didn’t know what was coming for them.

The power of makeup was truly one that reigned apex among the world. A few touches of her makeup brush was all it took to erase her dark eyes from existence, give her skin a more radiant glow (She promised that she’d take time to give it a natural glow after she was done being nice), and ease a cherry-pink blush onto her cheeks, making her freckles stand out more in contrast. Marinette Dupain-Cheng meant business, and when she meant business—

“Good morning, Marinette! You look great today!” The head of the student council, a sensible, down-to-Earth blonde by the name of Noelle smiled, speeding up slightly to catch the bluenette on the steps of Francois Dupont. “Love the new look.”

Ah yes. The new look— A royal blue blazer, detailed with golden embroidery of cherry blossoms bursting at the sleeves and the collar, accompanied by a classy-looking silk blouse tapered with a soft, black felt. The pleated black skirt (Made from heavy cloth so that it wouldn’t flap about in the wind) was lined with a beautiful scarlet at all the edges to complete the look. Knee-high black socks trailed all the way into the slight heels that Marinette had added flower adornments on, just so she could tap a little of her own touch on it.

“Thank you,” Responded the bluenette with a smile.

“Woah! Someone looks like they got a good night of rest.” Madeline, the president of the Art Club teased, flocking to the other side of the girl. “That mascara looks sharp enough to kill, girl!”

Sharp enough to kill?

Oh, that wouldn’t be necessary, Marinette mused to herself, sending out thanks to those who had complimented her on her way to class. Nothing sharp was going to be required for the liar’s downfall— No, no. That would just be too messy, and she wouldn’t even think of staining her new outfit. Of course, the ensemble was crafted from her own hands, as stated by the classic MDC that graced the inside of her blazer, the collar of her blouse, and one of the pleats of her skirt. Besides… Lila wasn’t worth getting her hands dirty.

She was going to do things the right way.

The kind way.

“Good morning, everyone.” She greeted, walking into the classroom, garnering their attention with her punctuality. Every set of eyes in the room were attracted to her, like iron fillings to magnets. Some of the gazes were malicious, hateful; Some were doubtful, wary; One was pleading, as if spelling out ‘Please keep taking the high road!’— And then there was Chloe, who was entirely uninterested.

Good, Lila was already present.

“I’d just like to take a minute of your time. Won’t be too long, I promise.” She took a deep breath, ignoring the imploring gaze that dug at her side, courtesy of a blonde that sat in the front row (And no, it wasn’t Chloe she was referring to). “I’d just like to say…”

The class watched with bated breath.

“I’m sorry.”

Alya blinked. So did everyone else in the room. Stunned faces greeted Marinette’s apologetic one, including Lila’s— She didn’t even have to fake her reaction. What on Earth was Marinette trying to pull off? What kind of stunt was this?

“I realise that I’ve not really been the best version of me lately,” She admitted sorrowfully. I haven’t been the best version of me because I was being boycotted and isolated, “It wasn’t fair to put you all through this,” It wasn’t fair that you idiots had to lose all your reputations because of the words of one liar, “And people got hurt as a consequence,” Me. I was the one who got hurt. “I realise that things haven’t been all smooth-sailing in our class lately, so I’d like to apologise to everyone.” I’d like to apologise for not being able to save you from a liar who only sees her own personal gain.

A practiced breath escaped Marinette’s throat as she waited for her cue— The school bell— And set her bag on the teacher’s desk. Good, everything was unfolding right on time. Not quite far away, there was a distinct clack-clack-clack of someone’s heels— An auburn teacher, perhaps? Marinette reached into her backpack and drew out a package she had meticulously wrapped in brown paper and tied in golden ribbon. Sitting passively on top of the package was a small note, decorated in hand-drawn flowers and a hummingbird in the corner.

“Here,” Marinette strode up the steps of the class, stopping right in front of her former seat— Now Lila’s— Internally taking pleasure in the first time she’d seen the Italian’s true expression. “For you, as a token of my apology. I understand if you don’t want to forgive me,” Marinette swallowed painfully, biting her lip, as if she was trying not to cry, “But I just want to make things right.”

Lila blinked.

What the hell was happening?

The silence was broken by a quiet sob, one that did not originate from Marinette. Instead, Mlle. Caline Bustier stood in the doorway of the class, clutching her books and notes for the day’s lesson, wiping away a tear that dropped from her eye. “Oh, Marinette,” The teacher sobbed, “I’m so proud of you.”

“That’s so sweet of you, Marinette.” Rose sniffed, wiping away a few tears of her own that had started dripping during the bluenette’s speech. Juleka patted her girlfriend’s back, trying to calm the emotional blonde before she cried out a tsunami on top of her textbooks, giving Marinette a thumbs up to show her approval.

Alya beamed, seemingly proud of her former best friend, who had (In her opinion) finally started to see sense. “I’m so proud of you, girl!”

(Adrien was too shocked to form any words.)

“Could you… Open it?” Marinette asked hopefully, ignoring the teacher for the favour of the liar who ruined her life. “I… Just want to know if you like it.”

The Italian could do nothing more than grit her teeth when Alya urged her to open it. What kind of trick was Mari-Brat up to? Never mind— She’d just spin it into something stupid and the class would take to it like starved animals. With no other choice, she tore apart the brown paper, discarding the golden ribbon on her desk. The class gasped, oohs and aahs echoing all around as the package unfolded to reveal a pretty, beige-coloured cardigan, hand-stitched with murals of foxes, jumping livelily among berry bushes.

Stitched into the inside of the cardigan in pastel blue were the words ‘Lila Rossi’, done in an exquisite cursive that could no doubt only come from Marinette’s hand.

“I made it for you myself,” Marinette sniffed humbly. “I know you’re a really great model and you’ve probably seen clothes that are much better than this one, but I poured all my feelings into it. I spent every night of last week working on it, and—” She hiccuped rather loudly, instantly covering her mouth with her hand in embarrassment. “I just hope you like it.”

“I…” Lila was at a loss for words. She had an itinerary full of the lies and stories she would spin that day (“Marinette texted me mean things last night,” she would weep tearfully to Alya, sniffing and wiping away tears on Alya’s shirt sleeve, “I just want to be friends but she just keeps… Attacking me!”) but no matter. A smirk danced along the Italian’s lips. “Did you design this yourself?” 

Judging by the smirk that Marinette could practically hear in the other girl’s tone, the liar already had a trick up her sleeve. If Marinette had to guess... 

Something along the lines of she stole this design from [random designer], who just coincidentally had the time to be Lila’s friend. Or maybe the friend of Lila’s grandmother. Whichever didn’t matter much, because Marinette was prepared. 

Marinette crossed the room in mere seconds, returning back to Lila’s seat with a sketchbook that she’d pulled from her bag. “Here!” She chirped, flipping open the page with an exercised movement, not even having to shuffle through the pages to find the correct sketch. “I brought the original sketch, just in case you wanted to see it so you could get a professional to redo it for you.” 

Lila opened and closed her mouth like a gaping fish out of water. Beside her, Alya’s eyes sparkled, envy still glowing in her eyes at the sight of the intricate foxes, coloured in hazel, gold, and orange threads. 

“Thank you, Marinette.” Lila gritted through her teeth, basically seething at the thought of having to thank the girl in front of her, who was smiling like an innocent sunshine child. 

The bluenette then turned her attention to her homeroom teacher. “Sorry for interrupting and taking up class time, Mlle. Bustier.” 

“It’s not a problem, Marinette,” Mlle. Bustier wiped at her eyes, slightly embarrassed now that the whole class was watching her cry at the sight of her ‘model student’ correcting her wrongs. “E— Excuse me.” She mumbled, clearing her throat. “Let’s pick off from where we stopped yesterday. Open your textbooks to page 63, please.” 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

The rest of the day went along smoothly. Marinette sat at the back of class, as usual, sighing in boredom as class was derailed off course, whisked off by another one of Lila’s tall tales. Honestly, they were already weeks off schedule— How the hell were they expected to sit for the final exam, at this rate? 

She huffed quietly to herself, watching Bustier trying (and failing) to act like she wasn’t interested in Lila’s story. The woman— An actual adult— Fell for Lila’s usual tricks like a fool, taking in every single word in drunken thirst. Did Mlle. Bustier really have nothing better to do than get absorbed in a teenage girl’s wild fantasies (in a way it was like that). At that thought, Marinette sat up straighter in her chair, an idea going off like a lightbulb above her brain. 

Was it...? 

After further thought, Marinette settled back into her chair, humming thoughtfully as she drummed her fingers against her table quietly. Yes... Yes, perhaps. 

Perhaps it was possible. 

The rest of the lesson passed in wasted time as the class took a major detour to go on a warped journey through Lila’s lies, and before Bustier knew it, the lunch bell had rung. Students chattered animatedly as everyone got up, Mlle. Bustier’s announcement of ‘please go home and study this chapter by yourselves, everyone’ was pathetically drowned out by the rest of the noise. 

Marinette collected her things quickly, needing her exit from the classroom to go off without a hitch, exactly the way she planned it. “I’ve got to go back to my parents’ bakery for lunch,” She said shyly, shrinking into herself as her classmates turned to look at her. “I... Was thinking of bringing some macarons back later. Before I go, though... Lila, is there anything you’re allergic to?” 

“What?” The girl being asked snapped back as a reply, the words leaving her mouth too fast for her to register. Before she knew it, the whole class was staring at her, mouths agape. “I... I mean.” Clearing her throat, the liar plastered on a sweet smile. “What was it, Marinette?” 

“I wanted to bring some macarons back for everyone.” Shyly, the bluenette repeated her plans. “And... Since I’ve been in class with everyone else here for a while, I know their allergies, but not yours. Is there anything you’re allergic to that could be in baked goods?” 

The Italian cursed under her breath— Mari-Brat really wasn’t letting up. The bluenette had made sure to cover any ground that the Italian could use and turn back against her. “As far as I’m concerned, I’m not allergic to anything.” 

Brightening visibly, Marinette nodded, shooting the Italian a smile. “I know things between us aren’t going to get better immediately, but I promise to do my best in fixing things! See you guys after lunch.” 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

Lila was getting really, really fed up. For the whole morning, she wasn’t able to come up with any reason to blame Marinette. If things kept going at the rate that they were, the class would be fully convinced that the bluenette was a changed woman, and that couldn’t happen. There was, in the end, a downside to having such a gullible bunch of classmates— Sure, they swayed easily to her side, but that meant that they swayed back to Marinette’s just as easily. 

Hissing under her breath, Lila looked up to catch Alya and Nino’s concerned looks. 

No. 

She was Lila Rossi. She was resourceful. She had Gabriel Agreste behind her back. She was powerful. She was not going to let Mari-Brat halt her plans in their tracks ever again. 

“I’m going to go use the bathroom real quick,” She said, excusing herself from the lunch table. Perfect! Now all she had to do was come back in tears, saying that Marinette confronted and mocked her in the bathroom, and the class would be all hers, once again. 

Little did she know that Dupain-Cheng was one teensy step ahead. 

As soon as Lila rounded the corner of the cafeteria, Marinette appeared, having just had a lovely chat with Rose (And Juleka, although it was Rose who did most of the talking). The two were at the front steps of Francois Dupont, having a lovely couple moment that Marinette hated to interrupt— But she needed to have at least a word with them. 

“Rose, Juleka!” Marinette greeted, box of macarons held carefully in her arms, as if it were a box of important jewelry instead of just a box of pastries. “Oh— Rose, is that a new watch? I’ve never seen you wear it before!” 

“Yep, it is!” Rose beamed, delighted that someone (Besides Juleka) had finally noticed it. “Isn’t it pretty?” Indeed it was. The watch in question was a pretty, intricate-looking thing done in rose-gold metal, with a pastel pink leather strap holding it down. The background of the watch face was a white background with a thin film of rose-gold metal, cut to resemble a wall of precious rose vines. 

“It is!” Agreeing wholeheartedly, Marinette offered her classmate a smile. “Oh by the way, what time is it?” 

Rose peered at the watchface, returning the answer with an equally-bright smile. “11.47.” 

“Thank you.” Marinette thanked, continuing her way through the school until she reached the cafeteria. Just before she fell into line of sight, though, she hid behind a wall, peering over the corner until she spotted the table she was looking for. 

Perfect— Lila just walked away. Marinette thanked the gods for all the luck that she was having— Okay, maybe she thanked one god in particular more than the others. Gently, she patted the secret pocket that was sewn into the lining of her blazer— Tikki, who had magic powers, managed to create a miniature ‘room’ inside the secret pocket, with the pocket itself acting as a portal of sorts to the room. After a few seconds, she felt the pocket tap back, managing a small smile of gratitude for her kwami’s constant love and support. 

“Hey, Alya, Nino.” Marinette greeted shyly, box of macarons propped up against her hip. “Where’s... Lila?” She hesitated slightly with her question, acting as if it was a little out-of-place to ask about the Italian girl. 

“She went to the bathroom.” Nino provided, mouth still full of unchewed food. This gifted him with a smack from his girlfriend (“Don’t talk with your mouth full!” she scolded,). 

“Oh, I see.” I definitely see. I know what she’s going to try and pull later— I have to time this properly. Timing is everything. 

Marinette continued to make small talk with the two, whom she had not talked to for a very long time. Much to her surprise, they were very warm and accepting, quite unlike the people who slung slurs and accused her baselessly a few days ago. One morning made all the difference to people who believed anything, she supposed. 

All of a sudden, something in her chest buzzed, as if it were a fire alarm, vibrating in warning— She had to go. “It was nice talking to you guys again.” She admitted, having briefly dipped into a pool of what their friendship used to be like. “But I have to go. I promised Kagami I’d meet her for a few minutes before lunch ended.”

Alya’s eyebrows jumped up comically in surprise. “I didn’t know you still talked to her. I thought you two were… Love rivals.”

“So what if we were love rivals?” Marinette shrugged with a simple smile. “Adrien is… As much as it’s odd to admit, he’s just a boy. Neither of us let him get in between us. He’s just a boy, and it’d be stupid for us to not get along just because we like the same boy. It doesn’t bother Kagami that we used to like the same boy, so why should I let it bother me? Besides,” Marinette tilted her head slightly. “It’d be stupid to give up a great friendship just because of a boy.”

With her last words still hanging in the air, Marinette turned tail and left, walking faster than usual. She had little time left— As she neared the wall that would shield her from the view of the cafeteria, she sped up her footsteps, practically half-sprinting just so she could get out of sight before Lila Rossi returned, looking like someone just killed a puppy in front of her very eyes.

“Oh my god, what’s wrong?” Alya jumped to her feet instantly, reaching out to comfort her best friend, who was moments away from having tears stream down her cheeks.

“I… I thought she’d changed.” Lila sniffled, biting her lip to appear as if she was desperately trying not to cry.

Alya frowned. “Who?”

“Marinette.” Lila stated as if it were obvious, faltering for a moment— Why had Alya bothered to ask? Shouldn’t it come pretty obvious? The liar dismissed the thoughts and continued in her performance. “She threatened me in the bathroom. She… She confronted me and mocked me, saying… Saying that all of you… All of you are idiots for believing that she’s changed. She… She said everything was an act to turn you all against me.”

Nino’s jaw dropped so far that it touched the floor. “Uh… Dudette, are you sure it was Marinette?”

“Yes!” Lila spun to look at him so fast that it was a wonder she didn’t break her neck. “Are… Are you doubting me? Oh my god, it’s working. She’s turning you guys against me. I just want to have friends, I don’t get why she hates me so—”

“You’re… Absolutely sure it was Marinette? You saw her face?” Alya repeated her boyfriend’s words, emphasising each and everyone of them as she looked Lila in the eyes.

“Alya, not you too.” Lila sniffled, tears basically dropping out of her eyes like big, fat droplets of salt water. “It was her— I saw her blazer, it had MDC stitched onto it.”

An uncomfortable silence settled in between the girl and her boyfriend, neither quite knowing what to say. “Oh. I… I see.” Alya said at last, turning back to her food. “Well… Lunch is almost over. Let’s… Let’s get back to class.”

“Marinette just threatened me in the bathroom!” Lila puffed up, clearly upset now. “She mocked me! She called you guys stupid for believing her act!”

“Dudette.” Nino shattered the ice-cold silence at their lunch table, swallowing heavily. “Marinette was with us the whole time you were in the bathroom.”

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

The tension inside the room was so thick that Adrien could cut it with his bare hands. God, what had happened? The day had started off so well— Marinette agreed to be friends with Lila, god bless the girl— But as it turned out, one hurdle folded over only to be towered over by a taller one. 

“Alya—” Lila began tearfully, her pitiful look attracting the sympathy of those who still didn’t know what was going on. 

“You claimed that Marinette threatened you in the bathroom.” Alya interrupted. “While she was with us the whole time in the cafeteria.” 

Faltering, the Italian struggled to find a way to squeeze herself out of the tight spot. “M— Maybe it was someone else.” Reluctantly, she backed out one trap into another one. 

“You said that you were sure! You said that she was wearing a blazer with MDC stitched on it. Marinette was wearing that blazer during lunch!” The reporter shot back, Nino at her side, trying to extinguish the conflicted fire blazing inside Alya’s heart. 

The seeds of doubt had been sewn, and Lila was going to have a tough time weeding them out. “I... I’m sorry!” She burst out into tears, sobbing pitifully in front of the class, most of which were already in attendance. “My lying disease is acting up again. I... I can’t help it. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone!” 

“Uh... Is this a bad time to ask if anyone wants macarons?” Marinette cleared her throat awkwardly, standing at the front of the room. Her royal blue blazer had been shed, and it now hung over her arm, properly folded into half. Earlier, she had asked Rose for the time to make sure that she had a witness in case Lila tried to pull another act— But as it seemed, the Italian was determined to dig her own grave and all the work had been done. 

The students of Mlle. Bustier’s class shared looks. 

“I’ll... I’ll have one.” Mylene cleared her throat, hoping that it would diffuse the situation. 

“Me too.” Kim followed, not missing the way Marinette flinched slightly at his words. Most of the words he had said to her of late had not been nice at all— But he justified that with the fact that she was being a bully to Lila, like Chloe had been to Marinette herself. 

“Great!” Marinette cleared her throat awkwardly, slapping on a strained smile. She passed the box to the front row, where Sabrina and Chloe were, gesturing for them to pass the box along until everyone got their fill. 

Internally, Lila seethed, anger burning like a wildfire that tore down every lush sign of life in her path. The girl had never felt that livid in her entire life— Who did Dupain-Cheng think she was, having a change of heart out of nowhere, pretending to play along with those oh-so-innocent eyes of hers? 

“I... I think I know why my disease acted up again,” Lila sniffled, loud enough to gather attention again. Unsure glances passed around like an object that no one wanted, carried from hand to hand forcefully as no one wanted to hold onto it for too long. “It... It must’ve been because of... Of the cardigan that Marinette made me! You must’ve known that...” The Italian squinted at the cardigan on her desk, “... Cotton triggers my lying disease!” 

The bluenette, still passing around macarons, stopped in her tracks. Inside her mind, Marinette was shaking her head, an amused smile on her cheeks. She had to give Lila credit for that one— She would’ve never anticipated that lie from her nemesis. “That’s terrible!” She sucked in a breath, putting on a dismayed look. “I’m really sorry, Lila! I know it seems like I did this on purpose, but I promise I didn’t! To make it up to you, I’ll make you another one.” 

Is she serious right now? Lila scoffed mentally. How long does she plan to keep this going? No matter— She’ll eventually drain herself out and I won’t even have to meddle in this matter. 

Marinette sniffled, collecting the cardigan pitifully from Lila’s desk. “But to prevent future incidents, Lila, I just want you to know that this isn’t made of cotton... It’s made from the highest-quality of star silk, which is incredibly difficult to produce and is rather expensive. It’s such a pity... I thought that only the best of materials would be deserving to be used to make an apology present... I guess you can’t wear it. I’ll just make another copy of the cardigan with some normal-range silk.” Sighing, the bluenette pretended to mull in sadness for a few seconds before an idea struck her. “Alya! You aren’t allergic to star silk, right?” 

The flow of conversation redirected suddenly, with the reporter snapping to attention and nodding eagerly as she realised what was about to happen. 

“Then... Since I’ve spent so long on this, I don’t want it to go to waste... Why don’t you have it, instead?” Offered Marinette with a sweet, shy smile on her face. 

Lila, still caught up in shock by the reveal of the material— Was then slammed with a wall of flaming anger as Alya squealed, coddling the soft, fluffy material that made the cardigan the exquisite product it was. 

“Marinette’s right,” Adrien chipped in with his own two cents, “Father can rarely get his hands on that material— It costs a fortune, and if hand-made... It takes forever.” 

“Oh, I wove the silk by myself,” Marinette added shyly after Adrien’s contribution, “So I apologise if it’s not up to the quality of industry-level star silk.” 

The reporter gushed, still cooing and running her hands over the gorgeous threads of fabric that made up the cloud-like base of the cardigan, eyes sparkling and the details of the embroidery. 

Marinette smiled, returning to her seat without a fuss. The rest of the class continued to pass the pastries around, the perfect description of ‘ignorance is bliss’ as they pretended as if they couldn’t see the way Lila was shaking in anger. Alya, on the other hand, could see nothing but the garment in her hands, her ‘best friend’ having become invisible for the time being. 

Just as well that it turned out this way, Marinette hummed, twirling her pen in hand, Let that be my departing gift to Rena Rouge. 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

Tomorrow arrived like clockwork, never late and always on time. The crowd of students clamouring by the front of Francois Dupont hushed to silence as they parted for two dark-haired women, both of which were giving off waves of confidence. Simple conversation flowed between the two, who were perfect examples of elegance and grace, their traditional-inspired attire complementing the royal-like aura they had. 

“This dress is really lovely, Marinette,” Kagami smiled gently, admiring the way the fabric flowed around her. The designer had gifted her friend with a maroon-coloured hanfu-inspired dress, complete with hand-sewn embroidery of a golden dragon curled around Kagami’s waist and neck. The dress was completed with a pleated skirt that went all the way to the heels. At first, the fencer was reluctant about the skirt due to the limited maneuverability, but then Marinette revealed that the skirt was very simple to take off as it was just tied around the waist. 

“You look gorgeous in it. It suits you.” Marinette replied, dressed in a similar looking dress. Her hanfu-inspired dress was light pink in colour, with silver threads depicting cranes flying about freely. The pleated skirt was grey in colour, lined with a soft circle of white. 

Kagami blushed slightly. “Thank you.” Briefly, the Japanese girl wondered why on Earth Marinette would go and embroider a dragon onto her dress— Was it purely a coincidence, or...? 

“I’m really glad you decided to transfer here,” Marinette smiled softly, her dark blue bangs framing her face as the rest of it was gathered into a braid that Kagami had helped weave. “It’s going to be nice! I’ll get to see you a lot more often.” 

“We’re in different classes, though.” Frowning, Kagami wondered if she should request a change of homeroom. 

“For now.” The designer winked playfully. “Oh, I have to get to class. See you during lunch?” 

Without waiting for a reply, the blue-eyed girl moved away gracefully, leaving Kagami in confusion. 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

“Good morning,” Marinette greeted gracefully, sweeping into the classroom with her bag over her shoulder and a package in her hands. This package was clearly not as exquisitely-wrapped as the one from the day before, as it was just brown paper and some rough string. 

Alya brightened at the sight of her friend, shrinking away slightly whenever Lila tried to say anything. Sure, the reporter did shake off the initial reaction and respond to whatever her ‘best friend’ said, but the damage had been done. 

“Here’s your new cardigan. It’s made from the same material as your shirt,” Marinette smiled warmly, placing the package on Lila’s table. “It’s a little different from the one I brought yesterday, but I still poured in all my emotions when I made it, so I hope you’ll accept it.” 

Through a gritted smile, the Italian thanked the designer, clenching her fists under the table. That was the second time in two days she had to thank Mari-brat! She swore that if she had to do it again a third time, she was going to slap someone. 

“Oh, Marinette!” Alya called out excitedly, wearing the cardigan that was originally supposed to be Lila’s. “This cardigan is so soft! It’s really amazing to wear! As expected of you, girl!” 

The bluenette stared back at the reporter, wavering for a bit. She had a feeling that Alya wanted something from her... 

“So... I was wondering...” The reporter’s expression turned sheepish, with Marinette’s internal thought-train going ah, there it comes— “Could you remove this and put my name instead?” Alya picked up the corner of the cardigan, pointing to the inside of the garment, where ‘Lila Rossi’ was embroidered on. 

“Ah...” Marinette didn’t even have to fake her nervousness. We already agreed on this, She told herself, No more doing free stuff for people. No more. “Sorry, Alya. My parents need a lot of help in the bakery recently,.. You know how it is! Family always comes first. I’ve already taken out a lot of time to make the cardigan for Lila... And I promised Kagami I’d go out with her this weekend. I’m afraid I don’t have time...” 

There was no missing the way Alya’s face fell instantly. “Couldn’t you put off Kagami for me? Aren’t we best friends?” 

“I thought Lila was your best friend,” Feigning an expression of innocence, Marinette tilted her head slightly. “You shouldn’t go around saying things like that, Alya. You might hurt Lila’s feelings. Besides, a promise is a promise. I wouldn’t want to hurt Kagami’s feelings either. Not to mention— I gave you that cardigan for free. That was two weeks’ worth of hard work. I’m afraid I don’t have the ability to take time out to alter it for free either. If you really want to get it done, you could ask an external tailor to do it for you. I know a few who can do really good embroidery.” 

Alya faltered. “But... We used to be best friends...” 

Snorting mentally, Marinette continued to hold her calm composure. “Like I said, you really shouldn’t say that, Alya. Lila might get upset and we don’t want to hurt her feelings— Right, Adrien?” 

The blonde jumped when the conversation turned to him out of nowhere. All of a sudden, every eye in the classroom was fixed on him. “R— Right, of course.” He said, forcing out each word. 

Satisfied, Marinette nodded, still wearing her ever-so-kind smile. “Exactly.” 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

“Hey, why don’t we all go out and have a picnic outside during lunch?” Alya suggested loudly, jumping up as soon as the lunch bell rang. “Marinette, you can come along too!” Something inside the reporter’s chest was stirring, and with the events of the past few days, Alya felt like she just had to quench that unsettling feeling— And the first step to that was to mend things with Marinette, even though it was the bluenette’s fault for always having been biased to Lila. Alya smiled, proud of herself. She would be the bigger person, she would forgive Marinette, she would integrate the designer back into the class again. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Marinette replied just as quickly, “We don’t know what Lila might be allergic to— She could easily trigger a reaction if we go out, especially since it’s spring.” 

A collective choir of groans rounded the class. 

“Well, I’m going to go back to the hotel to have a first-class meal,” Chloe turned her nose up at her classmates. “... Dupain-Cheng, would you like to come?” 

Shock painted the faces of the whole classroom. Did Chloe just... Ask Marinette something... Politely? 

“I’d love to take that offer, Chloe.” Responded the bluenette, graceful and flawless as ever. “Perhaps tomorrow?” 

“Suit yourself. They’re serving lobster today.” Chloe huffed. “If you’re really that busy, then fine. We can discuss...” The Mayor’s daughter trailed off as she blushed. 

The bluenette giggled knowingly. “You’d like to commission a dress from me, right?” 

“... No.” 

“...” 

“... Maybe.” 

“Alright.” Marinette nodded. “Then maybe it’ll be more convenient if I head over to the hotel after school. I’ll need to take your measurements and we can discuss the prices after.” 

“Whatever.” Chloe waved her away haughtily, a poor effort to cover up her embarrassment. “Sabrina. Let’s go.” 

“Chloe?” Alya guffawed. “Why are you commissioning something from Marinette?” 

Rolling her eyes as if Alya had just asked the stupidest question ever, Chloe answered plainly. “Because she’s one of the up-and-rising designers in the industry? Have you seen what Dupain-Cheng is wearing today? Celebrities are already fighting for spots in her commission list. Even my mother and Gabriel Agreste acknowledge her talent. I’m not dumb, Cesaire. I can recognise a future fashion queen when I see one.” 

Wow, Marinette breathed, looking at the stunned faces around the room, Chloe sure knows how to create an impression. 

“W— Well.” Stuttered the reporter after Chloe made her big exit. “Then... What about going to the bakery for lunch?” 

“Didn’t Lila say she saw a rat in the bakery the last time she visited it?” Marinette pointed out. “The health officer checked the surveillance and the claim was dismissed, of course, because my parents make sure the bakery is as hygienic as possible— But I’m sure Lila is traumatised from that incident. I wouldn’t want to force her to come along to the bakery— And we wouldn’t want to leave her out either, right?” 

This elicited another round of groans. 

Oh, I am enjoying myself way too much, Marinette chuckled mentally. 

“Then— Then...” Alya struggled visibly before she was put out of her misery. 

“It’s fine, Alya.” The designer reassured her. “I wouldn’t want to bother Lila. I’m sure she’s still upset at me. You guys go ahead. I have to go back to the bakery to help my parents out. See you guys after!” 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

Slam! 

Lila fumed, hand still pressed on her locker door. What. The. Hell. Was Mari-brat trying to do? She didn’t miss the way some of her classmates sent her unsatisfactory looks after that pre-lunch stunt that Marinette had pulled. 

And what was the thing about high-and-mighty Chloe commissioning from Marinette? 

Sure, Lila would admit that the cardigan that the designer made was indeed gorgeous, and the fabric was smooth and velvety, a quality unlike any of the clothing that Lila had ever had the privilege to touch— But surely a lowly brat like Dupain-Cheng couldn’t be that popular... Right? 

Dammit, hissed the Italian girl, Maybe I should’ve tried being friends with Mari-brat instead of Cesaire. 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

“Is that... Marinette and Kagami?” Nino gaped, prompting Alya to turn around. It was true— Walking up the steps of Francois Dupont together were the two blue-haired girls, a gentle smile dancing on Kagami’s lips as Marinette talked animatedly, her hands waving around quickly to further elaborate her point. 

Students lounging around the entrance for lunch couldn’t tear their eyes off the two and their matching dresses. Sure, the two girls had walked into school the same way that morning— But now that the afternoon sun was high up in the sky, the golden and silver embroidery was glinting luminously, revealing the true caliber of Marinette’s craft. 

“But... They’re rivals.” Stuttered Alya. She just couldn’t understand... Weren’t they supposed to hate each other? 

“They both like Adrien but they can still get along,” Nino remarked thoughtfully, taking a bite from his sandwich. “So Marinette wasn’t lying about going to meet Kagami yesterday.” 

Alya was silent. 

“Alya? What’s wrong?” Worried, Nino put a hand around his girlfriend’s shoulder, care and concern shining through his honest eyes. 

“If... If Marinette doesn’t get jealous or biased over someone who also likes Adrien...” Alya started quietly, eyes still fixed on the two girls, “Then why was she so against Lila?” 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

“Mlle. Bustier?” The teacher looked up at the voice of her favourite student. Fondly, she smiled. Marinette had finally seen the light and changed her ways, becoming the helpful, generous, kind Marinette that served as a great example for her peers. “May I make an announcement before class ends?” 

“Of course, dear.” Mlle. Bustier gave permission instantly— Marinette was taking up the reins of leadership again! The teacher couldn’t help but do a happy dance internally. 

“I have an announcement to make, so if everyone could listen, I’d be really thankful.” Marinette started, her clear blue eyes meeting those of her classmates. 

She took a deep breath. This is it. I’ve done what I needed to do, now it’s time to finish the job. 

“These past two days... Have been great,” Marinette started wistfully. “I really missed hanging around everyone, just like we did before,” Before you all turned your backs on me and stabbed me when I wasn’t looking, “But I can’t deny— And neither can you— That the things that have happened... They had a really deep impact. And I’ve realised that I can’t just ignore that damage that has been done.” The damage that has been done to me. “So, for the better of everyone— I’ve decided that I... Will transfer classes.” 

It was as if an explosion had gone off in Mlle. Bustier’s classroom. 

“Girl! You can’t do that!” Alya exclaimed in dismay, “We can fix things! Everything has been going well these few days, haven’t they?” 

“Dudette! Honestly, we forgive you.” Nino sighed, “Things just aren’t the same if you’re not here anymore.” 

Adrien didn’t say a word, but the imploring gaze he wore said enough. Please don’t leave me here alone. We promised we’d fight together, right? As long as both of us know... 

Marinette held her hand up to silence them, and the classroom, just as swiftly, became the deadly silence that followed post-disaster. “I understand. But once again, this is for the better,” — Of my mental health, “I’ve talked to Mlle. Mendeliev, and she’s agreed to take me in. I believe that once the changes have taken place, we can all grow more freely without restrictions.” 

In the corner, Mlle. Bustier was tearing up and dabbing at her eyes with her sleeve. 

“Mlle. Bustier,” Marinette turned to her teacher, no malice in her eyes. “I’ll be under Mlle. Mendeliev’s care now.” 

“Marinette...” The teacher sobbed quietly, with Chloe shooting her a look of disgust from the front row. 

“It’s not going to be easy for any of us,” Marinette turned back to the class, “But with time, I’m sure we will all prosper. Especially since you will now be under the care of our one and only Lila Rossi.” 

Adrien looked like someone had just killed a puppy in front of him. 

“Since I am the current class president, I thought I’d pass on the duties onto the most capable person in our class.” Marinette explained warmly, never moving her gaze away from the bewildered Lila. “Lila has the most connections in our class out of all of us, and she’s met so many CEOs and entrepreneurs that she must know a lot about organising and planning. I’m sure you can do it, Lila, but...” She paused. “You can handle it, right?” 

“Y— Yeah. Of course.” Lila stuttered. 

“You promised the class that you’d get BTS to perform for the year-end fundraiser since you were supposed to be in an arranged marriage with their youngest member, Jungkook.” Marinette continued, God I am enjoying myself too much honestly, but I ain’t going to stop now, “And you said you could convince your godfather, Bruce Wayne, to allow the class to go to Wayne Enterprises for this year’s class trip.” 

“She said she could convince Tony Hawk to give me an internship, too!” Alix chipped in. 

“And that she’d bring me along the next time Prince Ali asks for her help for a charity cause!” Rose smiled. 

“She said she’d introduce me to the CEO of Graham Films!” Nino’s eyes shone at the idea. 

The class continued to talk all over one another until Marinette silenced them once more. “Now, now. Let’s not overwhelm Lila. We wouldn’t want her to be overworked or to feel like the expectations are set too high, right?” 

The class agreed, nodding along. 

Marinette made eye contact with Lila, offering her a sweet smile as she did so. Lila, on the other hand, had no taste for such politeness. Instead, she straight-out glared at the former class president. 

This is your problem now. 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

“Marinette! I was hoping to catch you before you went home,” Alya panted, having been able to find the bluenette in the locker room before the designer slipped out of her reach. “You... You’re really serious about leaving?” 

“Yeah.” Smiled Marinette, organising her textbooks into her bag, dusting down her skirt. Noticing Alya’s crestfallen expression, she took the initiative to continue the conversation. “Is there anything else, Alya?” 

“Did you... Did you really hate Lila because she liked Adrien, too?” The reporter asked somewhat timidly. 

Marinette giggled. Normally, when the girl giggled, you could hear a gentle tinkling of wind chimes— But at that moment, Alya heard the freezing winds on Mount Everest instead. “Don’t be silly, Alya. All this over a boy? Besides, I’m over him.” 

“Then...” Alya swallowed difficulty. “Lila... Really was lying this whole time?” 

The gaze that swept across the reporter was stone cold, and it made Alya feel as if she was dangling over a valley of jagged rocks. “What do you think, Alya?” Even so, the bluenette maintained a sweet smile. 

“She was. She was lying the whole time.” Alya suddenly felt as if she had a shortness of air. “This whole time—” 

“Oh, good for you. You finally learned how to see further than one feet in front of you.” Marinette hummed. “I’m proud of you, really. But I’m afraid that I don’t have the time to listen to you slowly come to conclusions after I’ve tried making you see sense for the past half a year. I tried to stop you from ruining your futures, but I guess determination was always one of your good traits.” 

Alya slipped to the floor, having lost the feeling in her legs. She placed one hand against the lockers for support as she shook, weakly looking up at the girl who she was once so proud to call her ‘best friend’. 

“Marinette?” Kagami’s voice rang through the room, indicating that the girl was waiting at the doorway. “You said you were heading to Bourgeois’s hotel after school— Would you like a ride?” 

“That’d be nice, Kagami. A moment.” The designer looked down at her friend and smiled, albeit a little sadly this time— And then she lowered her voice. 

“Determination was always one of your good traits.” 

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

“Marinette,” Adrien perked up at the sight of the bluenette leaving the school doors— Side by side with Kagami, who looked ready to draw a sword and start a duel then and there. 

“This’ll just take a minute, ‘Gami.” Marinette reassured, gently patting her friend’s arm. “Why don’t you get in the car first? It looks like it’s going to rain.” 

Reluctantly, Kagami nodded. “Alright.” Warily, the fencer stepped down the stairs and into the car— But even as she sat in the vehicle, she watched over her fellow bluenette like a hawk, ready to jump out and challenge the blonde if the situation called for it. 

Adrien rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, not quite knowing what to say. Luckily for him, the designer decided to start the conversation. 

“I just wanted to say thank you.” Marinette smiled softly. A few months ago, when she looked at Adrien, she would see the kind, generous, pure-hearted boy with the finest golden hair and the brightest green eyes. Now? All she saw was a spineless, sheltered, passive child that was afraid of confrontations. 

“For what?” Adrien looked at Marinette, and no longer did he see the cute, pigtail-adorning girl that would blush fiercely everytime he tried to talk to her. Instead, he saw a beautiful, young woman, a rock that had pulled through all the odds to become a vibrant, iridescent diamond. 

Marinette was glowing with confidence, her presence diffusing into the air around her and triggering eyes to look up every time she walked by. There was something about the way she held herself that just made the woman demand awe and respect from those that crossed her path. The old ‘Clumsinette’ had been shed like an old snake skin to reveal a treasure, a better version of the bluenette that had always been waiting for her time to come. 

Bluebell eyes met green ones just as rain began to patter down onto the streets of Paris. Marinette glanced up slightly, not at all bothered as she smoothly retrieved an umbrella from her bag, holding it out for the blonde to take. A flush of deja vu burst through Adrien’s veins and through his skin as he took it with a mumbled thanks, eyes blown wide as Marinette let loose her hair from her ponytail, pulling her blazer over her head to avoid getting her head wet. 

Adrien could only gape as Marinette uttered familiar words back to him, a knowing smile dancing across her lips as she ran off into the rain as if an invisible weight had been lifted off her shoulders. The bluenette looked lighter, brighter, ready to take flight and soar towards the success that her crops of hard work had finally started to bear. Before the blonde model knew it, Marinette Dupain-Cheng had slipped out of his grip, already spreading her multi-coloured wings to land among the stars. 

“Thank you for telling me to take the high road.”  

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

this was both satisfying and tiring to write... 

[fettsvette]

Never Worn White (Part Three)

Cloud City, Bespin. Boba Fett is on the hunt for a casual fuck before he cashes in on Han Solo’s bounty. You’re a naïve virgin, saving yourself for an adolescent fantasy… and it just so happens that he’s in town. Upon encountering the object of your infatuation though, you didn’t expect he’d be so willing to help you out.

Pairing: Boba Fett x Reader Words: 11.7k Rating: Explicit Warnings: Unprotected sex and loss of virginity

Can be found on Archive of Our Own here.

Mando’a terminology

  vaar’ika - little runt

  nehutyc’ika - feisty one

  sarad’ika - little flower

mesh’la - beautiful

    -

  You’d never had so many sets of eyes on you at one time until you had left the Paradise Atrium in the company of Boba Fett. The crowd had swept apart for you as if by the powers of a Jedi Knight of old, with Fett’s hand in yours, leading you out of the lounge and into the cool night air. You had been alarmed about leaving so abruptly at first - a part of you had expected to sit and chat for a while longer, get to know each other, but you supposed that prolonged discussion wasn’t really Boba Fett’s style. Once it was agreed upon that you were to spend the night together, he had simply enveloped your hand in his gloved one, and begun pulling you along towards the doors, much like a parent guiding an unruly child rather than a suitor escorting his barroom hookup.

  You had balked as you approached the exit; you hadn’t settled your tab. Fett had turned and regarded you with a mute stare for a brief moment, then had wordlessly tugged you towards the bar, the Bothan bartender gazing towards you with a look of mingled pity and amusement. You didn’t think he’d really expected your irrational scheme to work out. You’d begun digging through the small bag swinging from your arm with a shaking hand, desperately searching for the credit chip that had disappeared into the recesses of it, all too aware of Boba Fett’s presence at your shoulder, breathing down your neck. He watched you struggle for a moment longer before he jostled you to the side and reached into one of the many pockets lining the flak suit underneath his armor, pulling out a haphazard pile of gold and silver Imperial credits, easily several hundred worth, the largest amount you’d ever seen in one setting. By the way Fett slammed the chips down on the counter, he knew he was vastly overpaying your dues, but you knew he wasn’t just covering your tab - he was also buying the bartender’s silence pertaining to this tryst. The Bothan wordlessly swept the money off the bar and into a cupped paw, being careful to not make too much eye contact. It was more than obvious that this kind of transaction had played out here many times before; it was better to just take the money and continue on with business as usual, no questions asked. You’d attempted to thank Fett as he’d silently led you through the shipyards towards his cruiser, but he didn’t even turn to acknowledge your words, so you dropped it. He hadn’t done it out of a display of romantic chivalry, after all - he’d only been covering his own ass, trying to make a quick getaway with you in tow. You were his prize for the night, his bounty .

  So you found yourself within the confines of the Slave I , a ship the sight or sound of which would send most creatures fleeing in terror for their lives. You sat frozen on a narrow bunk in the pilot’s quarters, unsure whether you were trembling from nerves or from the cold. You hadn’t been on very many space vessels in your lifetime, let alone ones owned by galactic mercenaries, but the sterile spotlessness of the Slave had shocked you upon first entry. Based on the chipped and battle-worn exterior of the transport, you’d expected it to be dingy, the walls bearing the mark of blaster smoke residue, maybe even some old bloodstains, but instead your surroundings gave off the impression of having been scrubbed down meticulously, carefully - and fairly recently. You could tell this wasn’t the work of maintenance droids - this kind of immaculate cleanliness could only be the mark of human hands. You tried to imagine Boba Fett sitting back on his haunches on the hard durasteel floor, a sponge and bucket beside him, diligently scouring the insides of the cages that held the captives he was entrusted with transporting to their dooms. You envisioned the armor of his breastplate glistening in the artificial light, rivulets of soapy water dripping down the front of it, soaking through the thick material of the leather gloves he never took off. You’d been so kriffing wet ever since you’d arrived aboard the Slave I, anticipating what was to come. Boba Fett’s hand had felt so warm in yours as he’d led you up here to his personal quarters, and you shivered at the memory of his large palm on your ass, steadying you as he’d instructed you to climb the ladder behind the cockpit. You’d never been touched in that way before, and you’d momentarily frozen, before a rough push from below had boosted you up through the hatch in the floor. 

  And now here you were, sitting on Boba Fett’s bed, listening to the rhythmic release of the hot water in the adjacent shower. You hadn’t expected a bounty hunter to have such an extravagant luxury as a chemical-based bathing system onboard his craft - although you supposed that he could afford any type of vehicular modifications he wished, with the kind of exorbitant payouts he received for his work. Fett had told you - practically ordered you, in hindsight - to stay put and wait for him to get out of the ‘fresher. Despite the arousal coating your thighs beneath your dress, you couldn’t stop your knees from knocking together. You hadn’t known it was possible to be horny and petrified at the same time, but you were. You truly hadn’t expected to get this far in your fantasy - it had seemed like such a pipedream, a childish adventure you’d anticipated to end in rejection and embarrassment and heartbreak. You hadn’t expected such a man to be a willing participant in your flight of fancy. But instead you were now aboard Fett’s personal transport, waiting for him to finish washing up. Unless something were to go unspeakably wrong in a very short amount of time, you were going to lose your virginity to Boba Fett tonight. The shiver that curled up your spine as you said it to yourself in your head was both one of expectancy and timorousness. 

  “You’re still dressed.”

  The voice was gruff, the unexpectedness of it causing you to gasp and leap to your feet. You whirled towards the source, and felt as if the breath had been forcefully knocked from your lungs as if by a sharp blow.

  In all the time you’d spent researching Fett, siphoning up every piece of information on him that you could find, not many creatures had ever thought to describe what his voice sounded like. You supposed that Fett didn’t talk much, being such a singular man - in all the holovids you had seen of him, never once had he spoken, even when speech had been directed towards him. Just that stony silence answered, maybe a tilt of that mysterious worn-out visor or a quick gesture with a gloved hand, but that was it. The modulated voice that came through the Mandalorian helmet’s vocoder back in the cantina had been harsh, unforgiving, devoid of most emotion save annoyance and the venom that you expected from the galaxy’s most ruthless bounty hunter. There had still been that odd kindness to his tone when he’d seen you were upset, however, a shift that had seemed so out of character based on what you’d seen and read about the man that it had stunned your senses into complete sobriety, stilling your tears. This voice that confronted you now was very much human, but gravelly, made harsh by years of hard living and long periods of solitude. There was an inquisitiveness to it, though, and a youthfulness you hadn’t expected. You couldn’t place the accent, although you’d heard rumors that Fett’s family was from the Mandalore sector of the Outer Rim, some backwater moon called Concord Dawn, but none of the bounty hunter aficionados you’d spoken with seemed to be sure. He did wear Mandalorian armor, after all, but most assumed it had been plundered, not inherited or earned. Of course, nobody had ever asked Boba Fett himself - and lived to tell anyone, anyway.

  The man standing before you was bare-chested, a thin towel wrapped around his waist. He stood in the doorway of the refresher, residual steam still collecting behind him, water beading on the muscular expanse of his pectorals. His shoulders and upper arms and abdomen were covered in tattoos, unfamiliar spiraling patterns as well as glyphs in a language you’d never seen before, and every inch of his body that you could see was riddled with scars - some obvious blaster wounds, others looking like the marks of vibroblades or crude spears, some overlapping others and completely unrecognizable as being from any particular weapon. His skin was like a canvas, a story detailing decades of fierce battles, of wins and losses. You longed to run your hands over each and every scar, hear those stories yourself. Even more so, you yearned to tangle your fingers through the thick black curls atop his head - for some reason you had always expected him to have a shaved scalp, like so many other humanoid mercenaries, and the surprising full head of hair gave Fett a strangely boyish appearance. You pegged his age at anywhere from late twenties to mid-thirties, although it was hard to tell; the scars peppering his body also extended across his facial features, a prominent one in particular slashing a ragged arc through his furrowed brow, making him look older and harder than his years. His hooded eyes were a deep brown, more black in the light, almost the color of the darkness between the stars, and his nose was broad and slightly flattened, then upturned at its tip, which would have given him a haughty air, if it weren’t for the deep scar directly across the bridge. You wondered how he came across these distinctive wounds if he really never did take off his helmet. But it was his mouth you couldn’t tear your eyes away from - the sharp line of his strong jaw left him perpetually unsmiling, but the soft pout of his lips was intoxicating to look upon. You were dying to have those lips on yours, feel them leave a trail of kisses down your neck, across the stretch of your belly towards the wet heat between your legs. Soon .

  This was the infamous Boba Fett, unmasked. A mortal man, after all.

  You stared dumbly at him, your heart hammering in your chest, your limbs trembling where you stood. Your face was impossibly warm, and you could feel the sweat beading on your forehead. This was too much. You were starting to think that maybe you did understand why Fett was never seen without his helmet - creatures the galaxy over would fall before his feet at every turn, more so than they already did. Whole dynasties would crumble for him.

  He was easily the most gorgeous man you’d ever seen in your lifetime. 

  And he was to be yours tonight.

  “What’s the matter with you, girl? Loth-cat got your tongue?” Fett asked as you continued to ogle him like something out of a menagerie, one eyebrow arched questionably, a hint of amusement in his voice as he stalked towards you. You backed up as he did so, your calves hitting the edge of the cot and causing you to fall onto the thin blankets. Your face burned from the display of clumsiness, but Fett acted like he hadn’t noticed. He just continued to stare with those deep dark eyes, the thoughts behind them all but unreadable. 

  “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to stare, it’s just… you’re beautiful. ” You stumbled over the words, and felt slightly ashamed. To describe such a hard man with that word seemed almost wrong, sacrilege. You’d heard of the Diathim, mysterious beings that supposedly dwelled on Iego’s moons; known for their uncanny beauty, creatures called them angels. You didn’t care how odd it might sound to others - you felt that if angels truly were real, one was standing before you right now.

  Your declaration was met with a derisive snort and a roll of the eyes on Fett’s end.

  “I’ve been called many things over the course of the years. Most of them aren’t worth repeating in the company of others. But ‘beautiful’ isn’t one I hear very often, nehutyc’ika .” His voice was even and highly controlled, for someone who was nearly naked in the presence of a stranger, although you knew from your talks with Rystáll Sant among others that this was nowhere near Fett’s first casual fling.

  “What does that word mean? Nehut…? You’ve called me that twice now.” You cocked your head in confusion, trying and failing to think of anything to talk about that would distract your feverish mind from the sight in front of you. Fett’s unwavering eye contact and the way he seemed to be drinking you up was starting to make you nervous. Everything was happening so fast .

  “ Nehutyc’ika. It’s Mando’a, the language of my father’s people. It means you’re a feisty one.” He answered matter-of-factly, taking several steps towards you. You sat frozen, looking up at him mutely. You were vaguely aware of how badly your hands were shaking and quickly placed them underneath your thighs to hide them from Fett’s watchful gaze, although you feared it was too late. You were dumbfounded. You still couldn’t believe you were actually here , that the man of your dreams was standing shirtless in front of you - clad in nothing but a towel - and had brought up his family , and was now calling you ‘feisty.’ Was Boba Fett actually flirting with you?

  He took another step forward and dropped the towel.

  Oh.  

  You supposed he was doing more than just flirting now.

  Blinding heat instantly pooled in your cunt, and you gasped from deep in your chest. You couldn’t help it. You hadn’t been expecting this level of boldness - ‘more like sluttiness,’ the whimsical voice in the back of your head chided before you shoved it back down into the recesses of your mind - from Boba Fett. Trembling, you unconsciously scooted away from him on the bunk, your eyes glued to his waist.

  He was huge .

  Not that you had any personal experience to work with, but you’d watched enough holoporn on the ‘Net to know that Boba Fett was packing . He was eight inches at least, thick and veiny, already half-hard. Kark , even his balls were perfect - tight and plump, sitting there nestled in a patch of dark, wiry hair. He gauged your clearly shocked reaction smugly, looking you up and down with a barely perceptible smirk ghosting his features. He was amused by your wide eyes, the hang of your jaw, your tensed limbs.

  “ Hmm . You really are a virgin, aren’t you?” There was laughter in his voice, and - oh, stars - blatant arousal. His cock had twitched as he’d said ‘virgin,’ and your pussy throbbed in reply. Part of you wanted to grab him by the wrists and pull him down on top of you, beg him to satisfy the growing ache between your legs as soon as possible, but instead you could only let out a torrent of stutters.

  “W-...w-why would I lie to you about that? That’s the reason I’m here, i-isn’t it? I w-wanted you to be my first…” You answered faintly. Your tongue felt heavy, your throat tight. It felt as if every molecule of heat in your body was collecting in your cunt, and you hoped the growing damp patch in your panties wouldn’t soak through your dress, let alone into the cot.

  “It wouldn't be the first time a beautiful woman has tried to lie her way into my bed.” His lascivious grin grew broader, and it struck you then just how white and straight his teeth were. You felt dizzy, and your eyelids fluttered. Taking a shuddering breath, you closed your eyes in an attempt to ground yourself. ‘This is what you wanted. You’ve come so far. Don’t let your nerves turn you back now.’ 

  “Not going to get shy on me now, are you, girly?” You opened your eyes when you felt a warm, calloused hand come down on your shoulder, and you had to stifle a surprised yelp. Boba Fett was standing directly over you, looking down on you as if he were a god watching his flock from above. His stiffening cock was level with your nose, and your mouth watered. It was so close that you felt as if you would go cross-eyed if you continued to look at it. You wondered if he expected you to take him in your hand, stroke him, pleasure him with your tongue, but Fett shoved you back by your shoulders, and you landed unceremoniously back on the pillow, shifting your eyes downwards to the foot of the bed. Fett now balanced there, one knee resting on the edge of the cot, exposing himself unabashedly to you. He observed you broodily, his lips slightly pursed, and you wondered if he was expecting you to try and make a run for it, and what he would do if you did. You had the mental image of a completely nude Boba Fett chasing you down the boarding ramp of the Slave I, blaster in hand, penis flopping as he ran, and a hysterical giggle rose to your lips, which Fett silenced with a stern shush.

  “Go on, girl, lay down. Let me help you feel good...” The bounty hunter purred, climbing on the bed to fully kneel before you, reaching out and placing his large hands on either side of your hips, rucking the shimmersilk dress up to rest above your belly button. You breathed heavily through your nose, in and out, hyper-aware of the feeling of Fett’s rough palms on your skin, the warmth radiating through him coming across more like fire licking up your pelvis to your ribcage. You wondered if he could tell just how badly you were shaking under his hands, if he could feel how hot you were for him already; if he did notice, he kept it to himself - he seemed solely focused on that spot between your legs, the junction of your sex that felt almost numb with how turned on you were. It didn’t even register to you at first that you were almost naked in front of a man for the very first time, that maybe you should be embarrassed - stars, he didn’t even know your name, hadn’t even expressed a passing interest in learning it - until you heard the low, animal growl emanating from Fett’s throat, and saw just how greedily he was admiring your soaked panties.

  “Already wet, are you? Good. That’ll make it easier on you.”

  You groaned at his words and covered your face with sweating, trembling hands, your core tensing as you felt your underwear being pulled down around your knees, then your ankles, and finally being harshly yanked off entirely. An arm nudged your knees even further apart, and you gasped, the ship’s cool air bathing your spread pussy lips, the wetness gathered there making it feel even colder. There was a brief pause, and a hand encircled your wrist, pulling your hands away from your eyes. You blinked to see Fett looming over you, the ghost of a smile upon his lips, and he settled to lie between your legs as he made sure you were making direct eye contact with him. You could feel his hot breath on your core, and your head swam. You had Boba Fett between your legs, about to pleasure you with his mouth. It was like something out of your most secret fantasies, but this was real .

  “Keep your hands away from your face, vaar’ika . I want you to watch me taste you. I don’t get to eat unspoiled fruit very often, you know.”

  He buried his face between your legs without another word.

  Oh, stars above.

  You’d never felt anything like this before, and struggled to keep from fainting back against the pillow. His tongue was hot against your cunt, licking warm stripes up and down, lapping up the juices that had collected between your folds as if it were the most delicious nectar he’d ever tasted. Fett hummed against you and the vibrations traveled up your spine like a shock, and you twisted your fists in the blankets, biting your lip to keep from crying out already. His lips latched onto your swollen clit at last and he suckled on the engorged bud hungrily, and you finally allowed yourself to moan. Fett gave a deep rumble in return that you didn’t immediately recognize as laughter due to the fact that his face was nestled against your sex. He was laughing at your reactions to his ministrations, and your face and chest only flushed hotter. Fett’s arms came up for a moment to loop around your thighs, dragging you downwards and causing you to emit a strangled whine, before he settled your legs over his broad shoulders. The change of position - you were practically sitting on his face now - prompted another rush of arousal to flood your needy cunt. Boba Fett groaned appreciatively as his tongue probed inside of you, its tip curled, licking at the opening of your sex. You gasped deeply and arched your back, and Fett grumbled, holding you down as you began to squirm underneath him, digging your heels into his shoulder blades. He turned his mouth back to your clitoris, flickering his tongue methodically back and forth, up and down, swirling circles around the sensitive bud until you began to pant and whimper in earnest. You were so wet that you could hear him eating you out, obscene slurping sounds interspaced with pleased grunts, his nose pressed into your vulva, his hips grinding into the corner of the cot beneath him in an effort to bring himself some pleasure.

  All it took to send you over the edge was an unexpected nip of his teeth to the hood of your clit, and your vision went white. You let out a choked sob, your hips bucking off the cot and your fingers threading through Fett’s tight curls, holding him in place as you rode out your orgasm on his face.

  You weren’t sure how long it lasted, but the waves of your climax finally began to ebb, and you released your hold on Fett’s hair, quivering helplessly in the aftershocks of your first-ever assisted orgasm. Fett released his iron grip on your thighs and raised his head to look at you, and you couldn’t help but let out an overwhelmed squeak at what you saw.

  His chin and mouth were glistening with your arousal, shiny in the light, and your breath stuttered as you watched him slowly lick his lips, his tongue circling to gather every last bit of your cum that had coated his features. It was one of the hottest things you had ever seen in your life - the Boba Fett now sitting cross-legged on the bed in front of you, wiping the rest of your cum from his mouth with the back of one hand and absent-mindedly stroking his cock with the other, observing you with an almost bored expression. His cheeks were ruddy with arousal, the rosy head of his length weeping pre-cum, his dark pupils blown. But despite everything he had just put you through with his mouth alone, he wasn’t even breathing heavily, hadn’t broken a sweat. He looked zen, if anything.

  “...Can I kiss you? Please?” You asked breathlessly, your chest still heaving, leaning back on your elbows on the cot in front of him. The question took him by surprise at first, his eyebrows raising, the scars sprinkled across his features distorting with the movement. And then he laughed , a genuine laugh, oddly musical and light coming from such an imposing figure, so much so that you could help but grin in response, your cheeks hurting from just how hard you were smiling at this show of vulnerability on his part. Fett leaned forward and grabbed you by your biceps and hoisted you into his arms, bringing you to sit straddling one muscular thigh, his skin hot and firm under your pussy, and you felt yourself becoming aroused all over again at the press of his bare flesh against your center. Fett tapped your shoulder and gestured with a curt jerk of his head for you to lift your arms, and he yanked your dress above your head in one smooth movement, tossing it out of sight. You didn’t care if it got ruined, that it had cost you nearly a third of your weekly pay - all you cared about anymore was Boba Fett.

  “I just made you cum and you’re asking if you can kiss me? You’re a strange one, girl. Don’t tell me you’ve never kissed a man before either.” Fett teased, cupping your chin in one hand, his face so close to yours that your foreheads were nearly touching.

  He didn’t give you a chance to answer before he captured your mouth with his.

  You could taste yourself on him, a musky, earthy tone, and you moaned as he slipped his tongue into your mouth, playfully darting at your own and biting at your lower lip. You had never understood when your friends had claimed to have seen fireworks when being kissed, but you could wholeheartedly say that you did now. It felt like the celebrations on Empire Day in the pit of your belly, full of bright sparks and incredible explosions of color.

  Fett hefted one breast in his hand, absently flicking the nipple back and forth with his thumb and kneading the tender flesh as he lazily kissed you, mostly letting you take the reins in your experimentation. You kissed him deeply, your nose digging into his cheek as you turned your head for a different angle against his mouth. You could have kissed Boba Fett forever, your arms around his neck, your chest flush with his, your nude body pliant in his lap, his cock pressed against your thigh. You eventually came up for air, breathing hard, dropping your hands to rest your palms on his brawny chest, searching his face for any sign of what the bounty hunter might be thinking. He simply stared back at you, any and all contemplations he may have had hidden behind a deathly still visage. You thought Fett must be an incredibly adept sabacc player, with that kind of self-control over his expressions.

  “So, this is where you fuck me now, right?” You breathed, and Fett narrowed his eyes, scoffing as if you’d just asked him if Ewoks could speak Basic. He placed his hands on your hips, gripping the flesh there so roughly that you involuntarily let out a hiss of discomfort.

  “Oh no… you’re not nearly ready to take me, not yet. You’re still too tight. Do you want to enjoy this or not?” You’d thought you were getting somewhere; you’d thought that maybe you were actually beginning to see a softer side of Boba Fett, but the annoyance in his voice was palpable. Your face burned with shame. You knew he thought you were an idiot, blinded by lust, eager to use him as your personal fucktoy so you could tell your friends that you had lost your virginity to Boba Fett, and now he was angry with you. You were brought out of your thoughts by a slap to the meat of your ass, just sharp enough to make you yelp and refocus on Fett with widened eyes.

  “ Answer me .”

  You gulped and nodded your head rapidly in response, stammering despite your attempt to remain calm. “Y-yes… I want to enjoy this…”

  Fett reached further around and patted your ass as if praising a beloved pet. “ Very good. Don’t question me again, and don’t go thinking you’re the one in control here. You’re only here because I took pity on you. I could just as quickly throw you off my ship, naked as the day you were born. Don’t think I haven’t done it before. Would you like that, princess , or do you want to continue with our little game?”

  Fett reached between your bodies and pinched at your clit with his thumb and index finger, and you let out a little shriek of surprise, gripping his muscular shoulders. Despite his threats, the broody edge to his voice, his almost violent touches, you didn’t think you’d ever been so turned on in your life. The dangers that seemed to be around every corner concerning this encounter were exciting rather than frightening - even the image of having to make your way home in the nude, a walk of shame after having been cast out from Boba Fett’s company, felt like more of a thrill than anything else. You didn’t even care that he called you ‘princess’ in a clearly derogatory way; as he’d said himself, this was a game, and judging from the pre-cum dribbled down the side of his cock, he was just as willing to play as you were. 

  You raised your eyes to his, drawing your gaze away from his hand, where it was resting on your pubic mound, his thumb just barely grazing your clit. There was an almost mischievous glitter in Fett’s eyes as he waited for your reply, and the slightest pressure he was applying was killing you. In lieu of words, you simply grasped his wrist with a shaky hand and pressed his palm harder into your pussy. Fett let out a deep chuckle in response, and began rubbing your clit tortuously. Humming contentedly, you bucked your hips sloppily, attempting to work up a rhythm in time with Fett’s hand. Your pussy dragged back and forth along the hard expanse of his thigh, your arousal smearing over his skin, making for slicker traction with every push of your waist. Fett looped one strong arm around your middle, holding you steady as you rocked yourself on his leg. He continued to jerk your clit at a frantic pace, his entire hand settled over your dripping cunt, occasionally running his thumb up and down your slit to gather the juices there and spread them along your swollen bud before resuming his direct assault.

  “You love riding my thigh like this, don’t you? Is this what you think about when you’re alone in bed at night, girly, with your pillow between your legs? Rutting your hot little cunt against me like a felinx in heat?” Fett goaded, and you let out a quiet moan in response, tipping your head back and squeezing your eyes closed, focusing on the sensations building in your quim. He knew. You didn’t know how, but it was like he was aware of every single dirty fantasy you’d ever had about him. All you had told him is that you wanted to give yourself to him - nothing more, nothing less. Had he been contemplating what sparked your nocturnal emissions while he was showering earlier in the night? It was true, you thought of bringing yourself to climax this way often - daydreaming scenarios in which you were some faraway planet’s heroine, kidnapped for ransom by a ruthless Mandalorian bounty hunter, forced to grind against him like an animal for his pleasure, a blaster to your temple - but no reverie could ever compare to this.

  The sweet, cresting wave of another orgasm had been building within you for quite some time, both at the urging of Fett’s deft fingers as well as the movements of your own undulating hips against his thigh, when he suddenly took his hand away and stilled your movements with a painful squeeze of your hip, and you cried out pathetically. You’d been so close . Fett clucked his tongue at your begging, and his hand slowly went back to its place between your legs, his fingers crawling further down than before, and you automatically tensed. 

  “I’m going to fuck you with my fingers now, vaar’ika . If you really want to take my cock, I need to open you up more.” Fett warned, circling his thumb over your clit and poking at your entrance with his index and middle fingers. Your breath hitched at the probing, the muscles of your groin bracing for yet another sensation you had never experienced, but you nodded desperately. You were ready for this.

  Fett dragged the digits up and down your slit, back and forth, collecting your wetness, and then dipped them into you slowly, gently. You emitted a whooping gasp at the intrusion, bucking your hips against his fingers as they slipped deeper into your cunt. Fett’s fingers were blunt and thick, and you already felt stretched out deep inside - you wouldn’t call the feeling painful, but your inner muscles fluttered wildly, pushing back against this unknown invasion, and you had to concentrate on keeping your breathing even in an effort to get yourself to relax. Fett stilled his movements as he sensed your muscles contracting uncomfortably around him, and waited for your breathless nod of consent for him to resume. He began gingerly pumping in and out of you, listening for little moans and whimpers on your part to know it was alright to move faster. As his pace increased, he continued rubbing your clit with his thumb, and the unfamiliar pressure of his fingers inside you quickly gave over to a pleasurable massaging sensation that had you groaning aloud. You began to experimentally wriggle your hips against his motions, seeing what felt good, and dug your nails into Fett’s arms as the shifting of your weight back and forth helped guide his probing fingers to a spot deep inside you, one you’d never been able to reach by your own hands. Fett sensed the change in your movements against him, the stutter of your hips against his digits, the sudden gush of wetness dripping onto his palm, and knew he’d found what he was looking for. He curled his fingers up towards himself inside you, pushing in hard against the soft, spongy patch and pulled your cunt back and forth rapidly, reveling in the way you cried out and clutched at him. The sweet pressure within your groin was building rapidly, becoming more intense than anything you’d felt in the past. 

  “I… I think I’m going to…” You stammered weakly, your words punctuated with little whines and squeals of pleasure. You attempted to continue your warning with the words ‘to cum ,’ but you could only let out a loud moan instead, letting the bounty hunter jerk your pussy whichever way he wished. Your face burned, your ears zoning in on the loud squelching noises coming from your cunt as his fingers worked faster and faster, his arm pumping rapidly with the exertion. 

  Fett answered you with a teasing snarl, completely unbothered by your pleading. “ Oh? What’s that? You’re going to cum on my fingers, hmm? If this is enough to make you fall to pieces, just wait until I’ve got my cock in you, girl…”

  That did it. His words, and the insistent, constant press of his fingers against that unbearably sensitive spot deep inside of you, sent you crashing over the edge. You let out a strangled scream, burying your face in the crook of Fett’s neck, scrabbling at his back with your nails as your orgasm devastatingly washed over you. Fett swore loudly as you let yourself go on his fingers, although he showed no signs of slowing, and your face burned with the realization of what was happening. You could feel the buildup of pressure gradually releasing from your cunt, could feel yourself gushing onto his hand and thigh and onto the cot beneath, but in that moment you were beyond caring - every nerve-ending in your body was in ecstasy. 

  It felt like hours had gone by before you finally felt him remove his fingers from within you with a soft wet noise, followed by another dribble of fluid from your core, and let out a choked sob at the sudden emptiness. Boba shifted to rise from the cot and you clumsily slipped off his lap and back onto the blankets, cringing uncomfortably at the wetness beneath you. It was once you were seated and had regained control of your breathing and heart rate that you were aware of just how drenched everything was. The cot was soaked, your ass settled in the center of a large damp patch, the inside of your thighs coated with your own juices. You turned to look at Fett, and your jaw dropped when you saw just how much of your slick was glazing his stomach, his thighs, the arm he had coaxed your orgasm from you with. And he was grinning .

  “You squirted all over me, girl.” To your disbelief, Fett sounded impressed, and the self-congratulatory smirk on his face reflected it. He was curiously inspecting his dripping fingers, rubbing them together, then stuck them in his mouth like a child with a sucker, his eyes boring into you darkly. He pulled the digits free with a noisy pop after a long moment and looked down at his hand, a whispered “ So sweet …” emanating from his lips. You didn’t know whether he’d intended for you to hear him, but the object of your affection speaking in that way, about you - about your arousal - had you feeling weak. You’d never squirted before in your life, and Boba Fett had drawn it out of you within mere minutes. You wanted to repay him for the pleasure he’d given you - twice over, now.

  “I… I want you in my mouth, Boba.”

  He gave a start at your use of his name - it was the first time during this encounter that you had said it aloud, and you didn’t think he’d been expecting you to at all. His cock twitched openly and a bead of pre-cum leaked from the slit at his head, dribbling onto the blanket to join your own mess, and when he spoke, his voice was even rougher, lower, full of flagrant excitement. You expected him to forcefully grab you by your hair and shove your mouth onto him, fuck your skull with wanton abandon, but instead Fett regarded you silently, stroking himself with languid pumps, swirling his thumb across the tip of his cock to spread his arousal down his shaft.

  “I’ll have to teach you. How to suck a man’s cock. Do you want that? Do you really want to suck my cock ?” He rose from the edge of the cot, standing before you as you crawled on your hands and knees towards him. You nodded fervently, not in the least ashamed that you were literally begging for this man’s cock; you no longer cared, you just wanted your lips around him. You’d never given a blowjob before, but you wanted to taste him like he had tasted you. Fett watched you and held himself out straight, one fist gripping the base of his thick member, as you sat yourself before him.

  “Open,” Fett ordered brusquely, and you obediently followed his command, even sticking your tongue out for good measure. This seemed to amuse the bounty hunter, and he smirked, a low rumble of laughter emanating from deep within his broad chest. He jerked himself a few more times as he stood over you, then took another step and laid his heavy cock directly on your tongue. You were surprised at the taste of him - you weren’t sure what exactly you had been expecting, but he tasted of soap, and clean skin, and some sort of minty cologne you’d assumed he’d applied in the ‘fresher, with a hint of salt that intrigued you. It was a distinctly Boba taste, although you didn’t think you’d ever be able to explain what you meant to another living being. As you experimentally wrapped your lips around his girth, careful not to scrape the sensitive skin with your teeth, Fett let out a soft groan, and you felt him reach out to pat your hair. “Yes, that it’s… good girl. ”

  You paused like that for a long moment, focusing on the heat of him in your mouth to distract from the fact that your jaw was already tiring a bit, then dipped your head to take more of him into your mouth, hesitantly suckling on his glans and attempting take him further down your throat before reflexively retching and pulling back. Your face burned with embarrassment as you wiped spittle from the corner of your mouth, and you looked back up at Fett hesitantly, expecting to be reprimanded for this novice’s folly. Instead, he was smirking, and you got the strong sense that he was impressed that he’d made you gag so soon.

  “Go slow, girl. No need to choke yourself. ...Or is my cock too much for that pretty mouth of yours to handle? Here, I’ll show you...” Fett cooed smugly, and he reached out to take your wrist in his large hand, helping you wrap your fingers around his cock. He was throbbing under your touch, and you felt your cunt heating up all over again at the sensation, fresh wetness gathering between your thighs. Fett tapped the underside of your chin once your hand was secured around him, and you opened your mouth, taking him on your tongue of your own accord. He was so heavy, you couldn’t help but let out a groan at the weight of him, and Fett let out a hiss at the feeling your vibrations made against his length. He put one hand on the back of your head, pushing you forward at an excruciatingly slow pace, allowing you to gradually become accustomed to his presence in your mouth without further triggering your gag reflex.

  “No teeth , girly… careful, careful… now suck . Gentle . Use your tongue to massage my cock… there you go, that’s it…” Fett coached as you gingerly swirled your tongue around his head, making sure to pay extra attention to the prominent vein running along the underside of him - maybe you’d never actually done this before, but you liked to think you had an idea of what to do based on all the dirty holovids  you watched. You just couldn’t believe you were actually trying all of this out on Boba Fett himself. He was too girthy for you to swallow him to the hilt, so you shyly brought one hand up to rest shakily on his thick thigh, the skin still damp from your juices, and knead the flesh there, and a jolt went through your pussy as Fett emitted a purr at your ministrations. You reached your other hand out to cup his balls, heavy and hard in your hand, and the bounty hunter’s cock twitched violently in your mouth as you massaged them, almost making you gag again. He groaned under his breath every time you squeezed and rolled his sac, and you relished the feeling of his length spasming against your tongue, the salty sweet taste of his pre-cum filling your mouth. Stars, he was delicious. You wished you could see yourself, on your knees, sucking Boba Fett’s cock, and reprimanded yourself for not having the foresight to bring your holocam, strategically place it somewhere in the room to record tonight’s tryst so you could watch it over and over again. 

  You were just building up a rhythm - digging your nails into Fett’s thigh, occasionally tugging at his balls, and slurping greedily on his cock, when he ended it. With a growled moan, Fett grabbed you by your hair and pulled you off of him, his short nails scratching at your scalp in a way that sent shivers up your spine. He left with your mouth with an audible pop , a string of drool leading from your lips to his glistening glans, which only broke when you placed a chaste kiss to it, grinning up at him. You felt drunk on his cock, if it were possible to be so - he hadn’t even been inside you yet, but you already found yourself yearning for his presence in your life, for this to be more than just a one night stand, a fantasy come to life. You didn’t think you’d ever not be able to envision the gorgeous creature standing in front of you the next time you saw the faceless entity who prowled after bounties featured on the nighttime HoloNews.

  “But I wanted to make you cum …” You pouted as Fett wordlessly pushed you onto your back on the bed, walking forward on his knees until he was nestled between your spread legs. He pressed his arms into the cot on either side of your head, holding himself up above you, his face hovering above yours. You could feel his hot breath on your skin and wanted to place your hand on the back of his neck, draw his mouth to yours, but you found yourself frozen in place, staring up at him wide-eyed, your hands clasped to your breasts.

  “No, vaar’ika. Not yet. I want to cum with that tight little virgin pussy of yours squeezing me.” Fett crooned sweetly, and you whined loudly at his words, bucking your hips up, trying in vain for your sopping core to make contact with his dangling cock, but he pulled away, rising to sit back between your knees, his member rosy and standing at attention, a clear drop of pre-cum beading at its tip. You laid beneath him, spread out and open, and Fett pushed your thighs apart even further, positioning himself at your entrance. He began rubbing your clit with the pad of his thumb, pressing in slow circles, and you mewled appreciatively.

  “I’m not going to lie to you. This will hurt.” Fett warned, leaning forward slightly and skimming the head of his cock up and down your slit. With every swipe, his heavy glans would catch on your swollen clit, and you had to stop yourself from grabbing him in your hand, keeping him positioned there so you could get off from the friction alone. You were so wet that you could hear the slick sound of his hardness passing through your folds, and that alone eradicated any doubt in your mind that this was what you wanted. You needed him inside of you more than anything else. It was time. There was no turning back. You didn’t care if it would be painful. Not anymore.

  “Boba, please . I’m ready for this. I’ve always been ready. I want this… I want you .” You urged him, and he nodded curtly in acknowledgement. It was then that the realization hit you - in your rush to leave your flat earlier in the night, you’d forgotten perhaps one of the most important things. Your roommate always stored contraception in your shared ‘fresher, which you’d completely bypassed in your mad rush to get to the Paradise Atrium and find Boba Fett. Now you were here, about to do the deed with the man himself, without any sort of protection, and you’d only remembered at the last possible moment. 

  “ Wait . I’m… I’m not on anything. Do you… ?” You began, and cringed to yourself, fully expecting Fett to rise and demand you to get out of his sight for your stupidity, cast you out into the night like he threatened to do earlier. Instead, you were met with a huff and a shake of his curly head, and he patted your inner thigh. Again, he looked smug, almost proud of himself.

  “I have an implant, girl. If I didn’t, I’d have bastards the galaxy over. You came all this way with nothing of your own? Hmm. Interesting . Now just relax… ” Boba replied, and you nodded, feeling faint. Of course he had an implant, why hadn’t you considered that? You supposed you ought to look into getting one too, but your thought was interrupted by something hard and hot and blunt poking at your folds, and you cast your eyes downward to watch as Fett spread your lips with the fingers of one hand, using his other to line up his cock with your hole.

  He entered you slowly, with a gentle nudge, just the tip breaching your entrance, and you involuntarily cried out despite yourself. He was so big already. The stretch was unlike anything you’d felt, it was as if your opening was going to tear, and you silently reprimanded yourself for thinking his karking fingers alone had been too thick for you. Your hips canted upwards to try and escape the discomfort, and Fett laid a massive, warm hand flat against your belly, ceasing his movements as well as your own squirming, shushing you.

  “Easy, little one, easy . I’ve only just started to enter you. This is nothing . Are you absolutely sure you can handle the rest of me? You’re allowed to change your mind if you don’t want this after all. I can still turn you loose…” Fett offered, rubbing his thumb back and forth over the skin of your tummy in a way that was shockingly comforting, coming from such a harsh character. The weight of his hand on your stomach was oddly grounding, and you closed your eyes, taking several deep breaths through your nose, and nodded for him to continue. 

  He slid into you further and it was like a rod of flame had been inserted up your cunt. You yelped, biting back a proper scream as you involuntarily hunched away from the invading presence. Fett held your hips down, preventing you from squirming away further, and immediately stopped his movements once more. He wasn’t even fully sheathed within you yet, but the pain was unbelievable. You didn’t imagine that it could hurt this much, especially with how wet you were. He was just so huge , you couldn’t fathom how the rest of him would fit inside of you. There were already tears of frustration filling your eyes at having to stop him again so soon, and you gazed upwards at the bounty hunter, who was looking down at you with a completely unreadable expression. Your hands were gripping his forearms and you could feel just how taut the muscles there were, how much self-control it was taking him to keep from pounding into you like a wild beast despite your discomfort, and you admired him for that. You wanted him deep inside you, you wanted him to finish the job, fully claim you at last - you wished he would just push forward with one savage thrust and break you open already.

  “If you keep crying out like this and trying to move away from me, vaar’ika , we’ll be stuck here all night.” Fett said simply, looking down between your bodies at where you were partially joined. You followed his gaze as well, your eyes growing wider as you took notice of his hard length sitting between your legs, halfway vanished into your quivering pussy. You felt sweat gathering on your brow, underneath your breasts, and the sight brought a fresh wave of arousal flooding through your cunt. Fett obviously felt it, as he let out a soft groan and you felt the tip of his member twitch within you, and a delicious shiver of pleasure went up your spine. That sensation alone made you want to wiggle forward yourself, despite the pain, and impale yourself on him fully. You squeezed Fett’s arms and he raised his head to look into your eyes, his gaze boring into yours. The arousal in his eyes was intoxicating.

  “Boba, I… I want you to move. Just do it, even if I scream or cry or try to get away. I give you my full permission. If… if I need you to stop, really stop, I’ll tap your shoulder three times. Is… is that okay?” You asked nervously, already feeling yourself begin to shake from the anticipation of what was coming. You wanted this more than anything , and now it was actually happening. You couldn’t have imagined you would actually be here even a few mere hours ago, underneath Boba Fett in the pilot’s quarters of the Slave I , about to lose your virginity to him. You expected to wake up in your own bed any moment, the night’s events having been just an incredibly vivid dream. Boba Fett didn’t answer your request with words. His eyes shifted to the side, almost imperceptibly, as he considered your proposition, and then, silently, he brought one hand up to rest on your flushed cheek. You took a shaky inhale as he gently craned his neck to place a kiss on your sweaty forehead, then dipped lower to capture your mouth in his.

  In one smooth, hard motion, Boba Fett snapped his hips upward, forward, and claimed you for his own.

  Your eyes flew open and you let out a muffled scream against his mouth, your feet kicking out briefly, your hips jerking, your fingers digging into his shoulder blades. It felt as if you’d been torn open from the inside, like a blade had been thrust up into you, and the stretch was immense. You couldn’t fathom how the whole of him had fit. Your vaginal canal burned terribly, and you couldn’t help but let out several loud sobs at the overwhelming sensation of being filled so deeply. Fett broke his kiss and stared down at you, still buried to the hilt inside of you, unmoving.

  “ Easy there, little one . Look at me. I’m inside of you, see? You’re no longer a virgin, at last. How do you feel? Do you want me to stop?” Fett hummed softly, brushing away the tears that streamed down your face with the pad of his thumb, his hips flush with yours. You could feel the dark patch of pubic hair at his groin against your vulva, and the sensation was somehow soothing. Your cunt involuntarily clenched around his member, gradually becoming used to the feeling of him as time dragged on, and you were surprised that you could feel his hardness, the ridges of his glans pressed into your inner walls, the veins on his cock against you. The pain was receding, little by little, as Fett remained motionless and let you get used to his presence. It occurred to you that he was waiting for you to give him permission to move, and your walls fluttered.

  “No, no, please don’t pull out. Oh, kriff … it hurts , but it’s getting better. You’re so big . I feel so full. But… I just can’t believe…” You gasped, struggling for words. You swore you could feel Boba Fett in your guts, were shocked that you couldn’t see a bulge in your lower belly where his cock was nestled inside of you, that’s how big he felt. Fett let out an amused chuckle, cutting off your words by pressing a blunt finger to your lips.

  “Well, you’d better start believing it… you’ve got a bounty hunter inside of you. Tell me when I can move, mesh’la . I’m getting restless.” Fett replied, and it was then that you noticed the sweat beading his forehead as well, the way his speech was coming in harsh pants, how his arms were shaking with need above you. He needed to move . You could feel your swollen cunt becoming hotter and hotter, your natural lubrication helping to ease the pinching burn that had settled deep within you, and you found you wanted him to move too. Your tears had dried for the most part, although you had a feeling he’d have you weeping again soon enough. You shakily moved your hands up to cup Fett’s sharp cheekbones, his eyes locking onto yours with the movement. The words that next left your lips, barely above a whisper, were ones that you never imagined you would find yourself saying to this man, but they resulted in an amorous growl that sent a thrill through your bloodstream and straight to your pussy.

  “Fuck me, Boba.”

  His first few thrusts shook your entire body, and you let out a grunting squeal for each one, your breasts jiggling from the force of them, although Fett still moved slowly. It wasn’t until you wrapped your legs around his calves, pulling him in closer, and settled your palms on the tense cheeks of his ass, urging him to pump into you harder, faster, that he began to really fuck you. With every thrust, your pain turned more and more into pleasure, a white-hot ball tightening within your belly until it felt as if liquid fire was seeping through every inch of your body. If this was what being fucked was like, you never wanted it to end.

  “ Stars , princess… you’re so kriffing tight . The tightest little pussy I’ve ever fucked… you’re going to make me cum soon…” Fett groaned, and you let out a keening wail in response, focused only on the feeling of his cock massaging your walls, his glans bumping that same spongy spot inside you that his fingers had seemed to find immediately, the obscene slap of his thighs colliding with yours again and again and again. You could hear your own juices sloshing against his cock’s pounding, a squelching that only became louder and wetter as your movements continued. 

  Neither one of you lasted very long. Combined with Boba’s slow, deep strokes into your pussy, and his fingers dancing over your clit, helping you along towards yet another climax, you found yourself hoarsely shouting his name over and over again, your nails raking red slashes down his back in pure ecstasy. Fett lifted up your hips into his hands, arching your bottom off the cot, his angle becoming impossibly deeper, and you shrieked aloud. You wondered if the durasteel walls of the Slave I were soundproof, but found that you didn’t care. You didn’t care whether the entirety of Cloud City heard Boba Fett fucking you - you wanted them to. This was happening , you had manifested this for yourself through nothing but determination, and if the whole colony heard you being claimed by the galaxy’s most feared bounty hunter, so be it.

  “Cum for me, girl. That’s it, let go… cum all over my cock, like you’ve always wanted to…” Fett urged you, his own voice shaking as he frantically worked your clit with his fingers, his thrusts becoming manic and sloppy. You could tell he was getting close - you could feel his cock twitching violently inside of you, preparing to shoot his load up into you. Your own orgasm hit you unexpectedly, just one expertly angled stroke from Fett’s length, a circular grind of his hips, and your vision instantly blacked out. You felt as if a thermal detonator had gone off in your pussy, and all sound seemed to go out of the room. Your mouth was gaping open, you knew you were screaming at the top of your lungs, but all you could hear was a high-pitched static noise, you were so far gone. You didn’t even hear Fett’s answering groan as he spilled his seed inside of you moments later, the clamping of your walls around his cock proving to be too much for him to withstand. The feeling of him emptying his balls within you was unlike anything you had ever felt before, and only served to bring your peak to a new height. You could feel him pulsating, your cunt milking him for all that it was worth, his hot spunk filling you up, marking you where no one else ever had before.

  The next thing you remembered was lying in Boba Fett’s arms, weeping openly into the crook of his neck. You weren’t sure if you had momentarily passed out from the pleasure, but you had no memory of him flipping you over so that you were lying atop him, draped across his broad chest, his cock still sheathed within you, a strong but pleasant ache settled deep between your thighs - a lingering effect of your lost virginity. Fett, despite all of his cultivated roughness, let you cry it out, one arm thrown lazily across your waist, his free hand cupping the back of your head. His fingers scratched at your scalp, and you could have sworn you heard him murmuring softly in a guttural tongue, possibly that Mando’a he occasionally spoke in - the idea that he may’ve been trying to comfort you in his own awkward way only made you cry harder. Your sobs finally ebbed away into sniffles and quiet hiccups after a short while, and Fett slowly rolled you off of him, his cock leaving you with a wet squelch that gave your oversensitive clit a jolt and left you feeling sore and empty. You laid on the bed and watched Boba Fett’s cum ooze out from between your legs and onto the blankets, stained pink from your breaking in, and you flushed as he rose and stood at the foot of the cot, cleaning both your arousals from his softening cock with a cloth he’d retrieved from a compartment hidden in the wall. You wished you could have kept his cum inside of you forever, in a way, although you supposed the bruises his mouth and fingers had left on your skin would serve as reminders as well. You still couldn’t believe the night events had really happened, after so long.

  “Are you alright, girl? You came quite hard. I thought you were going to break my cock right off, the way you were clenching me. How do you feel, now that you’ve been properly fucked?” His tone was one of gentle teasing, and he glanced back over his shoulder at you, a smirk upon his pouty lips. 

  “That… that was incredible. I’m sorry, it’s just… I can’t believe I just got fucked by Boba Fett .” You replied, and hid your face in your hands, embarrassed as soon as the words had tumbled from your mouth. Fett, good-natured and relaxed after a satisfying fuck, snorted and shook his head. He sauntered past the cot on his way to the ‘fresher and patted your thigh as if to assure you that ‘ Yes, you sweet little fool, all of your wildest dreams have come true.’ He didn’t think he’d ever understand these beings who sought him out as part of their bizarre fantasies, but he didn’t care - it got him laid, and sometimes the temporary company was even enjoyable. This hopeless romantic of a virgin - well, former virgin - had been one of the better ones. As he took one last glance at you before the door slid shut, as you nodded off in his bed, Fett found himself feeling glad he hadn’t rejected your advances, as he’d originally been planning to do. It was a shame he couldn’t keep you around a while longer - you were easy to please, and so eager to learn - but there was business to be done tomorrow, and it was nothing that an innocent girl like you should be caught up in. 

  Not this time, anyway.

  -

  The first light of dawn was just beginning to emerge over the swirling mists of tibanna gas that enclosed Cloud City, and you were in a panic. You’d been awakened from your blissed out slumber by the incessant bleating of your comlink, buried within the confines of your purse, which lay in a heap along with your clothing on the durasteel floor of Boba Fett’s transport, the Slave I . Jumping up from the cot and wincing at the sharp sting radiating from between your legs, you’d rifled through your belongings until you’d uncovered the damn contraption. Pressing the button on the side, a scrawl of Aurebesh sprang into being, and your heart sank into the pit of your stomach. Dank farrik. Your roommate.

  ‘Where are you?’ The urgency of the message was clear, having been sent thrice over the past half hour. You’d be surprised if they hadn’t already raised the alarm, that the Wing Guard wasn’t already out combing the city for you. They’d begged you to be home by dawn, and by the sound of the traffic outside, it was more around the time of the typical morning commute, a full hour or so later.

  You had to leave. Now .

  There was no sign of Boba Fett.

  You didn’t remember falling asleep after your tryst the previous night, but you had a vague memory of Fett waking you in the night and ordering you into the ‘fresher to urinate, and you’d been alone in the pilot’s quarters when the comm had begun chirping later on, fully waking you up. It didn’t look like anyone else had joined you on the cot overnight, and as you’d scrambled to scoop up your bag and don last night’s outfit - you were pretty sure your dress was inside out, but you found yourself beyond caring - and descend the ladder leading back into the cockpit area, you’d discovered where Fett had gone. He sat motionless in the pilot’s chair, fully armored and helmeted, studying a holo of what appeared to be the inner passageways of the Administrator’s Palace that was being projected from the ship’s dash, emanating a flickering, ghostly blue light in the early morning rays visible through the viewport. You stopped short across from the chair, and although Fett’s head didn’t turn even a hair, you knew he was watching you, wondering what you were doing.

  “I have to go. I was supposed to be home by now and my roommate’s going to kill me.” You explained briefly, then dashed towards the ramp leading to the docking bay outside. You felt as if you had become part of a child's bedtime story, a maiden whose jewel-encrusted gown would disintegrate to rags, whose enchanted ship would transform back into a jogan fruit if she didn’t return home by the stroke of midnight. This was all over too soon. As you rushed down the platform, you wondered whether Fett would say anything or if that would be it, if he would just watch you run off into the sunrise and consider his work done. You’d made it just beyond the confines of the ship’s overhang when you heard the telltale sound of spurs from behind you, slow and methodical steps. You stumbled to a halt and turned back to face the Slave I. Boba Fett stood there motionlessly, observing you.

  “Tell me, sarad’ika. Was it everything you've dreamed of?” The helmeted figure asked slyly, standing on the boarding ramp of his imposing, mottled ship, one hand resting casually on the overstuffed utility belt at his waist, the other dangling free at his side. You felt yourself flush at his question, knowing he was most likely grinning lecherously underneath his Mandalorian armor, but you still nodded, shifting your weight anxiously from one foot to the other. His gaze still penetrated your very soul from behind that black, T-shaped visor, made you feel so vulnerable.

  “Yes. And more. I… I don’t know what to say, other than… thank you.” You softly replied. You wondered, foolishly, if he was expecting payment for his services. Did he consider his conquest of you to be a job of sorts? Your answer came with a sharp gesture of his hand, cutting a quick line across the morning air between the two of you.

  “Then don’t say anything.” With a barely perceptible nod, Fett turned on his heel and began to make his way back into the confines of his ship. Something about watching him walk away from you made your heart hurt, although you doubted you would ever be able to explain why. You wondered whether you could make something more of this, something long-term and lasting, perhaps beyond your better judgement. You wanted to feel his mouth on yours again, and still felt his presence inside of you, the throb left behind by his considerable length filling you, and you already knew that you’d never want anyone else. You were addicted. You stepped forward, back towards the Slave I and its retreating owner, hopeful. If Rystáll Sant could do it, why couldn’t you?

  “Boba, wait. ” 

  Fett’s form stilled, halfway up the ramp, and he turned to face you once more, the dented helmet cocked to one side, obviously intrigued as to what you had to say. You had a feeling he knew what was coming and your stomach somersaulted at the thought, but you heard the words leave your mouth anyway, heard the pining in your voice despite your best efforts to sound neutral, unattached.

  “When can I see you again?” 

  ‘ Fierfek, you stupid girl. Now he’ll think you’ve gone and fallen in love with him, just because he was your first fuck …’ Your mind swam, and you wished you could rewind time, seal your mouth shut, take back the words as soon as you had spoken them, until you saw that Fett was sauntering down the ramp towards you. You froze, every muscle in your body turning to ice, as he strode towards you, coming to a stop directly in front of you. He was close enough that you could have reached out and placed your hands on his chest, thrown your arms around his neck, but you found you didn’t have the courage.

  “You can’t.” Fett answered you brusquely, emotionlessly, and you felt like he had slapped you across the face. You weren’t sure what exactly you’d been expecting when he’d approached you. The bounty hunter deftly reached out and cupped your chin between his index finger and thumb, pinching the skin in his grip and holding your gaze level with his. That visor was so dark, but you were so close you still could've sworn that you could see his face through the darkened T-shape, and that he was smiling . He released his grip and tapped the underside of your chin with his fingers, in an oddly playful manner. “Run along, little one. Go home. You don’t want to get into any more trouble now, do you?”

  With that, he whirled back around, cape flapping on his shoulder, marching solemnly back into the blackness concealing the innards of the Slave I. The ramp closed behind him with an anticlimactic hiss , and Boba Fett was gone from your life, just as quickly as he had entered it.

  Your ‘walk of shame’ back to your apartment felt more like a victory march, and when you walked into your living quarters, your roommate rushed towards you and demanded to know what had happened, where you had been, if you were okay. You only gave them a knowing smile. Maybe someday you’d share the story of your night with Boba Fett, but for now, you thought you’d let them try to put the pieces together on their own.

  Later that evening, when Baron Calrissian announced the Imperial takeover of Cloud City and the evacuation orders were given, as you packed a bag full of necessities and boarded a transport out of the city and listened to the whispered rumors that Han Solo had been frozen in carbonite and abducted from the Administrator’s Palace by a mercenary wearing Mandalorian armor, you couldn’t help but smile. 

  ‘Well, kriff. He’s actually done it.’ You thought smugly, grinning to yourself amidst a sea of panic. You hoped Boba Fett had been able to escape off-world with his bounty before the Wing Guard had sealed the docking bays, but you didn’t think you truly had anything to worry about. There was a reason why he was considered the best in the business. 

  Boba Fett had done it. 

  Right after he’d done you.

[fuchsiagrasshopper]

The Olive Branch

Author's note: Here is a modern AU one-shot I wrote for @maggiescarborough 400 follower challenge. My prompt was breaking up. Congratulations hun and thanks for letting me take part! It was something completely different for me to write and I hope everyone enjoys!

Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar x Fem:reader

Word count: 3400

Warnings: Angst, language

Your relationship with Ivar had run its course. You had known it was over the moment you overheard him talking about you in his office to his brother. What had begun as a sweet gesture to surprise your boyfriend for lunch had ended with you sneaking back out the building before he could find out you had been there. You still didn't remember most of that escape, as you had been too busy forcing yourself not to cry or scream from hurt.

It was a Tuesday, and you were fortunate enough to have a day off from work. You decided to be spontaneous, picking up soup from your favorite deli to surprise Ivar with for lunch. His job didn't always allow him the time or luxury to stop to eat, but today you would make sure he was looked after.

You and Ivar had been seeing each other for nearly six months, and you felt that in that stretch of time you had made it past any difficult hurdles that could turn a relationship sour. It wasn't perfect, but little arguments and disagreements had to be weathered in any relationship, and you got to a point where you were both comfortable with each other's faults and tendencies. When you had met one another's families without hassle, you figured that was as good a sign as any that this was something special.

You didn't go to his place of work often, but you knew your way around well enough to find his office. He worked for his family's exporting company, a numbers game that consisted of suits and ties, and corporate gatherings. Ivar had once described them to you as ass-kissing at the highest level, and after attending a few black-tie affairs by his side you understood his point.

You made your way down the brightly lit corridor that was all freshly polished floors and heavy oak doors with gold inlaid nameplates. The designer of the office had spared no expense on the finishes, and you felt underdressed compared to the expensive attire of the workers.

As you rounded the corner to Ivar's office you could see his door was ajar. He was speaking with someone, and as you neared you recognized Ubbe's voice. It didn't sound like work talk, it sounded more like Ubbe was discussing his family. You were about to walk in to interrupt when your name was suddenly brought up.

"So, how are things going with (Y/N)?" Ubbe asked.

There was a long pause before Ivar answered, and that filled you with dread. "Okay, I guess."

"You guess? I thought things were going great."

You understood Ubbe's point. You thought things were working out well between you two.

"I don't know. Recently I've been feeling that it's run its course between us. I don't think there's a future there."

Your heart was in your throat, and you thought you were going to be sick. Ivar could be distant, but you had no idea he was at the end of his rope when it came to your relationship.

"Really? Ubbe sounded as confused as you felt. "What brought this on?"

"It's whenever we do something in a social setting. She's not a bad girlfriend, but she's too shy for any of my work functions, and she isn't spontaneous enough."

"Right, as opposed to Freydis?" You heard the crunch of leather as Ubbe took a seat. "You're still hung up on her."

"I can't help it," Ivar shot back. "She was perfect for me. She fit in with my lifestyle. (Y/N)'s a good person, but she's too simple. I'm...bored when I'm with her."

A good person. Those were the only kind words he had to say about you, after dating for months. You knew about his relationship with Freydis in little detail, and only that they had broken up because she moved away for work. Maybe he should have gone with her. You were feeling bitter and used, and you couldn't listen to any more of the disparagement. You even felt guilty about eavesdropping, but you wondered how much longer he planned on keeping this from you if he was so miserable.

Your feet started in the opposite direction, reaching the elevator with your head down and the lunch you had brought hanging loosely in your grasp. Your breathing had turned labored in your attempt to keep the tears at bay, and you kept pressing the button to shut the double doors before you were forced to endure a long ride down to the lobby in the company of one of Ivar's coworkers.

The moment you were on the ground floor you began fast walking to get outside, and you threw away the lunch in the first trash bin you passed. Your eyes stun when the chilly wind brushed your face, and you knew the tears you had struggled to hold in were beginning to fall. You hoped to God people weren't staring, and you kept at a brisk pace in the direction of anywhere. You and Ivar didn't live together, so you at least had your own space to hide.

As you approached the train station, your phone buzzed with a message. It was from Ivar. You wondered what words Ubbe had plied him with to get him to reach out. Usually, a message from him when you knew he was at work would have been a delight, but now you were already into second-guessing. It was a simple invite to dinner, but you knew you wouldn't be able to sit in a restaurant and pretend everything was alright. You replied with an excuse.

Sorry, I'm not feeling well today. Raincheck

Ivar's reply was quick and to the point with a simple 'okay, feel better'. But you wouldn't feel better. Your relationship was over, he just wasn't privy to the fact yet, and you didn't want to end it with the embarrassment and disappointment still so fresh…

ooOOoo

And that's how it was for the next two weeks. You distanced yourself from Ivar while gaining clarity about the situation. The hurt turned into a dull throb, but you also accepted that it wasn't his fault for feeling the way he did, even if that was cold comfort to you. It was best for you both if you ended it and moved on.

"I think we should break up," You finished saying to Ivar as he had tried to gift you a diamond bracelet. He had dropped in unannounced again, a habit that had started after you blew off the dinner. Your visits consisted of sitting in silence on opposite sides of the sofa, and you could barely bring yourself to kiss him when he would leave.

He must have sensed something was off the past few times you had seen each other, and the bracelet was his way of trying to bridge this new gap. Now he was giving you a blank stare, trying to play catch up on whatever details he had missed that led to this behavior from you.

"Alright," He started slowly. "Can I ask why?"

Because you're bored with me, your mind shouted, but you swallowed the bitterness and forced a smile. "We've been growing apart for a little while now. You must have felt it too."

"I've felt that you've been brushing me off," Ivar said as he fell back into the armchair across from you on the sofa.

"What do you mean?" You tried to act surprised by the accusation, but your voice raised a tick. You had never been a good liar.

"Well, just now when I tried to give you the bracelet, you looked disgusted. I might as well have been giving you a can of surströmming."

"That's not--" You started to say, but he cut you off.

"Not true? No, I think it is. And what about that dinner last week? Were you even sick?"

You felt small under his strong gaze, but you weren't about to let him spin this whole thing back on you when you knew the truth. "No, I wasn't sick. I guess I just didn't want to go to dinner with you because I felt it was pointless."

"Pointless? If you'd decided that, then why did you wait until now to break up with me?"

"I've never broken up with someone before," You admitted, the first truthful thing to come out of the conversation. It was always you getting left behind, and it felt strange to do it to someone else. You still had feelings for Ivar, which didn't make it any easier knowing he didn't feel the same, and possibly never had. "I thought you'd be relieved anyways. You must have felt the same, that we were drifting apart."

"I didn't realize you felt that way," Ivar replied, frowning at his lap. "Ubbe didn't say anything to you, did he?"

You tried not to react, but your blood froze in your veins and your heart trembled. "No, why would he?"

And then you realized Ivar suspected you knew about the private conversation with his brother, only he mistakenly thought Ubbe had blabbed to you about it.

"It makes sense now, why you've been pulling away. He told you, didn't he?"

"About how I'm a good person, but that I'm too shy to fit in with your social circle," You blurted out, your anger rising.

Ivar was stunned by your abrupt attitude change. You never raised your voice for anything, even when you'd argued. "So he did tell you."

"No Ivar, Ubbe didn't tell me anything." You rose from the sofa and turned your back on him to stare out the window. It was a beautiful day. You let out a mournful sigh. Too bad you wouldn't get to enjoy it. "I came to see you that day, to surprise you with lunch. I guess you wouldn't consider that spontaneous enough though."

"(Y/N)," Ivar started and over your shoulder, you could see him pushing himself up from the chair with his cane.

"I don't want to hear it," You interjected with your hand up. "This is why I didn't want you to know I knew about that. I didn't want to hear your excuses."

"That was a private conversation you weren't supposed to hear."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

Ivar frowned, and he seemed annoyed with you as if you learning the truth had inconvenienced him. "No, but I should be the one upset with you for trying to break up with me without telling the truth."

"I'm not trying to break up with you, I'm done with you, Ivar," You told him, and your blunt tone caused his face to fall. "Maybe I shouldn't have listened to that conversation, but I'm glad I did. It spares me from being in a relationship with someone miserable and bored when they're with me. Did you expect me just to not say anything and carry on as if nothing had happened?"

"We could still talk this through." His voice sounded timid, and you didn't think he meant it.

"Talk through what? You're still in love with someone else, and I won't be your poor replacement." You strode to your apartment door and held it wide open. "Please leave."

You half expected Ivar to stay put and want to argue this through further. He was nothing if not confrontational, and while you admired his inner strength, you did not want to find yourself on the receiving end of Ivar Lothbrok's ire. But in the end, he didn't say anything. His cane thumped down the hallway to the door, and as he strode by you, you kept your head down holding your breath. You don't know if you were hoping he would do something to change your mind, let you know that it had all been a misunderstanding, but that wasn't the case. Ivar left, and you found yourself closing the door long after he had gone.

Now that it was final, you didn't know how to feel. The past few weeks you had been preoccupied with internalizing your heartbreak. You had held it in for so long, that now your well was empty. Your relationship was over, and if you were going to move forward you would have to cleanse your life of Ivar. Grabbing a box from your closet, you began to pack away anything he had ever given you.

ooOOoo

It was such a cliche, the expression about missing something after it was gone, but it was currently how Ivar was feeling. A month had passed by since your break-up, and time had slowed to a crawl. He hadn't seen or heard from you since he had left your apartment that day. You had returned a box of his things when he had been away at work. Hvitserk had been home to retrieve them, and Ivar had asked how you seemed. His answer; fine.

At the top of the box was the bracelet he had bought you in a last-ditch effort to try and save the relationship. You hadn't even worn it. He didn't know why he had put in the effort to save the relationship since at that time he had convinced himself it was no longer something he was invested in. Perhaps Ubbe had gotten through to him, but by then it was already too late. You had heard everything, and it had led to a devastating end.

Ivar knew why he had second-guessed being with you. He knew from the moment you met that you were the complete opposite of Freydis. You were timid, and your interests lied in things you could do independently as opposed to a social setting. Not like him at all. After growing up different from his disability, Ivar made sure he thrived in large groups as an adult, no longer wanting to be the one isolated in the corner of the room. Being with you had reminded him that wasn't necessarily a bad thing, and he never thought you were weak as a result.

But then he had seen Freydis' engagement announcement online, and he was suddenly mourning the loss of his past. Never follow an ex on social media, that was Hvitserk's advice, and he should have listened. He and Freydis had said their goodbyes two years ago, though more reluctantly on his part. She was everything no one thought he would ever have in a partner. The beautiful blonde had chosen the cripple, and his ego had soared to new heights.

Food tasted better, the air was cleaner, everything was different from his supposed view from the top. Ubbe had reminded him that it hadn't been as perfect as the memories he clung to. During that time with Freydis, he had abandoned much of his ties to his family, and he had picked up the bad habit of spending money to the point of debt. When she had left him for new career goals, he had gradually returned to earth with the other mortals and realized he had been an asshole.

He had a momentary lapse back into that spell all because of one picture online, and unfortunately, it had bled on to you. Now all he could think about was how much he had hurt you, and with no real excuse good enough to justify such atrocious behavior.

A knock on his door came, and he threw the bracelet back into the box of his belongings that had made their way from your home and now back to his.

"Hey, you want dinner?" Hvitserk asked, poking his head in.

"Not hungry."

"Still feeling sorry for yourself, huh," Hvitserk said as he leaned upon the doorjamb.

"If I didn't, nobody else would," Ivar grumbled petulantly.

"And how do you think (Y/N)'s feeling?"

"I don't know, you said she was fine."

Hvitserk ran a hand down his face. "I was covering. If anything she looked...disappointed."

Disappointed in him more likely. He was a disappointment, and not because of his legs as he always feared. When the news of his break-up with you had spread through the family, they all were annoyed with him for making that choice. None more so than his mother. She had been vocal over the years of her dislike for Freydis, and while Ivar knew his mother would have a difficult time accepting any woman he brought home, she had come to reluctantly welcome you into the fold. The rest of his brothers didn't hold back on hurtling their own brand of criticism, each as unique and harsh as they were creative.

"What should I do," He asked aloud, and Hvitserk looked startled by the question. He was the last one in the family anyone looked to for advice, but Ivar already regretted not taking the bit about exs and social media to heart.

"Apologize. That's the only thing left, even if it won't be enough to remove the hurt right away. She needs to know you regret what you've said."

For the first time in a month, Ivar felt a smidgen of hope. "Do you think there's a chance we could start over?"

"I don't know about that. If she holds onto those things you've said as the truth, then she might have a hard time trusting you again. Those relationships never work out," Hvitserk said with a shrug.

"Maybe I should go over there and talk to her," Ivar said, already rising from his bed.

"I wouldn't," Hvitserk replied looking guilty. "Thora's over there now, and she's still pissed at you for hurting (Y/N). If you don't want to end up in grievous harm, I'd stay away for now. Sorry."

Ivar sighed as he plopped back down. "No, I get it."

"Try reaching out slowly, and work your way from there," Hvitserk suggested.

"You're surprisingly not as dumb as you look," Ivar taunted, and the first grin broke out on his face. It felt good to use those muscles again.

"I know, I'm brimming with knowledge and ready to impart wisdom," Hvitserk said with a laugh. He stood up from the door and looked ready to return to the sitting room. "You sure you aren't hungry? I haven't ordered yet."

"I think I could eat. Just give me a moment, I need to finish putting this stuff away." He indicated to the box, and Hvitserk nodded in understanding before closing the door behind him.

Ivar pulled out his phone and searched for your name. All of the things he had to say couldn't be composed of one text message, but he could extend an olive branch and hope it didn't come back as ashes.

I know this is probably coming too late, but I need you to know I'm sorry and I miss you. If you want to, I'd like a chance to meet and explain things, that's it -- Ivar

He hit send before he started to ramble or worse chicken out entirely and not send the thing. He didn't know if you would reach out right away, and he didn't want to know. Getting up from his bed, Ivar hobbled on his crutch, leaving his phone behind in his room to join his brother for dinner. Hvitserk must have sensed his change in mood, but he embraced it rather than asking, and they didn't bring you up again. It was the first time in a month he felt like himself, no heartache over Freydis and no self-pity over losing you. After a late-night of buffoonery, and pizza and beer, the brothers returned to their rooms.

Ivar ignored the phone sitting in the middle of the bed, avoiding it as if it was some cursed thing. He went about his nightly routine, all the while he felt the pull to check if you had replied. He hoped you had. Even if it was just to tell him to fuck off, something was better than no answer. After getting his legs settled beneath the covers, he lied down in bed and shut off the lamp on his side table. Before going to sleep it was time to check if you had seen his olive branch. The glow of his phone lit up his face, and his breath hitched. You had replied. His eyes flitted back and forth, tracing your words to make sure they were real.

I miss you too. Let's talk soon.

Ivar fell asleep right after, with renewed vigor in his heart. He would work to earn your trust back. Whether that meant as a couple or just as friends would be up to you, and Ivar would respect what you decided. So long as you were still in his life, everything would be alright.

Taglist

@pomegranates-and-blood @siren-queen03 @peachyboneless @didiintheblog @soleil-dor @zuxiezendler @pieces-by-me @xbellaxcarolinax @heavenly1927 @everyartistwas-firstanamateur @youbloodymadgenius @xceafh @strangunddurm @shannygoatgruff @1950schick @tgrrose @castielsangelsx @rose1729 @ladynightshade30 @mlchael-guerin @dangerouspsychicgardenflower @ritual-unions-gotme @readsalot73 @lonewolf471 @poisonous00 @alytavzla

[willowbird]

Second ask, can I also ask for andriel proposing (not sure who proposes but plsss)

You bet you can lovie 🔪🧡🦊

-----

The woman on the other side of the counter wouldn't stop smiling at him. Usually, when Andrew glared back at unwelcome overtures of friendliness, all smiles dropped and people did better about leaving him the fuck alone. This particular saleswoman was eerily unaffected.

"We just got a new collection in that we haven't had a chance to set up in display case if nothing here has caught your eye," she suggested now, gesturing toward what Andrew assumed was the back room with an even bigger smile on her face. "You seem like a discerning man. Nothing but the best for your special someone, am I right?"

She wasn't wrong, but Andrew was not about to tell her that. The last thing he needed was for her to start cooing or something. This was why he shouldn't have waited for the last minute to do this and should have just ordered the damn thing online.

A part of him was tempted to wait on it just so that he wouldn't have to go through the pain of ring shopping in person, but the only reason he'd waited so damn long was because he kept second-guessing himself when he knew better. He'd first thought of it almost a year ago now when Neil had first signed on with the San Diego Wolverines, putting him on the opposite end of the country. It had been a gut impulse. He'd wanted Neil to have something not just of his but of them. He'd instantly shut down the embarrassingly romantic thought and hadn't allowed himself to think of it again until a few months later when he finally got to see Neil in person for the first time since the week before summer training.

Well, until Neil had to leave after a too-short visit just before summer training. Then it had been all he could think about for weeks. Every Skype call, every text, every glimpse of Neil playing on the tv.

It had even gotten to the point where he had even fucking brought the idea up to Aaron. Yes, Aaron. He'd called him while watching the playback of one of Neil's games just after the little idiot had antagonized both on-court backliners of the opposite team into going after him. He'd ended slammed against the wall then the floor multiple times, but his partner striker had also managed to get three goals while the backliners were distracted. Neil had limped off the court but not before flipping off the other team and the cameras. Once he was led back to the benches, Andrew got to watch as Neil pulled out his phone - likely to type out the text that had been waiting for Andrew when he'd finished up his own game.

It isn't bad. I'll ice it tonight. Promise.

Because Neil knew that Andrew watched at least the highlights of all his games. He knew that Andrew would see the brutal takedown. Would see him hobble off the court. Exy was a violent sport and mild injuries were common enough - but he knew that him goading and then being taken down by two backliners each double his size would worry Andrew. So the first thing he'd done, before even attempting to insist he wasn't too hurt to finish the game, was text him.

Watching Neil get fussed over by the team's medic, Andrew had dialed his brother.

'I think I want to marry him,' he'd said without a greeting.

'No shit, sherlock. About fucking time,' had been his brother's response.

That had been a couple months ago. And he'd put it off. He'd tried not to think about it. Tried to talk himself out of it.

And in the end, here he was, standing in front of a display case of wedding bands and engagement rings at an airport jewelry store while the saleslady smiled at him like he'd just told her he was going to name his firstborn after her.

Andrew checked his watch and sighed, then nodded at her, making a ‘get on with it’ gesture with one hand. He didn’t have long before his flight would be boarding and nothing in front of him was jumping out as being particularly exceptional. He knew that beggars couldn’t be choosers, him having left this to the last minute as he had, but he may as well see all the available options. 

The woman beamed at him in a way that was quickly getting on his nerves, then quickly scurried off. She returned after only a minute or so, carrying a moderately sized black case. “I’ve got to say, this is probably the most stunning collection we’ve had in. I saw it in the catalog and hoped it would be sent to our store, too.” There were maybe twenty rings in total, and he had to admit -- they were more elegant than most of the others on display. Simple with just small details in etching, stone lay, or shaping to set them apart from each other. There was also a variety of metal colors, from yellow gold to rose to platinum and a darker metal Andrew didn’t know enough about jewelry to name. 

Andrew considered all of them carefully, dismissing the flashier styles and the cumbersome solitaires. He had done a little bit of browsing online in between those flashes of panic uncertainty, and he knew Neil. His partner’s taste wasn’t really a factor, as he didn’t exactly have any (his interest in Andrew being the general exception), but his lifestyle was. With that in mind, Andrew said without looking up, “I will also need a matching chain.”

“A chain?”

Andrew ignored her for the time being as he ran his thumb over a dark-metaled band with a single thread of rose gold running through the center. He plucked it out and took a closer look, imagining it on Neil’s hand and diligently blocking out the rush in his chest at the visualization. Right now was the time for a practical mind. He did not have the time to wallow in any emotional repercussions to making this purchase. 

“This one,” he finally said to the saleswoman, showing her the ring and quoting Neil’s size. “And the chain as well.”

“Oh, of course! Excellent choice. I’m sure your sweetheart will love it.”

Andrew grimaced. “Trust me, he is anything but a sweetheart.” If it surprised the woman at all that he was shopping engagement rings for another man she didn’t show it. She only continued to beam at him, chuckling like he’d made some joke instead of a blatant truth. 

Ten minutes later he had a little black velvet box tucked into his pocket as he made his way back to where most of his team was milling about. Static whirred in the overhead and then a smooth female voice announced it was time to board.

"Flight 87 to San Diego is now boarding in Gate G9." 

For once Andrew wasn’t sure if the swooping in his stomach had to do with the upcoming flight or the weight of a future sitting in his pocket.

-----

Andrew had begrudgingly accepted that he enjoyed playing exy now that he was on a professional level and things were more interesting. He liked working together with his defensive line and the other goalie to form themselves into an impenetrable unit, and he even got along with most of his team. Or, at least, he and most of his team had an understanding.

It was an understanding that allowed them to be at the top of the league and give Andrew the space he needed to not feel smothered. They worked together as a team, and Andrew was always invited to their bonding nights. No one pressured him to actually show and when he did decide to participate no one made a big deal of it. He was permitted to interact on his own terms.

It was a good setup, and so he'd already told his team that he wouldn't be there tonight for whatever after-game dinner they had planned. They also knew that he would be returning to Pennsylvania separately, and only two people were stupid enough to ask about why more than once.

The game went about as expected -- in that Neil’s team lost spectacularly but not without putting up a fight. Even though they lost, Andrew could see Neil brimming with bright, furious energy in the last quarter of the game. He was having the fucking time of his life, and every single time he attacked the goal Andrew caught glimpses of his savage grin.

In the end, it wasn't enough, but Neil was still wearing that smile when they all lined up at center court for handshakes. If Andrew held a bit longer and tighter to Neil's hand when it was their turn, no one seemed to notice.

"You were incredible tonight," Neil said to him once all was said and done - the press handled and both teams showered and dismissed. They were walking across the stadium parking lot to where Andrew's rental was parked. Neil exclusively relied on his bike or public transport and Andrew had not been willing to put up with that bullshit while he was in town.

Andrew snorted. "If you ask me to wear my goalie mask during sex I am going to call it quits, junkie. Contain yourself."

"Wait, is that an option?" Neil stopped walking completely and turned sharply toward him, eyes wide.

Unamused, Andrew shot him a look and kept walking without bothering to dignify that bit of stupidity with a comment.

Neil didn't lag behind for long, laughing brightly as he jogged to catch up. "Joking!" he assured as they reached the car. "Of course I'm joking. The mask would get in the way and, if I'm being completely honest - which I try to do these days - I like being able to see your face."

There was once a time when Andrew would have pointedly kept his gaze turned away so he couldn't see the look he knew was on Neil's face at that moment. Or he would have shoved Neil away, nailed him with a scathing remark, distracted him somehow. It hadn't even been all that long ago, not really. He'd been afraid of what that look meant, cautious of the sentiment it implied, panicked at the threat of what might happen if he let Neil in.

Tonight Andrew did not look away. Instead, he turned his head and basked in the light of Neil's eyes like a cat in the sunlight. He met his gaze and soaked him up, let himself settle into that warmth. If Neil was surprised by Andrew's tolerance it didn't show. He just tilted his head and smiled until Andrew finally lifted a hand and shoved his arm just enough to get him moving.

"Get in the car, you maniac. Let's get back to your place."

Neil chuckled but relented without comment and got into the passenger seat. Andrew hadn't even gotten the car started when he felt Neil's gaze on him again, warm and enveloping like hot chocolate in the bitter winter. Again, Andrew turned to look at him. Again, he basked - just a little.

This time, Neil's expression shifted just slightly, the edges of pain tightening around his eyes. Out of the corner of his eye, Andrew saw Neil's hands curl into fists on his lap.

"I missed you," Neil said quietly, and his voice was tighter than it has been a minute ago. There was a hoarseness of emotion to it that rang in tune with the hollow place in Andrew's own chest.

A hard swallow, then Andrew lifted a hand and cupped Neil's cheek. He brushed his thumb over the scars there, tracing them. He didn't say that he'd missed Neil, too. He didn't say that each day waking up without him near was like waking up without a leg, leaving him aching and frustrated as he had to relearn how to move and function when a vital part of him was too far away to touch. He didn't say... Well, he didn't say anything at all.

Instead, he leaned his forehead against Neil's and took a slow breath in. He waited until he felt Neil do the same, and then they exhaled together, mingling their breaths as proof of their proximity. He felt the warmth of it on his cheeks and another loose and rattling piece inside his chest settled into place. He kissed Neil once, just briefly, on the lips, and then dropped his hand and pulled away to start the car.

-----

Neil's apartment was only a short drive away from the stadium, but traffic dragged it out unnecessarily. They had ordered food ahead of time and swung by the restaurant on the way to pick it up, which added another ten minutes to the drive but it was better than waiting on a delivery. 

Even with the detour for food and the press of traffic slowing them down, the drive itself didn’t actually feel long. Neil carried the conversation, picking up from their last phone call as he talked about his teammates and the strange little hole-in-the-wall diner he’d been frequenting lately or the stupid pictures an overly enthusiastic Matt Boyd had sent him from the pro backliner’s recent trip to the zoo. (“Twelve, Andrew. He sent me twelve pictures of what I’m pretty sure were all of the same ostrich. Ostriches aren’t even that interesting.”)

They split up briefly as they got to Neil’s apartment, Andrew to drop his things off in the bedroom and Neil to unpack the food onto actual plates. Andrew hesitated for only a moment as he parked his suitcase, then crouched before it and unzipped the pocket where he’d stowed the ring. He had no big plan for this. There were no flash mobs waiting around the corner, no puppies with cute ribbon collars, no scheduled flyovers that would drag a banner or write a message in the sky. Andrew didn’t do grand gestures. He did not buy into commercialized love. He also was very aware of who his partner was and knew very well that Neil was the same in that regards. 

Neither of them needed that, wanted it, or - frankly - even understood it.

But Andrew knew that he did want Neil in his life. He knew that he wanted him as his partner. He knew that he wanted him as his husband. It wasn’t something that he and Neil had every really talked about and there was a very real chance that Neil would say no - not because he didn’t want to be with Andrew, because Andrew knew that he did, but because Neil already had an impression of what marriage looked like and it was not a good one. Perhaps if they were different people, with a different sort of relationship, that would have made Andrew table the idea altogether.

But they weren’t other people, and their relationship was theirs and theirs alone. They were Andrew and Neil, not anyone else, and even if he knew nothing else, Andrew knew that even if Neil did not want to marry him, his asking wasn’t going to hurt them.

So he didn’t have any big plans. He hadn’t hired singers or put together a collage of their relationship. He didn’t invite their friends and family or light candles or spread out flower petals. He didn’t even get down on one knee.

Instead, Andrew took that little box in his hand and walked out of the bedroom and directly to the living room where Neil had set their dinner on two tv trays in front of the couch as he fiddled with remote to put on one of their favorite seasons of Hell’s Kitchen. Neil smiled over at him when he heard him coming. 

“Hey, perfect timing. Did you want to start right at the beginning or skip to episode two since we watched the first episode last week? I kinda want to start right at the beginning.”

Andrew shrugged, which Neil took as agreement and turned back to the tv to select the first episode. 

“Pause it for a moment,” Andrew said as he sank onto the couch beside Neil, though he kept his gaze on the frozen flames on the screen even as Neil turned to fully face him. He always did that - always gave Andrew his full and undivided attention even when he had no idea what Andrew wanted to say. For Neil, it was always just enough that Andrew wanted to say anything at all. 

A hiccup of nerves spasmed suddenly and uncomfortably in his chest, but Andrew batted it away. All he was doing was asking a question. Just one more to the hundreds of thousands that he had already asked over the last several years. This question was no different. It meant nothing more and nothing less than any of those other questions. 

So Andrew asked it the same way. 

He turned and met Neil’s eyes, then revealed the box without any particular flourish or grandeur. He watched as confusion smoothed to surprise then understanding as Andrew opened the box to show the ring inside. 

Then he said, “Yes, or no?”

He had meant for the words to be casual and even, but they came out softer than he intended. The hand that held the box was shaking, too - which Andrew only noticed when both of Neil’s hands cupped under it. 

Neil looked from the ring up to Andrew’s face and, like he always seemed to be able to, read more there than anyone ever could. Those blue eyes warmed to summer, his smile turning soft and filled with a sentiment that did not, could not, have a description in any of the languages that Andrew knew. Andrew didn’t know what Neil saw when he looked at him like that. He had never asked and probably never would. He wasn’t sure he was ready to know, wasn’t sure he would ever be ready. 

“Andrew,” Neil said, his voice just as quiet, and Andrew realized he was holding his breath. “You know it’s always yes with you.”

Something terrifyingly wonderful seized Andrew’s chest and squeezed. It dried out his throat and beat heavy drums in the center of his chest. It took too much effort for Andrew to nod his acknowledgement, and his hand was still shaking as he plucked the ring from the box and revealed that it was on a chain. “So you can keep it with you,” he said in explanation, his voice coming out a bit too hoarse. 

“I want to wear it now.” Neil’s voice wobbled. He laughed as they both tried and failed to unlatch the clasp several times before getting it - both of them with hands too shaky to get it on the first try. 

Then Neil was wearing it, and he was smiling, and there was this glow in Andrew’s chest that he didn’t think would ever really fade. 

[angelicmichael]

Willow

Michael Langdon x reader

Summary: Reader, who is a witch (not tied to the og coven) is best friends with Michael. They decide to spend Valentines day together in outpost three. Based on this post, and the 'willow' music video by Taylor Swift.

Words: 3.0k+

Warnings: mentions of rituals/covens (its vague tho), slow burn, light angst, mutual pining, gross fluff, plot heavy and VERY descriptive I'm sorry dhdhd, valentines day fic, mentions of food, friends to lovers

A/N: yall rlly liked my last Michael blurb so I made this kinda similar!! Also the idea of witch! Reader not being tied to the og coven is NOT my idea, others have done it before - I just did it cause it made sense w the music video this fic is based off of ✌🏻. This is mostly me self indulging ngl so if the fic doesnt make sense that's why haha. The v beginning is like Sojourn! Era and then the rest of the fic is somewhere between fire & reign and outpost era. this fic is rlly just me trying to say happy early mf valentines day !! 💖💖 okay bye

February 14th was always a day you dreaded; The idea and concept of a whole fucking holiday being dedicated to just love.. really put a bitter taste in your mouth. In your opinion, it was just a reason for couples to show a disgusting amount of PDA and get away with it.

However; due to a incredibly corny and cliché situation you found yourself in; you now were seeing the incoming holiday in a different light. When you thought of the holiday.. You first thought of Michael. Michael Langdon.

Meeting Michael at all was a complete accident - You met months ago in fall; on a dark cloudy night. Every detail from that evening was etched and woven into your mind as if it had just happened yesterday; and you could only hope that it would remain that way forever. After all; that was the night when you had met your favorite person. You even remembered the weather.. The bitterness of the cold wind making it seem as if it was seconds from storming.

You were part of a small coven which was meeting due to a full moon, it was a rather mundane and basic ritual you were preforming. One of which you had preformed more times you could even count on your fingers.. However; what made that ritual special is that your coven happened to be recruiting.

Full black outfits, including thin, long cloaks is what everyone wore to the occasion.. After everything was over and done with; you went to leave - the bitter coldness of the night urging you to leave rather quickly.

However; something.. almost a invisible force made you stop walking away from the crowd and made you physically stop. You slowly stopped walking; and turned around. You sharply gasped when you saw a figure directly in front of you - wearing a dark ensemble that matched yours nearly identically.

Immediately you grew weary. A sharp, nauseated feeling started to manifest inside of you.

"Were you following me"? You spoke with your voice raised, your hands which previously fell loosely at your side were starting to curl into fists.

You could feel yourself getting defensive. You quickly flicked your eyes over at the other coven members - making sure you weren't causing a scene; not wanting to draw attention to the situation until it grew necessary.

"Yes, but.. look. I just wanted to talk to you.. away from the others". The boy stated.

You bit your lip to suppress a groan. You rolled your eyes, not really caring that he could see how bothered you were.

"Fine. But c'mon, make it quick". You said, not trying to hide the irritation in your voice.

You turned around and walked a few feet away from the crowd, not looking back but merely expecting him to follow you. You were expecting he was just another newbie with dumb questions, or needed clarification on something.

You turned to talk to him, and that's when you noticed something you about him you seemed to overlook earlier - his beauty. You were completely taken aback and breath taken. Light blue eyes met your gaze as you stared blankly at him; momentarily stunned. He looked beyond ethereal; his pale cheeks flushed a light pink from the cold and his blonde hair looked as if it could be spun from gold. It was almost like he could sense how you were suddenly taken aback.. A smug smirk played on his lips; if you didn't know any better you would say he almost seemed cocky.

"There's something about you that's different from the others. I could sense it". He stated.

"How"? You stuttered.

You watched as he took a couple steps toward you and in one quick swoop, pushed the hood of his cloak fully back. He got even closer but you didn't dare move. You watched him curiously as he turned to the side, pushing his blonde locks of hair out of the way to show you something behind his ear.. Your blood instantly went cold once you saw three sixes; however you weren't scared. In fact you were really the first person that Michael met that didn't practically faint when they saw his mark. Looking back; you supposed that's why you and Michael bonded so quickly and became so close.

It didn't take long for him after that to confine in you that people either avoided him or became obsessed once they knew; both reactions ultimately stemming from fear. You were the first person to look past that and to just see him as a actual human being - not just a vessel for some fucked up prophecy to play out.

Even though Michael's beauty was undeniable to you; the relationship you two had was strictly platonic.. and in the past that was never something that bothered you. You supposed that he was tired of people throwing themselves at his feet and what he really needed more than anything was a friend - so you chose to be that for him, not daring to try and test the boundaries your relationship had.

However; the boundaries were seemingly starting to come down naturally - because your relationship wasnt entirely platonic anymore. Things between you two weren't exactly black and white as they used to be; a great example of this, was how you two were planning on spending Valentines Day together.

You and Michael agreed to spend it as friends. Neither of you had a date and spending Valentines alone when you had Michael seemed redundant.. and honestly just boring. Instead of making Valentines day an all day event; it started for you two as a 'date' at 6 pm.

In order to avoid having to confront putting a label on your.. situationship, the venue for your lavish Valentines date was at a more.. private venue. He only gave you a address and instructions, you didn't really know what exactly to expect but you knew you weren't going to his house. It was somewhere new.

It was nearly six pm, the sun had just set - leaving the sky a shade somewhere between navy blue and pure black. The air was cold on your skin as you stepped out of the car, wondering where the hell you even were.

The area you found yourself in was completely bare and void of any trees, the only object or building you saw was a giant, black, metal structure. The instructions Michael gave you had told you about this but.. seeing it in person was merely jarring, oddly unsettling. You approached it, trying to ignore the nerves and anxiety you could feel creeping in.

You couldn't help but wonder what the hell this place was and why out of all the places you two could have a 'date', it would have to be here?

As you stood in front of an elevator - stepping in, you felt very reluctant to do so. It definitely felt a bit weird that Michael wanted to meet you in such a secluded place but.. he was your best friend. He would never hurt you.. especially on valentines day.. Right?

The doors opened and you slowly stepped out, immediately taken back. You were now in a oval room, with a long hallway stretching out. You first quickly scanned your surroundings for Michael but, he wasnt here. Not in your line of vision anyway. You nearly forgot you were here for Michael at all for a second. The interior was breathtaking; resembling a old, Victorian style mansion. Even though you were still utterly confused; Michaels reasoning for choosing this venue was starting to become more clear to you.

It was the cozy, romantic vibe the 'house' seemed to radiate. The dim lighting also amplified this affect; seemingly giving everything in sight a subtle golden glow, otherwise everything remained relatively dark. You walked through the building; down hallways, looking for any sounds of life at all. Your witchy senses didn't always work on Michael, so you didn't even bother to try to use those. He was right about how you were powerful but, his powers still outshone yours unfortunately.

You finally heard something, something faint; soft music playing distantly in the background. You followed it swiftly, the music getting louder and louder until you found him - in what appeared to be the library.

The room was immense; books were lined on shelves that bordered the room. Couches, along with a decent sized fireplace and chandelier - and of course a record player, also resided in the library. Playing a tune that sounded similar but you couldn't quite remember what it was.. whatever it was, it sounded old and romantic - maybe from the 50s.

"Your not very good at hiding, you know. The music was a dead giveaway". You commented playfully.

Michael greeted you with a smirk, obviously holding back laughter. He stood up from one of the couches; approaching you. He looked incredibly handsome in the normal black ensemble he was wore but tonight he sported a long black coat. Making you fondly nostalgic of the night you two met.

He got dangerously close to you, almost in your face but you weren't intimidated. Plus, you knew he wasnt trying to actually intimidate you. Michael being the way he was; you knew he wouldn't have asked you to spend Valentines with him if he didn't tolerate you in some way.

"Its a good thing I wasnt trying to hide then, is it"? He spoke; his eyes pierced into yours.

The direct eye contact was starting to get unnerving and so was the.. apparent tension. You took a step back, looking away and laughing awkwardly - trying to remind yourself you two were strictly friends. Best friends, in fact. Nothing more.. and nothing less.

"So.. what even is this place? You don't own this or something.. do you"? You asked, slyly changing the topic.

"Actually I do. It's being saved for something I have in the works; but nothing's official yet. I wanted to get your opinion though.. what do you think"? Michael asked.

Even though you absolutely loved, whatever the hell this place even was, something.. felt off. Perhaps it was the fact it was completely secluded and private. Too private. You knew Michael was into some weird shit with the Satanists but; you figured he would atleast tell you by now if he was planning on something big with them.. Something that would require a huge fucking mansion underground.

"This place is beautiful, Michael. But what is it for"?

"Your too eager for your own good, (y/n). You will know in due time, I promise; but for now.. come sit with me".

He gently grabbed your wrist and guided you over to one of the bare, black couches; you followed - sitting next to him.

The hours continuing were filled with incredibly cheesy gestures that you only rolled your eyes at, and teased him for. The first being a few small, pink flowers he had conjured up and then tucked into your hair. At first you really thought nothing of it, they were just pretty flowers. However; you knew due to Michael's nature that he didn't just so happen to come across those flowers, he summoned them purposefully - specifically for you.. You didn't bother to try and hide how flustered this made you.

"Those are beautiful; what are they"? You asked, gesturing to the flowers.

"Thought you'd never ask. Wild roses. They hold many meanings; most agree they represent both love, suffering, beauty.. life. They're even said to protect the living from the dead".

You couldn't help but to laugh at his explanation.

"Will they protect me from you? You know your not exactly human yourself". You teased.

The corner of Michael's lips slid into a slow smile, one that you couldn't quite decipher whether it was an ironic or genuine gesture.

You nearly jumped at how quickly one of Michael's hands suddenly slid up into your hair; seemingly picking out one of the petals that had fallen from one of the flowers - he retracted his hand, holding onto the petal.

"No. Your going to need something stronger than that to keep me away". He said playfully, before crushing the already wilted petal in his hand - letting it fall carelessly to ground.

You could only roll your eyes.

Next came the food and well.. you were beyond impressed. Your not certain exactly how he managed to get your favorite food down who knows how many feet underground, but.. he did. And it was perfect.

You were both pretty quiet during that time; Michael didn't really have a reason to be but you couldn't help but to get lost within your thoughts. Sure; you two were best friends but.. that didn't necessarily warrant him to do all of this for you. Was it possible that he felt.. something else, like you did?

You couldn't help but to shut that thought down as quick as it came; that had to just be you projecting. There was no way in hell he could love you back..

Wait.. love?

It was like a involuntary reflex the way you suddenly jolted up and backed away from the table. Even though it was just a thought, the fact you just admitted to yourself that you loved him.. What the fuck did that even mean?

Michael looked startled at well, you could tell by the color of his knuckles that he now had a death grip on his silverware. His icy, blue eyes matched yours with a startled gaze.. As if he was trying to contemplate your next move or to get a good read on you. You were more than well acquainted with Michael's powers by now; you knew how he had the ability to read minds and that's partially why you found yourself, slowly at first, starting to take steps away from him. Wanting desperately to get the fuck away from him. You knew that if Michael even suspected what you were thinking or how you felt, that your friendship could possibly be over. That would be it, he would want absolutely nothing to do with you. You would be no better than the dozens of women and even men that threw themselves at Michael; Maybe even worse.

You made it down a random hallway until you found yourself physically colliding into him - fucking transmutation.

You felt a sudden urge to just turn around to try and escape again but you knew he wouldn't let you. Instead you let yourself be captive, you let him hold you. Gently encasing you into a hug. It was painful how hard you were trying to hold back your tears - blindly running away was already embarrassing enough, letting him see you cry would be too much.. Too much for one night, anyways. You felt him let go of you - stepping back a little bit in order to make eye contact with you.

"What has gotten into you-" He started.

"Michael- I'm so sorry but I just need to go. We can talk about this tomorrow but for now I just really need to be alone-"

You tried to turn around in order to make another (more calm) attempt at leaving but you felt something grab at your wrist, yet again. His grasp, along with his hand were achingly soft. You hated how much you enjoyed him making physical contact with you - even if it was something just as docile as this. You also couldn't help but to hate the spark of electricity you felt when his skin touched yours - and you couldn't help but to wonder whether he felt it too.

"No. I need to know what I did wrong. I'm not letting us end today like this". Michael said, his voice was strained with emotion.

His words were spoken urgently, his voice unsteady and even threatening to break.. That's when you knew you completely fucked up. He totally misinterpreted your actions.. the sudden realization hit you, piercing your heart like a knife.

"No, your right. Can we sit"? You asked.

He let go of your wrist coldly, sauntering out of the hallway you two were in. You would be lying if you were to admit that his sudden cold actions didn't hurt you; it definitely stung but you couldn't help to feel in this moment that you kind of deserved it.

The walk over was quiet and even a bit awkward. When you two sat; he looked at you expectedly.. waiting for you to talk first and explain your sudden, impulsive actions.

"It wasnt you.. that's not why I tried to leave at all, Michael. You did everything right. I mean that's really the 'problem', even though calling it a problem still isn't the right word but.." You paused before carrying on.

"What you did tonight for me was perfect, and I'm so thankful for that, truly. But I just feel like I'm starting to interpret your actions in a different way than in which you mean them and that's not fair to you. I know you just want a friend-" Your words continuously came out faster the longer you spoke, you were completely rambling at this point but Michael stopped you.

"Hey, stop". He said softly.

You felt as if you were dreaming when you saw him start to move closer to you.. it happened so quickly it almost felt fake. Michael gently pushed you back onto the couch, so that you were basically laying down flat on your back. You pulled him back with you so that he was on top, your hands automatically going to his shoulders.. feeling the sudden urge to yank his black top off and to feel his skin under your palms. The feeling was tempting; you could feel how hot his skin was even with his shirt on. You assumed your hands were cold by the way Michael shivered and even groaned when you touched him, that had to be the only logical explanation for him acting like that..

The manner in which he bent down, his lips getting closer and closer to yours was nothing but diabolic. He stopped until the point where his lips were just ghosting above yours - maybe only really a mere centimeter away from touching. It felt entirely far too tempting to just - barely tilt your head forward and stop whatever game your friend Langdon was trying to play, but.. you didnt. In reality; the teasing was far too delicious for you to want it to end so soon.

"Who said I just wanted to be friends"? He whispered.

You could taste his breath as he spoke, you felt trapped.. But if you were to be honest with yourself, you wouldn't rather spend Valentines Day any other way than in this manner.. Trapped with your absolute favorite person, with nothing else in the world to do but to get lost in each other.

His lips roughly collided with yours with such passion that you really haven't ever felt before. It threw you off guard for a moment, but you figured there was no sense in shying from it. You had been craving to be loved by him for so long; craving for him to touch you like this and now that it was finally happening.. you only relaxed and embraced the feeling.

Time slipped away from you far too quickly but after all; time didn't really feel real at all when you were underground in a bunker. No windows or clocks to help ground you back into reality..

You knew it was atleast passed midnight now; hours had passed and you two were now residing in one of the random rooms that you had come to learn was of 'Outpost Three'. It was apparent how careful he was with his words when he told you about the place; almost like he didn't want to tell you too much. He told you most of everything, like the cooperative and how this building was for some type of event that would be taking place in the summer but you didn't probe farther. You knew he would tell you in all due time.

You two were lying on a random, spare bed. It was luxurious and dangerously soft, but if you were honest - the sheets almost seemed scratchy in comparison to Michaels bare skin. Your head wasnt on a pillow but instead on Michael's bare chest, his rhythmic heart beat nearly lulling you to sleep. Almost putting you in some type of odd trance.

You both watched the movie that was playing on his laptop; propped up on a few sparse pillows at the end of the bed. Although you really weren't trying to keep up with what was happening or what the actors were even saying. Instead, you chose to be fully present with Michael, almost entranced in his presence. You two weren't talking but, just being surrounded by him - feeling his fingers lazily playing with your hair was heaven to you.

You still felt as if you were in a dream. After all in what timeline would you ever be so lucky to call someone like Michael, yours?? Even though you two weren't exactly official, you really didn't mind at this moment. Labels only seemed to really complicate things and in your opinion; you felt more than privileged to just sit here entangled with Michael, and to escape the rest of reality for a while.

Taglist: @mina672 @michaellangdonstanaccount @langdonsexual @jimmason @blakewaterxx @dark-mei-rose @9layerdevilfoodcake @prophecy-is-inevitable @matildaofoz @beautyiswithinchaos @frenchlangdon

[thestraggletag]

Virtual Session, A Rumbelle Zoom Fic

Rating: Explicit.

Summary: Town meetings were usually drab, boring events, and having them over Zoom hadn't improved them much. Or so Mr Gold thought, until he forgot to log out of the meeting after it ended, only to discover a half-naked Belle French had also forgotten to do so.

SOMEONE PLEASE COMMENT WITH A BETTER SUMMARY I HATE IT.

Based on this prompt.

“We will review your presentation and hold a virtual vote before the month is up, Miss French. Thank you very much for your time.”

The mayor adjusted her suit jacket, her shirt riding up as she did so and unknowingly displaying the telltale white check of her Adidas yoga pants. Royce snickered, taking advantage of the fact he was muted.

“As there are no other pending topics on today’s agenda this virtual session is adjourned.”

He half-expected her to produce a gable out of thin air and bang it against her marble countertop. All around him people began to say their goodbyes and log out of Zoom, lest Regina decide to spring a surprise motion at the last minute. There was no need to flee, however, as Regina herself was one of the first to log off. Given the amount of smoke he had spotted coming from behind her right before she exited he did not need to guess what had caused her sudden departure.

“I guess no apple turnover for dessert at Madame Mayor’s.”

He heard an adorable chuckle and did not need to glance at the screen again to guess who it was. Very few people found his brand of dark humour palatable, but the librarian seemed to love it. It was nice, he soon found out, to have someone appreciate his often ill-received quips. It was one of the things he had first noticed about her. Well, other than her stunning eyes. And perhaps her hair, which was a lovely shade of reddish-brown. Her legs too, he acknowledged reluctantly, so nicely-displayed by her short skirts and high heels. And her-

He stopped himself. That way lay madness and he knew it. It was one thing to admire in an unattached way, from a distance. He was a connoisseur of beautiful things, after all, and Belle French was certainly beautiful. Unfortunately she also happened to have a lovely personality. Kind, generous, open, but also bold, defiant and the littlest bit dark. She flaunted the rules of smalltown society by wearing what the matrons around town considered “inappropriate clothing” for a librarian, and speaking to anyone and everyone, including those that polite society would urge her to shun. Drank beer with the miners, for example, men deemed “too coarse” for genteel women, and stocked the library with altogether undesirable books, be it because they dealt with unseemly issues or because they were from traditional authors. Which, he was sure, was code for “white men”, even if Mother Superior never quite spelled it out in such terms.

She was altogether dangerous for him, with her mix of light and dark, so he was always on his guard, lest his thoughts veer too far into dangerous territory. He didn’t fear scorn or derision if his feelings became too obvious for her to ignore. Belle was altogether too kind for that. But to be gently yet firmly rebuffed, and have their subsequent interactions laced by the barest hint of pity from her, would be unbearable. 

“I’m pretty sure that at least Mr Spencer didn’t hear a word I said. His camera was off during the whole of my presentation.” The librarian huffed, clearly bothered that her proposal to increase the library’s budget to repair the East Wing’s leaky ceiling wouldn’t get a fair shot. The wing was currently closed, and had been since she had taken the post of librarian, but with the newfound need of social-distancing, particularly in enclosed spaces, she hoped she could change that, make the town council see the need for more space in the library. “Though perhaps he didn’t want to be yelled at again for not being in a three-piece suit for a virtual town meeting.”

He briefly paused to remember Spencer’s red face when Regina had chastised him for wearing a white polo shirt instead of a shirt and tie during the last meeting.

“Kinda hypocritical of Madame Mayor, given she was a couple of clothing articles shy of a full tracksuit tonight.”

They shared a conspiratorial laugh, and he hoped the camera somehow toned down the stupid look on his face. He tried to avoid direct eye contact, looking instead mildly-interested in her living-room. Her laptop seemed to be perched somewhere on her dining-room table, giving him a great view of the rest of her flat, which was a loft, so it was open space, with exposed brick and tall ceilings. Though small it was tastefully-decorated, and with enough bookcases to make it seem like it was a part of the library he had never been to, if it weren’t for the kitchen area and the- and he told himself to stop looking at it- queen-size bed.

“Well, Miss French, at the risk of getting ahead of myself I can confidently state that things are looking good for your project. It was an excellent presentation and I could see Midas and Hopper were clearly in favour. That leaves the Mayor and Spencer outnumbered. Hell, I think even Regina will vote yes on this one. I know she’s keen on finding a place for students with connectivity issues to go do their homework and attend some classes. Fingers crossed the voting goes your way.”

He smiled at her, trying to look reassuring instead of besotted, and they exchanged their goodbyes. He closed his laptop, deciding that he needed a stiff drink first and a cold shower later, and went over to his wet bar, where after some debate he picked up a bottle of Ardberg and poured himself three fingers of Scotch, opting to forgo the ice and drink it straight. The alcohol burned pleasantly on its way down, making him loosen up almost immediately. He went over to the window, undoing the buttons of his vest and slipping it off as he did, feeling warmed by the whiskey. He chanced a glance outside, where the night remained crisp and clear, thankfully devoid of snow. It was still bitterly cold, though, and he hoped the library’s heating system, which was in need of maintenance as well, would not fail. The money for its maintenance had already been allocated and the budget for the work set, but perhaps he could email the person in charge of the job and… persuade them to make it a priority. The work should’ve already been done, but the pandemic had put a temporary stop on jobs like that with the exception of emergencies. Now that things were slowly returning to normal he was confident he could get the people working on the library by the end of the week with three sentences or less.

He went back to his laptop, determined to send the email as soon as possible. He opened it up and noticed, at first, that his camera light was still on. Almost as soon as his brain connected the dots and realised that he had forgotten to log off Zoom he noticed something else: so had Belle French. She was walking around her house, seemingly tidying things up and humming as she went along. It was a lovely, domestic little display, and though he knew he needed to log off fucking Zoom and stop intruding on what Miss French clearly thought was the privacy of her own home, he didn’t move the mouse. Surely there was no harm in indulging a bit. He was a lonely man, partly by design and partly by circumstance, and though he often told himself he wasn’t missing out on anything, he had to admit it was nice to- albeit accidentally- share an intimate moment with someone he had an affinity with. He imagined, for a moment, that instead of her living-room he was seeing her in his, picking up discarded books or perhaps the remnants of a tea they had shared together. He quickly shook himself out of that fantasy, alarm bells ringing in his mind, and refocused in the present, where Belle was taking off her cardigan. Well, surely, that meant the heating system was holding, which was a good thing. Which reminded him of his idea to write-

He glanced at the monitor again, where Belle French was now shimming out of her skirt.

He blinked, idiotically-confused for a second, as if the thought of a woman undressing was news for him. After the initial shock he took in all the details, fixsting on the black stripe on the back of her sheer black stockings, which she rolled down with painstaking care, the gesture almost painfully erotic. She started on the buttons of her sheer maroon shirt, undoing them with ease and shrugging out of the garment. The black camisole she wore underneath did nothing to conceal her lacy black culotte, which hugged her perfect ass like it was made for her. She went to unpin her hair next, letting the bobby pins that kept it off her sides of her face drop into a little ceramic bowl on her vanity. He was surprised at how much seeing her walk around her house with bare feet, shaking her hair out and stretching her limbs affected him. There was nothing inherently sensual about her movements, yet he was transfixed, unable to look away. Any hope of containing his attraction or attachment to the librarian vanished into thin air at that moment, leaving him equal parts scared and turned on.

It was then that his mostly-unused sense of decency decided to let itself be known, a wave of shame washing through him at the notion of what he was doing. Miss French had every right to her privacy, and here he was, violating it in the worst possible way. He should log out immediately and stay away from the librarian for a rather long time, enough for-

“Royce?”

His heart lurched painfully in his chest at the sound of her voice. Slowly, reluctantly, he turned his head towards the screen, telling himself that he deserved the scorn and disgust he was sure to see in the librarian’s face. But whatever hasty apologies and half-formed excuses he was about to blurt out died on his lips the moment he saw her: she was standing in profile, arms crossed in front of her chest and hands grasping the hem of her camisole, prepared to take it off, and her head was turned to the side, her eyes on her laptop screen. She didn’t look accusatory, or disgusted. She didn’t even look embarrassed. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes shone, but it looked more like… like... 

Arousal.

“I’m here, sweetheart.”

He could hardly recognise the low, growly burr as his voice. It sounded uncouth and harsh, like the way he used to speak back in Glasgow. He had worked for years on toning down his accent, letting only the barest hint of it show when he was trying to intimidate someone. Never enough to sound too much like he did back in his youth, and yet he hadn’t managed to quite rid himself of it. 

On screen Belle lifted the hem of her camisole a few inches, exposing supple, creamy skin. Royce tried hard not to swallow his own tongue. She bit her lip, suddenly hesitant, and fuck him if that sliver of vulnerability wasn’t the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. 

“Is this… Is this okay?” 

It took him an embarrassingly-long time to understand that Belle fucking French was asking him if it was alright for her to strip in front of him, presumably for their mutual enjoyment. He reminded himself that he had had only one glass of Scotch, not enough to dismiss whatever was happening as a drunken daydream. Which he might have had, from time to time. About Belle. Maybe.

“It’s perfect, sweetheart.” 

Her lips curled into a coy smile, the growl in his voice making her shiver, and in one swift motion removed her camisole, revealing a lacy black bandeau bra with delicate details done in leavers lace. It matched her knickers, he noticed idly, and the black contrasted amazingly with her pale, softly-blushed skin. His keen eye noticed the exquisite craftsmanship right away. It was an expensive set, no doubt, and given how she was wearing during a commonplace day where she planned to stay home it led him to the conclusion that Belle French simply owned a lot of fancy lingerie, to the point that she wore it as an everyday sort of garment. He was very sure he would never again be able to look at her and not think about that.

“You’re gorgeous.”

In any other situation he would’ve been embarrassed to sound so… Reverent. So incredibly not in control of the situation. He might be fully-dressed, a man of means with a position of political power in their little hamlet and she might be a half-naked small-town librarian but he was absolutely powerless at the moment. And what was worse, he enjoyed it. 

“Thank you, Mr Gold.”

Though he loved the way she said “Gold”, with enough irreverence to turn her tone teasing, he desperately wanted her to say his name.

“Call me Royce, sweetheart.”

She walked over to the table, flipped the chair and sat down, draping her arms loosely around the backrest, the position loose and cocky. There was no doubt in her now, no hesitance. She had assumed control of the situation, for which he was grateful. She tilted her head to a side, sizing him up.

“You’re wearing a lot of clothes, Royce. I feel at a disadvantage.”

She smiled, looking supremely unconcerned, but there was a glint in her eyes he recognised quite easily. Greed. And not the kind he was used to seeing in people who frequented his shop to strike one of his infamous deals. It was different. It certainly felt different to him, hit him right beneath his gut in a way that felt both uncomfortable and pleasant. Without quite thinking his fingers went to the knot of his tie, already loosened, and tugged expertly, untying it in seconds. The silk made a soft, hissing sound as it slipped off his neck, which sounded loud in the otherwise dead silence of the room. Belle followed his movements avidly from the screen, and the look of utter absorption on her face gave him the surge of bravery he needed to tackle the buttons of his shirt till he could shimmy out of it. He was wearing a white undershirt beneath, but his arms and throat were bare, making him feel ridiculously exposed. 

“You have many layers. I like that about you.” Belle dropped her gaze, looking coy and vulnerable at the same time. “I like a lot of things about you.”

“Me too.” He tried to stop himself, but it was easier said than done. “Too many things, actually. But I’ve always understood that it would be foolish to expect anything to come of that.” He looked at Belle, draped over her chair and in her underwear. “Well, perhaps I was wrong.”

Belle smiled.

“You’re finally getting it. Good boy.”

He forced himself not to react visibly to those words, even though the moment he heard them it was like being struck by lightning. Thankfully the camera caught him from the waist up, hiding the embarrassing way his cock had perked up a second earlier. He could not hide his flushed face, however, or the way his eyes glazed over the slightest bit. 

“Tell you what. I’ll take off my bra if you lose the t-shirt. It’s a fair deal.”

It wasn’t. As far as he was concerned he was getting the far better end of the deal but he would never dream of telling her that. Tipping his hand was not his style. 

“Deal.”

He said it in the pleased, soft burr he usually reserved for his less savoury business arrangements, the kind that needed to be sealed in the cloak of night in some remote, deserted location. Belle shivered, and he enjoyed the thought that his voice made her react so. Feeling bold he grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked it off,      baring himself from the waist up. He saw and felt the librarian’s eyes roam over his torso. It wasn’t a pretty sight. He had scars from his dodgy upbringing in Glasgow, and some from his learning days restoring antiques. He was fond of the sun so at least he was not pasty white, or overly hairy, but he didn’t have much in the way of muscles. Belle, however, seemed to appreciate his more lean physique, if the heat of her gaze was any indication. After she seemed to have her fill of staring she leaned back and deftly unhooked her bra, letting the straps slide down her arms till the garment was on the floor. 

He stared. Couldn’t help himself really. Belle French’s tits were perfect. Fucking perfect. Just the right size, incredibly soft-looking and with the loveliest nipples he had ever seen, a rosy-pink that he would never be able to get out of his head. The kind of breasts that would ruin a man for other women. He certainly felt like no other breasts could ever tempt him again. 

“Royce, are you okay?”

Her voice sounded a delightful mix of amused and slightly worried, so he forced himself to nod, still unable to look away.

“Fucking perfect.”

Fuck, was that his voice? He sounded… dazed. He fought the instinct to slap some sense into himself. Belle draped herself across the back of the chair again, and though the position hid her breasts somewhat it didn’t do so completely. 

“I love how soft you are. Underneath the hardass pawnbroker exterior, I mean. Soft, and kind and funny. So funny. It’s one of your most attractive qualities.”

Most people wouldn’t think so. His brand of humour was dark, sometimes too much. And yet Belle always laughed, always caught on to his quips and seemed to appreciate them in a consporatory way. She could also dish it out, but in a far more subtle way that he was sure most people didn’t catch on to. Softly-spoken sarcasm delivered in a lilting accent. 

What was not to love?

He told her so. Unburdened himself completely, caught up in his own physical vulnerability and hers. It felt safe to tell her of his feelings, of how days where he knew he would see her were brighter, and how he liked when they shared a smile or exchanged a comment on a book. How his heart fluttered when he watched her read to the children, and how another part of his anatomy altogether reacted when she strutted around town with her short skirts and devil-may-care attitude. Liked how she thumbed her nose at the pearl-clutchers in town, doing things her way. Completely unsuited for boring, conventional small-town life, and yet wholly at home in Storybrooke, to the point where he could not imagine the town without her.

He shut up after that, noticing how she seemed to have changed, her mood going from loose and flirty to… anxious? No, that wasn’t the right word. Unsettled, perhaps.

“I can’t do this.” The sudden sentence felt like a slap in the face, but the moment his face dropped she seemed to backpedal. “No, no, not like that! I mean… I wanna touch you. I want to be in the same room. With even less clothes on. This… It suddenly doesn’t feel like enough.”

She was fucking right, he realised. He felt itchy all of a sudden. Unfulfilled. Empty.

“Come over.”

“What?”

Belle seemed genuinely surprised, but the way her skin flushed and her eyes got big let him know she was very open to the idea.

“Come the fuck over. It’s fucking cold anyway and the heating system at the library is shite at the moment. Come over and I’ll keep you warm, sweetheart.”

He was rather impressed with his blunt bit of bravery, born out of a consuming need more than anything, and even more impressed when it looked like it worked. Belle scrambled out of the chair, throwing a lovely little nightie on before getting her coat and scarf. 

“Be there in a few. See you!”

She disconnected before he could tell her to bundle up. It was fucking freezing outside and that nightie and her stockings and shoes would do nothing against the cold, coat or no coat. A moment later he realised he was sitting down in his pants, socks and shoes and nothing else while Belle fucking French was coming over to... 

Fuck.

He scrambled up, fishing for his cane in a hurry and having just enough presence of mind to disconnect from Zoom. He went upstairs to his room, deciding that it would be awkward for him to still be wearing pants. And socks. And shoes. So he chucked all that off, throwing a dressing gown over his boxers, pausing to put on his house slippers, glad beyond words he had recently bought new ones. After that he went downstairs to the kitchen and popped a bottle of champagne, looking into his pantry for the box of chocolate truffles from Kreuther, a treat he had gotten himself after visiting a state sale in Midtown Manhattan a week ago. He arranged the impromptu offerings on the dining room table, and when the bell rang he told himself he was ready. He opened the door, finding a rosy-cheeked and clearly shivering Belle on the other side, hair windswept, as if she had run there. Taking into account her heels it was rather impressive.

Belatedly he thought about the scene she had walked into. He in his dressing gown, with champagne flutes and truffles on the table and a fire roaring in the living-room, a scenario ripe for debauching. But perhaps she wished to talk more, to explore their emotional intimacy. Perhaps the trek there had killed her ardour and all she wanted and needed was to get warm and comfortable. He didn’t want to come off as… expecting anything.

Belle, however, seemed to not share his concerns. She took one look at him, one look at the softly-lit space behind him and the food laid out and smiled.

“You brilliant, wonderful man.”

A second late she was in his arms. Cold, but soft and smelling of orange blossoms and frost. She tilted her head up, slanting her lips across before he could blink and it was… wonderful. The coolness of her lips contrasted with the searing heat of her mouth, making for a rather delicious contrast of sensations. He used the hand not clutching his cane for dear life to find the buttons of her coat, undoing them one by one with barely-contained impatience. Finally he had the coat opened and could snake his arm around her waist. The silk of her small camisole was soft to the touch, and let him feel the warmth of her skin beneath.

He needed to feel more. Now that she was safe in the warmth of his house she didn’t need her coat or scarves and went about the business of removing both without separating himself from her. It took a lot of tugging and pulling and a couple of missteps that landed her up against the wall, to his utter delight, but she was finally rid of both. Her skin, despite the toasty temperature inside the house, was still chilly from the outside.

“Come close to the fire, sweetheart.”

They managed to stumble across the hallway and into the living room, where they seemed to come to the mutual conclusion that remaining standing was not conducive to their current situation. The rug near the fireplace, thankfully, was thick and soft, and the couple of throw blankets he quickly spread over it made it more so. Once he was satisfied she would be comfortable he let her tackle him to the ground, enjoying having her above him. She was small, especially once she wrestled her heeled boots off. A tiny slip of a woman, shorter than him even, but there was a presence to her, a strength, that he couldn't help but surrender to. Beautiful, terrifying Belle.

“I’ve dreamed of this.” Her voice was low, husky. “You weren’t wearing a dressing gown in my dreams, though.”

“And you weren’t wearing anything in mine.” His accent was so thick he feared she might not be able to understand me. “Tit for tat, dearie.”

She ground herself against him, causing him to hiss and arc. Enough pressure to elicit a response, but not nearly enough to satisfy him.

“Don’t call me that. That’s how you call everyone else, and I’m not everyone else, am I?”

Her confidence slipped for a second, exposing a hint of uncertainty that he was quick to dispel.

“No, sweetheart. Of course not.”

He untied the belt of his dressing gown, managing to slip it off while still pinned by Belle. He didn’t imagine it was a very sexy spectacle but she seemed to appreciate it nevertheless. To reward him she yanked her nightie off, revealing her glorious breasts once again to his hungry stare. She was absolutely perfect, made even better by the way the fire lit her skin and hair, and turned her eyes a deeper blue. She looked fierce yet soft, a magnanimous mistress looking down fondly at a favoured pet. Idly she traced a scar near his right shoulder with the tip of her index finger, frowning the slightest bit.

“I want to know the story behind this. I want to know… more. About you. All there is to know that you wish to tell me.”

“Yes.” Usually he’d balk at the idea of such intimacy, of being so bare. Yet it felt like something he could do with Belle, something he wanted to do. “Yes, of course, sweetheart. And I want to know everything about you.”

She smiled, the gesture slowly turning sultry as she crossed her elbows over his chest.

“We’ll talk… later.”

She kissed him then, slowly and thoroughly, sinking one hand into his hair so she could tilt his head just so. Her fingernails felt delicious against the sensitive skin of his scalp and were a welcome distraction from the uncomfortable pressure of her ass against his groin. He wanted to last, desperately, but she was every wet dream he’d ever had come true. He needed to redirect his attention to anywhere but his aching cock. So he forced himself to focus on anything else. The soft, silky feeling of her skin against the rough pads of his fingers, and the taste of her, faintly sweet. She kissed like it was an art, managing to somehow find every spot that made him want to rip her panties off and just bury himself in her, foreplay be damned.

He startled when he felt her hands trail down his body and grasp the elastic of his underwear, tugging on it to hint at what she wanted. He obliged her before he could talk himself out of it, raising his hips so she could slide the boxers off his legs while still kissing. He felt her touch his mangled ankle and forced himself not to flinch or pull back. Blessedly she seemed to notice his discomfort, tugging his boxers off completely and reaching out to place his hands on the sides of her hips, against the scratchy fabric of her underwear. The message was clear, especially when she propped herself against the floor with her hands so she could raise her hips. He gently tugged her pantied down, with slow, careful movements to avoid accidentally ripping the delicate lace and not simply to watch in aroused amusement as Belle fidgeted above him. 

“Patience, sweetheart.”

She whined, kicking her panties off when they reached her ankles and pushing him back a second later, her expression demanding.

“No more delays. We’ve had months of foreplay.”

He found himself agreeing with her. It certainly felt like they had been teasing each other for months, with the shared jokes, the furtive glances, bitten lips and coy smiles. Not that he had even dared dream of it before that night. Belle was too good in every way for a bitter old cripple like himself. Her hands on his cock chased his self-deprecation away, leaving his mind in a blissful state of blankness. Slowly, torturously so, she took him in, her hot, wet cunt enveloping him with the right amount of pressure. It was almost too good a feeling, leaving his nerve-endings too excited to register much else. She was fucking perfect, the feel of her the weight of her above him. Like she was made for him, only he wasn’t that lucky. 

He needed to somehow make it up to her, make it so good she would not regret it. So he focused on establishing a rhythm, steady enough to build up their pleasure, but not too perfect to make it boring. He concentrated on the sounds she made, the perfect little gasps and the occasional, shivery whine that let him know she was enjoying herself. Soon enough, however, coordination and any form of higher thinking went out the window, the pleasure getting to be too much to focus on anything else other than driving himself as deep into her as he possibly could. He had enough presence of mind to sneak a hand between their bodies, slipping it across her wet fold to stimulate her further, determined not to come before she did. When he finally felt it, the blissful fluttering of her inner walls accompanied by a triumphant cry, he let go of his last shreds of self-control, letting his body seek out its needed release, the feeling travelling up his spine and leaving his whole body boneless with satisfaction. 

He grunted when she practically fell on top of him, though he welcomed the reassuring weight of her and the heat from her body. He thought about the champagne and the truffles waiting for them on the dining room table and decided they could wait. As soon as he was able to move he would wrap his dressing gown around Belle and take her and the food and drinks to the bedroom, where they could recoup their energy and talk. And perhaps much later, if he was good, Belle would let him drink champagne from her navel. 

Thank Regina and her fucking Zoom twon halls. He would never complain about them again.

[imaginejamesandsirius]

I always have this idea in my mind with soulmate tattoos and james having one like 'the brightest' or something and thinking its for lily as the brightest witch of her age, til sirius mentions one day that his star is the brightest star in the night sky?

James's soulmark was just under his right hipbone, written upside down so that he could read it. With that location, it meant nobody had seen it. Soulmarks could be talked about, but you weren't supposed to go around showing it to people. Everyone had to cover it up if it wasn't hidden under clothes. James had it easy; his were covered by his pants, and he didn't even have to bend around weird to see it. 

The Brightest 

There was never any telling what your soulmark would be. Most people had words, but some people had pictures. Merlin himself had had a soulmark that just said his soulmate's name, but that was incredibly rare. It was always something to identify your soulmate, but it could be cryptic. 'The Brightest' wasn't the most descriptive thing ever, so James knew that he'd have to keep a sharp eye out if he wanted to find his soulmate. 

And he was sure, for about three years, that he'd struck gold. One Lily Evans, of Gryffindor House with stunning red hair and a prefect badge now pinned to her robes, was often described as the 'brightest witch of her age'. If she wasn't the best in their year, she was definitely in the top five. Along with Sirius, of course, but no one called him the brightest in their year or summat-- even though he was. 

Lily Evans, The Brightest, and his soulmate. 

The problem was that she sort of hated him-- childhood exuberance, what could you do-- and her own soulmark must be vague enough that she didn't know it was him yet. 

"Which star is Sirius, anyways?" Marlene asked one day in the common room. Marlene was funny and horribly attractive. 

James didn't like her. He also didn't like that she was effortlessly charming. Anytime he tried to be charming, he just came off as awkward and trying too hard-- according to Remus; Sirius thought he was funny. Unfortunately, Sirius also thought Marlene was charming, so. James didn't really get a win there. 

"It's part of Canis Major, and the brightest star in the sky. Except for the sun, but most people don't count it as a star," Sirius said. 

"The brightest star?" James asked, looking over from his book. He hadn't been reading it, but he'd been trying to pretend like he was. Making it clear that he'd been listening wasn't what he’d been going for when Marlene had sat down across from Sirius, but he needed to know if he'd heard that wrong. 

"Yeah," Sirius said. "Kinda makes you wonder why my parents didn't change my name when it became clear they hated me." 

Marlene had a nice reply to that, and she paired it with flipping her hair over her shoulder. 

James didn't hear what she said though, not with his mind fuzzing out so the only details he knew were his soulmark and what Sirius had just said. The brightest star in the sky. The brightest. 

Fuck. 

*

"Sirius?" James asked, both of them sat on their own beds, books open as they read the next chapter for History of Magic. 

"Yeah?" 

"We're close, right?" 

"Sure bloody hope so," Sirius said. "We live together year round. It would get kind of awkward if you hated me." 

"I don't hate you, don't be stupid," James said, rolling his eyes. 

"Invigorated to hear it," Sirius said, shooting him an amused grin. "What's up?" 

"What's your soulmark?" James asked, getting the question out quickly like it would help protect him from the backlash. 

The reaction was immediate. Sirius froze, his whole body getting tense. Parents knew your soulmark. Other family members sometimes did, depending on how close you were. Medi-wizards did, for obvious reasons, but it's not like they cared who their patients' soulmates were. Some people weren't as protective about covering their soulmarks, so you might see it in passing the locker room or summat. As far as James knew though, Sirius had always been careful to keep his covered with a thick band around his ankle. Even for people that didn't bother to keep theirs completely hidden though, it was understood that you didn't ask. 

Once people knew they were soulmates, they showed their marks to each other. You didn't ask your best friend-- no matter how close you were-- what it looked like or if you could see it. 

And the thought had occurred to James more than once over the years. He'd actually spent a ridiculous amount of time thinking about Sirius over the years, but he'd sort of thought that everyone did that. Sirius was gorgeous, okay? James couldn't have been the only one that had the occasional fantasy about him, but after hearing that Sirius was the brightest star not only in its constellation, but in the entire sky, he'd had to think about it a little more. What he'd written off as pure aesthetic appreciation and teenage hormones was... well, probably not. 

Instead of Sirius telling him to bugger off or saying that he wasn't going to tell him that, he asked, "Why?" 

Aaaand that's why James was not the sole planner for the pranks. He could connect two points, but he forgot about the different offshoots the first point could have. Like with this. He'd connected that if he knew what Sirius's soulmark was, then he'd know for sure that they were soulmates. He hadn't considered that Sirius would ask him why he wanted to know before sharing anything. "Erm." 

"I'm not going to tell you if you're just being nosy, but you've never asked before, so it feels like you have a reason." 

"Of course I have a reason." 

A pause. "And that reason would be?" Sirius prodded. 

"I- so I was thinking about my mark the other day, and it's kind of ambiguous. I was so sure it was Lily because of the way everyone talked about her, but now I was thinking... maybe not." 

Sirius blinked at him. "You think I'm your soulmate now?" He sounded more than a little accusatory, and James winced. 

"I know how that sounds, but come on, Pads, think about it from my perspective from a minute. I'm pretty much convinced that this person is my soulmate because of a phrase that's open to interpretation, shutting out all other attraction and stopping to consider that I've never felt that way about her. And then, y'know," he waved a hand vaguely to show that something had happened, "I got to thinking about you, and it would make a lot more sense." 

"You're impossible." 

"So that's a no on telling me what your soulmark is. You could've sad that from the beginning, and we could've avoided all of this." 

Sirius groaned, letting his head thump forward on the textbook. 

"Okay, I really don't know what to do with that reaction." 

"How about this: we date for a little bit, and if you still think I'm your soulmate then, I'll tell you what my mark is." 

"Deal." 

*

They got three weeks in before it occurred to James that there was no reason for Sirius to have suggested them dating unless his soulmark was more straightforward. Straightforward enough that he knew it was James. And if he was that sure of it, then he'd just been waiting around for James to figure it out. A couple years ago, James might've teased him for it, but he could understand why Sirius had felt the need to be cautious; James had never really considered himself available. He'd gone straight from not caring about dating anyone, to being convinced that Lily was his soulmate. If James had been in Sirius's shoes, he wouldn't have done anything either. 

The part about it that he didn't really understand was where Sirius didn't tell him about his soulmark when he asked about it. If it was so obvious, then it would make perfect sense to tell James so that they could get together. 

And then he thought about it some more and realised that it had worked out, anyways. Sirius hadn't needed to tell him that they were soulmates. He'd said, "We date for a little bit," and left it to James to put the pieces together. Sirius really was brilliant, wasn't he? James didn't need to be told flat out that Sirius was his soulmate anymore, because he knew that it was true. Yes, he'd put the clues together until they made sense, but more than that, he'd dated Sirius, and it had felt right. Maybe a little awkward from time to time when one of them thought it was a date and the other thought the whole Marauders group was invited, but they were right where they needed to be. 

They were still mates even though they were dating too, and that meant everything to James. Maybe that's what it meant to be soulmates, for them. He's always wondered how he would know how to be with his soulmate, but now that he was there, it was the easiest thing in the world-- behind riding a broom, because, honestly. 

*

About a month and a half into dating, Sirius said, "You haven't asked me about my soulmark." 

"I know." 

"Why haven't you?" 

James smiled at him. "Because I don't need to see it to know what we are to each other." 

*

Over the summer, James showed his soulmark to Sirius. They hadn't shagged yet, and probably wouldn't for a while longer, so it was a bit awkward to pull his pants down enough to show him. Sirius was sitting next to him and not across from him, so all he had to do was look down to read it. 

"You see why I was confused?" James joked. 

Sirius snickered. "I still think it was obvious." 

"Everyone calls her the brightest witch in our year, and I didn't know that your star was the brightest in the sky, alright? And in my defense, as soon as I learned that, I figured it out." 

"You didn't already know that?" 

"Not all of us grow up learning about constellations." 

"Aww, poor baby," Sirius cooed, ruffling James's hair. 

James bat his hand away and pulled his clothes back to their usual positions. 

"Ugh, I guess that this is the part where I show you mine," Sirius groused, but he didn't look actually upset. He pulled his foot up close and unbuttoned the cuff he had covering his ankle. 

James tilted his head to get a better look at it. 

27 March 1960 

"You've got to be sodding kidding me. Really?" James asked, looking up at Sirius, who shrugged. "I get something completely cryptic, and you get my birthday. That's bollocks." 

"Hey, be happy for us. If it weren't for me knowing what was going on, you'd still be chasing after Lily's skirt." 

"I would not," James denied. "I would've caught on before that." 

Sirius snorted, putting the cuff back on. "Whatever gets you through the night, mate." 

"Be nice to me," James whined, leaning into him heavily. 

Sirius pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “I’m always nice to you.” 

[notmrskennedy]

Eight Seconds

Howdy! I’m honestly freaking out bc this the first Spencer Reid anything I’ve written and bc I try not to out myself as country too much bc well the world right now. (I honestly wish there was more people out there who had a thing for cowgirls/boys as I do.) I hope at least one person enjoys it as much as I liked writing it. 

Summary: Spencer Reid meets the cowgirl of his dreams...

Warnings: I think I swear like twice? other than that it’s fluff

Word count: 4.5k

----------

He doesn’t think that it would be Penelope Garcia to catch him. Sure, she’s a genius and a tech wizard and an overall queen at gathering gossip. But she  isn’t around him as much as JJ. Or Emily. Or Morgan.

What gave him away to her and not everyone else?

Because he knows he’s given something away when she texts him. Urgent. Batcave now! He’s hopeful. Optimistic. Maybe Penelope’s got some burning question about Star Trek. Or Doctor Who. Or when the next convention is. Maybe it’s a serial killer.

But he isn’t that lucky. Spencer Reid never is.

He knocks hesitantly, worried for exactly what’s to come. Her gaze snaps up from her tablet. Snaps to him in an incessant kind of ‘I know what you did’ way. It’s a look for scolding children. Not a pleasant, let’s have a tea time chat, gaze.

Spencer settles into the extra chair and waits. There’s a storm brewing behind her eyes and when she finally speaks, she doesn’t disappoint.

“What’s her name?”

And he can’t stop it. Lovesick smile, starry eyes—Penelope doesn’t have to be a profiler to see it before he sobers up. Her mouth opens into a toothy grin. An insufferably contagious grin and he knows he’s caught for sure.

He leans back in the desk chair, stares up at the ceiling and breathily whispers, “Shawn.”

“Oh!” Penelope gasps. He can hear the mental scolding. There’s backtracking with no end in sight. “Well, I didn’t mean to presume and it’s—it’s okay if Shawn is—or you’re—and I just didn’t know—you never said anything—“

“Relax,” he chuckles and grins at her softly for good measure. “Shawn is a girl. Her legal name is Shawna if you’re that curious.”

And he knows Penelope is curious. She’s grinning and waiting and listening. He can tell she wants to prompt. To ask questions. To dig through every tiny detail she can. Is it bad to make her wait? To not want anyone to know about the girlfriend he’s kept hidden for so long?

“Tell me more,” Penelope buzzes, bouncing in her seat, monitors—work—forgotten. “Where did you love story begin?”

He smiles to himself. It’s not a matter of when, but how long.

It took eight seconds. All of eight seconds.

#

At first, he wasn’t even sure it was eight seconds. He’d been running, running harder than he ever had. Chucks flapping against the hard packed dirt. Horse trailers flying by him as he jumped hitches and slipped through patches of mud.

It was five minutes of burning lungs and dust caked nostrils before those eight seconds. Quick glances between trailers. Got to keep moving, Reid, got to keep up. Because Morgan’s chanting was getting distant, too distant. The last time they’d split up—

Five minutes of a maze he hadn’t learned. Five minutes of being utterly lost, following the sound of Morgan’s thundering boots and desperation. They were all desperate. It was a desperate move to keep running, not to find solace in an empty horse trailer on the killer’s part. The bastard thought he could lose them, shake the FBI agents off his tail.

Reid knew better, but he was getting desperate too. His lungs were burning. It’d only been five minutes.

“FBI! Stop!” Morgan shouted from behind him. Reid skidded through a patch of horse shit into the main thoroughfare. Thank god. No more trailers. A walkway, a solid walkway, a clear line of sight. The man was running. Why do they always run?

Reid picks up his lungs in his desperate hands and pushes on. Grits his teeth, clenches down on every spare inch of fortitude left. Morgan catches up easily but doesn’t surpass. They’re both tired. They’re both panting. They’ve both got weapons drawn, but who could make a shot at 50 yards with a moving target?

Not Reid. He knew better.

But Morgan tried one more time. Shouted and called and screamed. The man didn’t look back. Prison was on his heels and he was desperate enough to keep running. A coward. There wouldn’t be a standoff. Smart enough to not get cornered, not smart enough to keep from getting caught.

They both pushed harder. This was their eight seconds. They were getting close, they reasoned to themselves, hearts panting to the same rhythm. They could keep it together for these last seconds. He’d get tired—they were getting tired—he had to be tired by now.

He was racing in snakeskin cowboy boots. How could he be keeping that pace in those shoes?

Reid hoped his lungs would give out. Save the heroic work for Morgan. Morgan could get the bad guy. Morgan could get the girl. He could have anything he wanted. Reid just wanted to fall face first into the dirt and let the fresh mud extinguish the flames in his lungs. In his throat. In his mouth.

But then the eight seconds came.

In the first second, he realised his heart didn’t gallop. It didn’t have the imprints of hooves. It wasn’t the two thousand pound animal gaining momentum behind him. His heart was clogging his ears that badly. Thankfully, with his wits about him, he looked back.

In the second second, Reid saw the animal. Mid-step, perfect stride. A plastic figurine of a race horse, nostrils wide at the end of its long face. It took only the second second to see the crazy in the horse’s eyes. How they focused and blinked and bled the insanity. How it was more beast than domesticated pet. Reid was convinced the black stockings on its legs were dripping grease from its gears. He could see the muscle in its shoulders and flanks. Muscle groupings bigger than him. An animal that could crush him. A machine running with a single thought: faster.

He saw the rider in the third second. One he didn’t expect. Maybe it was his own memories of cowboy movies, but cowboys weren’t supposed to be dipped in glitter. Weren’t supposed to be such overtly female. But there she was. Her dark curls billowing behind her. Sun glinting off the gold of her hat. Glinting off the impressive amount of glitter on her eyelids. And the rhinestones on her black button-down. She was stunning. Furrowed in her concentration. Elated in her grin.

The rope came in the fourth. It was twisting in her hand, coil and reins held precariously in her other. It loops over her head, slack enough to swallow her whole. Slack enough to get caught on her. Get caught on the horse. She keeps perfect control and the hand comes around and around until she—

In the fifth second, the rope releases and Reid slows his feet to watch it. The horse has gained on the man, so close that teeth could get involved. The man doesn’t seem to know, or is too desperate to change direction. Because he’s gone straight and the horse has followed and the rope is sliding through her hand like it’s meant to be there forever. It goes and goes and goes. He thinks the loop is bound to catch her foot, a hoof, something. But it doesn’t. It never does.

With six seconds down, the man finds he doesn’t have feet anymore. The loop of the rope tightens around his legs and he’s falling. He doesn’t have feet under him. Barely hands to save his face. Reid hopes the fall is harder than it needs to be. But he’s not focused on the man, he’s focused on the girl. The girl who expertly catches the rope in her hands. Who expertly ties the end around the saddle horn. Who’s horse pulls the rope taut and the man goes down.

At seven seconds, the horse is still backing. It knows. It’s practiced. Reid can see the elation on both rider and animal. Their pride is palpable. He doesn’t know it, but this is the best run they’ve done together. Not the fastest, but the best.

Eight seconds is when the girl turns to them. Grinning, hollering, hands up in the air. Reid watches as they catch up, slowing down to match the horse’s speed. The man tries to flip himself over, dragging on his back towards the federal agents. Reid can feel his heart and he wonders if it’s beating harder from the run or the thrill.

He’ll never admit it but he’s always wanted to be a cowboy. This girl has his other dream in her hands, wearing it as her favourite belt buckle.

Eight seconds later and she’s smiling down at the agents, still hollering some form of yeehaw! Reid grins, dragging his aching limbs forward to help Morgan flip the man onto his stomach and cuff him. The dragging discontinues and the horse knickers his anger that the trial is over.

Reid loosens the rope from the man’s feet, working the fray between his fingers. He moves to hand it to the cowgirl but she’s already snapping it from him and coiling it back up. She latches it back to her saddle, chest heaving with the excitement of it all.

“Bitch!” the man spits as Morgan hauls him to his feet.

The girl just smirks and tips her hat back. Reid can’t help but watch her pretty red lips as she says, “I’ll stick my foot so far up your ass, you’ll taste my good leather if you don’t shut your goddamn mouth.” Vulgarity has never sounded better off of anyone else’s tongue. She’s got the first sermon he’s ever wanted to listen to sitting on her lips and he wonders if this is why people believe in God. If pretty girls have always made men believe in things they shouldn’t.

Her drawl is thick, sticky, and unsweet. She’s got more threats bubbling up in her chest, sitting precariously close to her heart. She comfortable in sliding off her horse, landing softly in the dirt.

He won’t admit it, but he can’t ignore how round her ass is in those tight jeans.

She pats her horse, sliding her rough hands under its harnesses and it’s mane. Reid knows enough about horses to distinguish several muscle groups and bone structures from others. He feels out of his depth. He’s drowning being so close to a dream he can never have. He wonders if he should ask her to stay. Tell her there’s reports. Witness statements. Paperwork. Anything to get her to stay longer, to prolong the closeness to the dream. The closeness to her.

The horse gives a bleated scream as Morgan passes with the handcuffed man, both human males looking equally frightened of the animal. It settles into a role of domestication as the girl lets the horse throw its head into her shoulder begging for pats.

Spencer knows he supposed to follow Morgan, but he can’t move. She’s everything in that moment. And just as he gets the courage to thank her, thank her for stopping the burning, she meets his eyes and drops her jaw.

“Well as I live and breathe!” she shouts. It’s too rough for a squeal, more of a whistle of her words. “Spencer Reid, not even a day’s difference. How in the hell are you?”

Is he breathing? He doesn’t think he’s breathing. She knows him. She knows him. She knows him. And he has no idea who she is. He searches her beautiful face. Running over the ruby lips. Over the pink blushing cheeks. The glittered eyelids and the long eyelashes.

She’s so unfamiliar it hurts.

Morgan stops in his tracks. There’s blood in the water for the first time in ages. The last time these waters were chummed was a bartender who called him exactly once.

And it gets worse. Her face falls. Emily and JJ are rounding the corner. Everything in him sinks to the floor. Every details about himself becomes apparent. He’s gangly and uncoordinated. His hair’s too long and he’s got circles under his eyes darker than the grease stains on her horse. He’s so unperfected and this girl reminds him of the girls in high school he could never have.

He wonders for a moment if she’s from high school. She can’t be though, he thinks as he fights the bile in his throat. She’s younger than me.

“You know boy genius?” Morgan asks, handing the killer off to Emily. He’s strutting. Ever the first impressionist. The girl barely glances at him, still studying Reid with a crestfallen little smile perched on her perfect lips.

“Not really,” she settles on, getting a better grip on the reins she’s holding. Getting a better grip on herself. “We met once. In Vegas. I was 15 and I’ve done my growing up since.”

Reid still hasn’t moved. He’s not sure he can. His feet are putty from the run. Putty from her smile. Just ask for her name, he screams at himself, but he can’t. There’s no guarantees. There’s no ‘of courses’, only ‘what ifs’. The what ifs can consume you and he’s worried he’s going to let them.

Morgan extends his hand in the stretching pause. And she shakes it. All crimson lips and pearly teeth. “I’m Agent Derek Morgan. You obviously know, Dr. Reid.”

Her eyebrows raise for half a second. She’s surprised. And impressed. And Reid’s heart warms for no longer than she answers. “I’m Shawn, Shawn Healy.”

“Shawn? That’s an interesting—“

Everyone pauses at the sound of hoofbeats. Whips around to see another girl, a blonde in even more glitter, ride up on her own horse. Shawn swings back onto her horse and spurs him off, following the other girl. Spencer doesn’t see the flags they’re carrying until it’s too late. Until she’s already apologising for leaving. She’s late.

Spencer wonders if he’ll ever see her again. Black curls bouncing over her shoulders. Stained lips. Sun glinting off every inch of her.

In another eight seconds, she’s gone. Eight seconds to win his heart. Eight seconds to ride off with it.

#

He gives Penelope some condensed version of the story that she’s hooked on anyway. She’s leaned forward, elbows on knees, perched on every word that leaves his mouth like it’s from God himself. It’s comical, he thinks. Spencer’s never really been invested in anyone else’s drama, not for longer than five minutes.

Penelope’s going to be invested, heels sunk in, holding on for dear life. She’s invested for life.

“So, how’d you get her back?” she asks. Starry eyed. Concerned. This is her white whale and she’ll go down with this ship. “She could’ve been anywhere! How’d you two get together?”

And he knows this part isn’t complicated. And it’ll be enough to tide her over.

#

The quick answer is that he googled her. Read every newspaper article, column, and paper mentioning her. Shawna Healy had been mentioned more times for winning rodeo competitions than he had papers published. She was accomplished in her culture, in her part of the world. She’d won up to regionals while in college. Even boasted to being the first girl on the UT Dallas Rodeo Team. Currently employed at Montgomery’s Cattle Ranch just outside of DC. The same ranch who was hosting a For-Charity Bull-riding Competition.

Spencer hadn’t known what to do with the information so he sat on it. For a month. Until he couldn’t wait any longer. The competition was that weekend. He had to go.

He just kept repeating to himself, this is for academic purposes. This isn’t stalking. You might not even see her. This is for—

And he stops thinking. There’s no reason to think anything other than: I’m sorely underdressed. He’s sinking to the bottom of the deep end of the pool, lead weights tied to his ankles. Every man, woman, and child here is nothing sort of their earned Country label. There’s boots and buckles and ball caps. There’s dust and dip and drawl.

And he’s in a cardigan. Why was that a good idea? He doesn’t know, but he’s tempted to shrug it off and disappear. To run right back out of gates. To get swallowed by everyone staring at him. Gawking at him. He’s back in high school again and he wants to drink bleach.

He’s almost to the bleachers, past the makeshift bar, just at the corner of the dirt arena. Spencer knows he should just go home, shake it off, and dissolve into wishing the world takes pity on him. He’s too out of his depth. These other people belong. He most definitely does not.

And just as he’s about to turn tail, pussyfoot out of every bit of confidence he’s ever had, when he sees her.

She’s on a different horse. One not quite as beastly as the other. This one’s mellow, waiting on the edge of the arena, while she’s chatting absently with another man on horseback. She looks different. She’s far, but there’s no glitter. No outstanding colours. No glinting under the fluorescents. She’s in a cowboy hat, tipped forward over her loose braids. She’s traded her button down for a flannel, rolled up to the elbows and he finally understands why Penelope said it was such a turn on.

There’s no words as the announcer suddenly comes on and a bull bursts from the chute. It’s one of the most terrifying things he’s ever seen. A tiny man holding onto a two ton absolute beast with one hand—it’s absurd! But he can’t stop watching. Can’t stop being impressed. Waits on bated breath for the man to get bucked off after his nearly eight second run.

He does and Spencer has had falls like that. They aren’t pleasant.

The bull bucks and kicks for another few seconds. Shawn and her friend lazily canter forward, guiding the animal back to the other side of the arena and through a gate. She whistles and the gate closes behind it.

The pair retreat back to their corner and the process starts all over again.

“You look a little lost, honey,” a sweet voice chirps beside him. He startles, head caught up in Shawn and every single perfect What If. This girl reminds him of a movie star he can’t remember the name of. Big blonde curls. Big eyelashes. Big smile. Tiny waist.

She’s amazingly beautiful. Amazing doll like. Amazingly…not his type.

Spencer still nervously smiles and clears his throat. “I kind of am.”

“Cardigan gave it away,” she giggles, turning him towards the edge of the stadium seating, dropping them onto the bottom row seat. “I’m Kaley Montgomery. My brother and my sister are this shift’s pick up riders.” Spencer nods along like he knows what she’s saying. “I tell ‘em I’m here to support them and my daddy—he put this whole thing on you know—but I’m just here to pick up cute cowboys.”

“I’m not a cowboy,” Spencer blurts. Her laugh is slick like the sugar in a Venus fly trap. He tries not to get drawn in, but she’s all encompassing. Bright perfume. Colourful clothes. Soft skin and warm empathy. There’s nothing uninviting about her and he wants to move back.

“No, honey, you aren’t.” Kaley pauses to look him over. Whatever she sees makes her softly grin. “Why are you here anyway?”

There’s no judgement. She’s safe and alluring and exactly the opposite of what makes him nervous at that moment. The confidence surges for a moment and he answers, “I’m actually trying to find this girl I met a while ago.”

“Must be a special lady. What’s her name?”

“Shawn Healy,” Spencer sighs. It’s wistful. It’s longing. It’s half desperate. It’s been a month since he’s seen her. A month since he snuck back to see if he could catch her at the rodeo one more tine.

Kaley snorts. Her lady-like instincts kick back in and she covers it was a giggle. “Honey, you met the right girl. Shawn’s like my sister. Her shift ends in a few rounds, and she’s meeting me here if you just wanna stick around for a second.”

And he does. Kaley keeps him laughing, has him singing the high praises of Rodeo sports by the end. It’s maybe another ten minutes. Ten minutes of calming down, easing into the world. Kaley looks like she has whiplash with all of the questions he’s asking. And she’s a little dazed when he blinks at her sheepishly.

“Told he was smart, didn’t I?” a voice says behind him and Spencer jumps out of his skin. He’s desperate to slip it back on without seeming desperate. Without seeming nervous. But it all melts. Shawn’s in front of him. Shawn’s grinning. Shawn’s even more beautiful without the glitter.

“How did you recognise me?” he blurts. There’s stumbling as he tries to backtrack. Shawn’s eyes are green this close up and she smells like leather and oats and apples. His sentences lose traction as she peels her hat off, and sits down next to him.

There’s nothing soft about her. She’s callused. Rough. Nothing like any other girl he’s ever had the pleasure of meeting. Spencer doesn’t need more than ten seconds to know that Shawn’s never worn glitter more than the one time and never will again. To known that Shawn is simple and complicated and every grey area he’s ever wanted to explore.

Shawn’s eyes are still and focused. She follows Kaley as the girl stands and leaves. Returns the gaze to Spencer with a glint he can’t categorise. There’s a pause. Lead up to another eight seconds of life changing to be done.

“You were sitting by yourself at a sorting event at the South Point,” she breathes, brushing a piece of dirt off the hat in her hands. Setting it beside her on the bleacher. She gives him plenty of time to stare. To appreciate her.

There’s plenty of time, Spencer thinks and he keeps her gaze with a nervous grin.

Shawn brushes a hand over the frazzled bits of her hat hair. “I came and sat next to you because you looked so lonely. You were so afraid.”

His brain fires and spits and roars to life. He can remember the strange girl who came to sit by him, a sea of empty spaces around him. He’d just committed his mom. Was just about to leave for MIT. He’d been swimming in a sea of self-hatred when he’d been greeted by braces and pimples and too much dark hair. She’d explained every second of the calf sort, almost unprompted, and sussed out every single one of his questions.

It had been as close as he ever dared get to being a cowboy. A decade later and she was every introduction to this world he’d ever had.

Shawn’s got two seconds left on the clock and she doesn’t disappoint. Her fingers are delicate as she places a precarious hand on his knee. There’s a soft pressure to his patella. Shawn’s touching him and he can’t help the shock.

“I had one of those day long crushes. You were the smartest man I’d ever met.”

And no words are suddenly good enough. He wants to tell her that he’s fallen in love now. That he can’t help it. That all he wants is to listen to her drawl on for the rest of his life. That she’d made that last week in Vegas bearable. That she’d been everything. Still was.

But there’s no good way to articulate that. And maybe she knows that. Maybe Shawn Healy was a profiler in a different life because she lets go of his knee and switches subjects. Leans back against the seat behind her, stretching out into the spot of sun.

“It’s my lunch break,” she announces, her boots drifting closer to touching his chucks. The eyes don’t matter as the bleachers stare. What matters is Shawn’s tricky smile. “Have lunch with me.”

He nods and doesn’t think he could bear to disagree with her. Shawn disappears for a moment long enough that he’s worried she isn’t coming back, but she plops french fries into his lap not a second later than the worry begins to fester. Shawn’s not one to back out of commitments, he learns, and ends up hearing enough bad stories that Spencer isn’t sure how they’re getting along so well.

Because they’re getting along so well. Too well. Like they’ve never stopped talking since she was 15 and he was 18. Three hours is too early to say I love you, but he’s thinking it as she talks through a basket of french fries. As she sneaks them to some tiny kids in even tinier cowboy boots.

He’s thinking it every time she laughs.

He’s thinking it as she shoves his shoulder and demands to know why he doesn’t own a pair of jeans.

He’s thinking it even as she stands and apologises and stuffs her business card in his shirt pocket. “We’ll get you cowboy’d up one of these days, Dr. Reid. Now, don’t you forget to call—I’m late again.”

She runs off and he can’t stop thinking I love you so much as she waves at him over her shoulder and once again when she’s in the arena, back on a new horse.

#

Penelope is near tears at the end of Spencer’s story. He relaxes into the new world he’s entering. The one, two years later, where he’s wondering exactly how much he can keep to himself. How much Garcia will suss out and how much he’ll tell her himself.

Penelope folds her arms and suddenly frowns. She’s got a bee in her bonnet and Spencer’s afraid of what it means.

“Shawn,” she murmurs to herself. “Spencer Reid is shacking up with a cowgirl. I can’t—I’ll see it when I believe it.”

This is her attempt to get Spencer to show her pictures, or call Shawn, or even bring her around. But he doesn’t. He just smirks. No matter how much he actually can’t work the phone in his hands, he doesn’t want to. Shawn’s worried enough about meeting the team, she doesn’t need one Penelope Garcia tracking her down and tackling her.

“How ever much I love this chat we’re having, I have to get back to work,” Spencer announces. He stands. Walks off before Penelope can ask more questions.

And despite all of her yelling and protests and shouting for him to just come back here and tell me if she’s your girlfriend, Penelope knows she won’t get anything more. She’s determined anyway, and plans to corner JJ later on.

She finds doesn’t have to ask JJ, cornered or not. Because not four hours later, does Penelope find one Dr. Spencer Reid admiring the diamonds on the wedding ring he’s holding up between him and the coffee pot. He’s quick to shove it in his pocket as Penelope enters the little kitchenette. Quick to stir sugar in his coffee like nothing’s happened. Like Penelope definitely didn’t see the ring he’s waiting to give Shawn.

“When did you get the ring?” she asks, quietly opening the box of tea.

“Promise not to think I’m crazy?”

Penelope nods, turning just enough to see just how love stricken the poor boy is. “I’d even pinky promise, my love.”

He smirks and softens and says almost so quietly she doesn’t hear, “It was about two weeks after our first date. It took about eight seconds to find the right one.”

[catflorist]

The Time Being (ao3 / ffn) catflorist Summary: Time-slipping is a side effect of wielding the Rinnegan. When Sasuke slips through time, he always goes to Sakura, whether he wants to or not. 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8

pt 5: sakura

After Sasuke left, Sakura woke up alone on a bench just as the sky began to lighten.

She rubbed the goosebumps on her bare arms. The aching pressure of a sob churned in her chest, but she could not cry.

Someone sat next to her. She recognized the line of his shoulders before she recognized his face.

Sasuke's jaw was sharper, his hair tied back and long enough to graze his shoulder blades. Mismatched eyes—red and purple—met hers before fading into their familiar dark.

He frowned. "You're cold." His voice was quieter, deeper than the voice of her Sasuke. He shrugged the cloak off his shoulders and offered it to her.

Sakura accepted, too stunned to speak. There was no need to voice the obvious. He was not the Sasuke she knew.

"I always wondered how you knew I was leaving," he said.

Sakura burrowed inside the cloak, still warm from his body. The fabric was soft, sun-worn, and smelled like salt. "Because I know you," she answered.

Sasuke smiled, and Sakura's head cleared. He had left, but he was here again. That had to mean something.

"What are you doing here?" Her voice trembled, but the knot in her throat was loosening.

The first rays of sun peeked over the horizon, lighting the treetops in gold. "I need to tell you something."

As dawn rose, Sasuke told her about his time-slipping, about the Rinnegan, that she should expect more appearances in the years to come. Sakura listened in a rapture. When he revealed the truth behind the massacre of the Uchiha clan, her tears finally fell. In the morning light, the village appeared ghostly, like bones bleaching in the sun.

"Will you ever come back?" Sakura asked, when everything was said.

"Yes," Sasuke said.

She dried her eyes on the collar of his cloak. "Do you promise?"

"I promise," he said. "We'll meet again soon."

"How long?"

"Five years or so, for you." His brow furrowed. "I'm sorry. You'll need to be patient with me."

"I'll be here when you're ready," she said.

Smiling again, Sasuke tapped the center of her brow with two gentle fingers. "You're with me right now."

A rush of questions flooded Sakura's mind, but they were out of time. Sasuke frowned, rubbing his temples, and Sakura took this to mean he was about to leave. She passed the cloak into his lap.

Sasuke slipped away like ducking underwater, leaving behind a quiet ripple of his presence.

When Naruto and Kakashi found her, the village had already woken up. Traffic clattered from the nearby main streets, and curtains fluttered from open windows. Someone nearby was grilling fish for breakfast.

"He's gone," Sakura said.

For a beat, Naruto and Kakashi said nothing. They searched Sakura's expression, giving her the opportunity to grieve, if she wanted to. But Sakura's breathing remained calm.

Kakashi lifted the hitai-ate obscuring his left eye. His gaze shone with regret. "This is my fault." At this, Sakura's lip started trembling.

Naruto's fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. "I'm going after him," he snarled.

"There's no need, Naruto." Sakura gripped the stone of the bench. "He'll come back one day."

.

.

Sakura trained under Tsunade and grew strong. She learned how to tear open the earth and to mend bones. How to store her chakra drop by drop, so one day it would become a vast ocean under her control.

Two years passed before she saw Sasuke again. It occurred in her own time. He perched on the rim of the cliff outside Orochimaru's hideout, wind lifting his robes. A purple obi ensnared his waist. With the sun at his back, he looked more shadow than boy. His eyes held nothing when he looked at her—neither interest nor contempt.

Then he said, "Sakura." He exhaled her name like a breath, like he didn't even realize he was saying it.

It still hurt when they failed to convince him to return, even if it was what Sakura expected.

The trip back to Konoha was solemn. Naruto was shaken and quiet, and even Sai wisely held his tongue. They traveled through the night until Captain Yamato constructed a temporary wooden shelter with four separate rooms.

When she was alone, Sakura held her head in her hands. She tried to fit the Sasuke she just saw into her knowledge of him. He was longer her teammate, and he was far from the man who had chosen to tie his hair back. He was somewhere in between, somewhere lost, with a long way to go.

"Sakura?"

Sasuke, exactly as she remembered from their genin days, inspected her wet face. All his questions stopped. He grasped her hand and looked stubbornly away, daring her to state what they both knew. It was not his way to freely offer a comforting touch.

Sakura closed her eyes. Sasuke had promised to return, but she never would have doubted it on her own.

.

.

"The daimyo wants to drain a lake to build another summer palace, and the council says they have the funds to spare," Tsunade spat, shoving a mountain of paperwork in Sakura's direction. "But there's nothing in the budget for the civilian guilds?"

Sighing in sympathy, Sakura pulled her favorite chair to Tsunade's desk. She flipped through the paperwork, signing a perfect copy of the Hokage's signature on each page. Tsunade filled two glasses with amber liquid, set one beside her student, and settled behind her own tower of paper. This was their evening ritual.

Signing her name with angry flourishes, Tsunade muttered, "Three years as Hokage and I can't get anything done."

Each day, Sakura watched Tsunade fight the council tooth and nail to implement her vision for the village. Each day, the council blocked her every move.

Sakura's pen stilled. Tsunade did not know the truth of the Uchiha massacre. Was it right to tell her?

"Tsunade-shishou…" she began, then the words froze on her tongue.

Her teacher raised an eyebrow. "Spit it out," she urged.

"Have you ever thought that the council might be doing more harm than good?"

This was a radical view. Many citizens of Konoha supported the council in their decision-making. The village was prosperous and powerful. There was no reason to ask deeper questions.

Tsunade was silent for a breath too long, revealing her answer. Teacher and student gazed at each other with a new understanding.

Sakura's hands shook. "There is something you should know."

The council met in an imposing structure set behind the largest gate in the village. Since few windows penetrated its thick walls, the building's interior remained cold and dim no matter the season. When darkness fell, Tsunade and Sakura snuck inside and entered the archive.

After undoing a genjutsu, breaking the ninjutsu seal on a wooden chest, and snapping a plain lock in half, they uncovered the file detailing plans behind the Uchiha massacre.

The scroll was thin. It did not take much space on a page at all to massacre a clan.

Sakura read it first. It was one thing to hear the truth from Sasuke. It was another to see it confirmed in writing, signed by the leaders of the village, and stamped in approval. When she saw the Third Hokage's signature, her heart panged. Sarutobi-sama had always been kind to her. Yet he had known and approved of this plan. Was it a betrayal, or a requirement of his position? Which was worse?

"This village is rotten to the core," Tsunade muttered after closing the scroll. "Is this why your teammate left?"

"No," Sakura said. "He doesn't know the truth yet."

"How did you think to look for this?"

"I was close with Sasuke," she offered, not meeting her teacher's eyes. "I had a suspicion."

Tsunade did not push further. She pressed her lips together, rubbed the space between her eyebrows. For once, the ageless face of Sakura's teacher looked tired.

"We carve our faces into the cliff as if we have something to celebrate," she said. "As if we owe our greatness to the world. But it's all a lie."

Huddled next to Tsunade, surrounded by the archive's chilly secrets, Sakura swore to make the village a better place by the time Sasuke returned.

.

.

"No surprise, Sakura. They denied your plans." Tsunade stamped a document hard enough to shake her entire desk. "Danzo told me personally."

Sakura clenched her fists, but she was not surprised. Last week Tsunade refused to shut down an investigation into the Hyuuga clan's use of branding. Now, the council had coincidentally tabled Sakura's sensible proposal to construct a pediatric wing of the hospital.

This was not Sakura's first roadblock. Last month, the council canceled their first meeting with Sakura's newly-established civilian board, citing scheduling conflicts, and dodged all attempts to reschedule. Not long before, they implied that unless Tsunade agreed to spare three extra jonin for the daimyo's entourage, they might not find funds to spare for Sakura's medic training program. Each time, Danzo delivered the news with a modest smile, as if he were pouring her a cup of tea and expecting gratitude in response.

The more Sakura's plans fizzled out, the more she feared Konoha could never change.

Sometimes Sakura imagined herself leaving the village. She thought about it the same way she thought about embracing the next Sasuke she saw. It was not a real possibility, but the idea floated in her head, and sometimes hurt to think about.

She could live alone somewhere. Maybe by the ocean. Her brain conjured all the details: fresh, salty air. Seabirds screeching and plummeting into the water. The temperamental sand shifting under her feet. There would be nothing to fix. Nothing would require changing. Maybe she would find peace.

Sakura worked hard to improve the village, but she did not buy the plant Ino suggested would flourish in the morning light of her bedroom. She stored every scrap of chakra away for her future seal. She did not spend money except when her friends dragged her to dinner. She thought about the Sasuke who smelled like salt. She dreamt about the ocean.

.

.

When Sasuke appeared next, it was at the worst possible time, and that's what she told him. She had a village to defend and to heal.

Sasuke was closer, somehow. He wore the obi, but his eyes were brighter. He did not hesitate to approach her and to call out her name. Sakura wished he had stayed long enough for her to heal the wound on his head.

The battle worsened. A hoard of Katsuyu's summons under Sakura's command saved the hospital and the old Uchiha compound from destruction, but Pain's attack leveled much of Konoha to the ground.

Tsunade sank into a coma. Shizune and Sakura tended to the wrecked village.

Captain Yamato was reconstructing Konoha by himself when Sakura stepped in. In his patient voice, he taught her the basics of woodstyle. At first she could only summon twigs and vines. Her wood produced too much foliage, inhibiting its use as a building material. She persevered. By the end of the month, she was by his side, reimagining and rebuilding Konoha, coaxing the surrounding forest to regrow.

Sakura and Yamato faced the empty land where the council building once stood.

"I have an idea," Sakura said, "though it isn't traditional."

"By all means," Yamato said.

Sakura pressed her hands together. Wood coiled into the air and formed a new type of building. It was small and modest with an unadorned facade. A large window opened upon the council gathering space. Where the gate once existed, she created a square for the citizens of Konoha to gather. The council's discussions could no longer occur in private, outside the public eye.

It was no trivial responsibility to possess the skills to rebuild a village. If she could carve out a window when before there was none, create a new space for people to breathe, she would.

.

.

"Sakura, you have too many jobs," Ino complained.

"I am a simple student," Sakura denied, though Ino was right. In Tsunade's absence, Sakura's role in the village took on more of a political nature than ever.

After the council appointed Danzo as the temporary Hokage, she and Shizune fought to maintain Tsunade's policies and legislation under his strict rule. During council meetings, she served as Tsunade's representative. In between these responsibilities, Sakura squeezed in training and shifts at the hospital.

This meant Sakura did not have time in her schedule to eat dinner with both Ino and Naruto in one week, so she requested they meet together. Her two friends disrupted the peaceful evening of every Konoha resident with their public debate over where to eat before Ino finally threw up her hands.

Naruto slurped his Ichiraku's ramen. "You're a student, a shinobi, an architect..."

"...a medic, a politician," Ino picked up. She considered. "A large-forehead-bearer."

"Pig," Sakura responded fondly. She eyed Naruto. "Dobe," she said, using Sasuke's word without thinking, and the cheerful mood dampened.

Ino set her teacup on the table with a soft clink. "Have you heard anything?"

Naruto sighed. "The teme is up to some shit."

Sakura chewed her lip. The last they'd heard, Sasuke had formed a team and joined the Akatsuki. Five years or so, Sasuke had promised. Over four years had passed since that day.

Just as a lump formed in Sakura's throat, Ino squeezed her shoulder. "Let's walk to the square, later," she suggested. "It's great, but I think it could use a few more places to sit."

They walked to the square. Sakura twisted wood into benches and placed them according to Ino's vision.

"Beautiful work. But what about trees? Some shade would be nice," Ino said. "Don't you think, Naruto?"

"Eh? But it's night––ow," Naruto gasped, as Ino elbowed him in the ribs. "I mean, absolutely. Could use some greenery, and all that."

Sakura's hands flew through the signs. Trees sprouted in each corner of the square, growing taller than the nearby council building, than any building in the village.

The transformation was immediate. Soft murmurs of rustling leaves replaced silence. A bird landed upon a branch. From where they were standing, the newly born foliage obscured the faces carved into the Hokage Mountain. In the silver wash of the moon, it appeared as if they grew over the mountain itself, a tangle of wood and leaf and stone.

Without speaking, the three of them sat together on the nearest bench, inaugurating the new space.

"This was a good idea, Ino," Sakura said.

Ino and Naruto raised eyebrows at each other.

"Do you feel better, Forehead?"

Gazing at the treetops, Sakura found herself smiling. She felt better.

.

.

Sakura was listening to a council meeting with detached resentment when news broke of Danzo's death.

Tsumiki Kido, Danzo's closest confidant on the council, called for a moment of silence. As councilmembers bowed their heads, Sakura's heart raced. She and Shizune shared a careful glance.

When the moment was done, Tsumiki shook his head. "It is clear Uchiha Sasuke has outgrown his usefulness."

"He is a criminal and an enemy," another voice chimed in.

Sakura already knew there was a future waiting for Sasuke. He would live to meet her on that bench. Still, her blood ran cold.

"The boy has shown his true colors," Tsumiki replied. "Who will his next target be? How else will he terrorize our beloved village?"

As evenly as she could manage, Sakura said, "Konoha will never be the same after Danzo-sama's loss." She lowered her head, and faces around the table followed suit. "He displayed the Will of Fire until the end. It is evident he made a great sacrifice for the village, a sacrifice we must not undermine."

Tsumiki frowned and opened his mouth.

"Don't you see?" Sakura interjected, meeting the eyes of each councilmember. "Danzo-sama could easily defeat any enemy. In his wisdom, he understood that Uchiha Sasuke's continued wellbeing is in the best interest of the village. The Uchiha clan's doujutsu, the Sharingan, is a valuable tool. Only Sasuke possesses this skill, now that his brother Itachi is dead."

When several heads nodded, Sakura frowned and looked to the ceiling. She twisted a strand of hair around her finger, as if in thought. "I'm happy to volunteer to look through our archives on the Uchiha clan. I'm certain I'll find useful information that illustrates how having an Uchiha in service of the village is beneficial. Perhaps I'll uncover other skills, other histories, that are useful to know. We keep good records, after all."

The younger members of the council did not blink, but Sakura watched key faces twitch. Their eyes bored into her, wondering if the words archive, Itachi, records, all said in the same context, were a coincidence.

As silence fell, the public square outside remained lively. Two elderly civilians took a seat upon one of the newly crafted benches. A shuriken thunked against the large window overlooking the meeting space. Children's laughter sounded, then a group of young Academy students raced to retrieve their object.

Tsumiki's lips pressed together in a thin line. "That won't be necessary."

All talk of retaliation against Sasuke ceased. Discussion turned to Danzo's funeral preparations, then to candidates for the next acting Hokage. Sakura suggested Kakashi. The council grumbled, but it was a good suggestion.

"You spoke well, but that was a risk," Shizune said later. "They will be upset."

.

.

Sakura was scrubbing her hands after a surgery when she heard that Tsunade was awake.

She burst into the room. Shizune lifted her tear-streaked face and smiled. Tsunade sat upright in her bed, young and fresh as ever, as if awaking from a catnap rather than a deathly coma. Her teacher was not physically affectionate, but she returned Sakura's tight embrace with no reservations, and brushed the uncombed hair away from her face.

"You've both been busy," Tsunade said, after Sakura and Shizune explained everything she had missed. She eyed Sakura, inspecting the dark circles under her student's eyes. "Don't give too much away. You can't heal or fight or fix this damn village if you don't keep anything for yourself." .

.

Sakura was on the battlefield. She saw his shadow before she saw him, that familiar line of his shoulders. .

.

.

.

Up next: Sasuke and Sakura meet again.

Notes: double cliffhanger...don't be mad? :) though i hope some of your questions are starting to be answered.

also, we're more than halfway through now! this chapter through the end were the hardest to write--thank you for following along with me!

[apocalypticwafflekitten]

Northern Lights

Maul x Reader 

A/N: I’m back at it again with another Maul fic! This is a cute idea that was suggested to me by @justalittlecloud! I needed and idea and they didn’t let me down! I kind of made up a story for the Northern Lights in the Star Wars Universe since I couldn’t find anything with a quick search. Did I take beats from Romeo and Juliet? Yes. And did I take inspiration from an Estonian myth? Absolutely. I just hope it’s a good story! ALSO! If you’d like to be tagged in my Starwars, or Maul-specific writings, or any other writings that I post, feel free to let me know!

Original Imagine/Summary Kinda Thingy: Maul is curious about the Northern Lights!

Warings: None, just cute, sweet, cotton-candy fluff!

Word Count: 2,322.....this was supposed to be short.....whoops.....

“Come on Maul! It’s just a few feet further! We just have to cross this little creek, and get through that bit of underbrush ahead of us.” You explained excitedly as you all but drug Maul up the side of the mountain.  

“My love, I know that you know what you’re doing, but are you absolutely sure that we’re going to the right place? This seems pretty out of the way, and we lost the trail a while back.” Maul stopped walking and pointed behind him, taking you by surprise.  

You turned and snickered at him with a smile. 

“Of course hun! I wouldn’t just take you to some random planet and travel far off a mountain trail if I didn’t know what I was doing! I’ve done this a thousand times dear. It is my home planet after all. And my favorite place on that planet no less.” You gave Maul a smirk, and he gave you an unsure look. 

“Alright. I trust you, but if you get us lost, I’ll hold it over you until the day we die.” He joked with scrutiny, pointing an accusing finger at you. Still, beneath his uncertainty, he could feel your excitement and certainty through the force, and it sent a endeared warmth through his chest. You were so cute when you were excited. 

“We won’t get lost dear. I promise! We’re almost there!”  

You smiled as he gave in, and let you take his hand again to lead him.  

You and Maul had been married for a year now. Today was your anniversary, and you wanted to do something special for him. You had to admit that coming to your home planet was a little personal pleasure just for you, but you wanted to share it with Maul, and show him something you knew he would never forget. And where better than your favorite spot in the galaxy (besides at his side of course)?

When you pushed away the last of the underbrush Maul’s breath caught in his throat. His eyes widened. Before him lay paradise. From the top of the cliff he could see the emerald, mountainous valley for miles. The river than ran through was thin and shining like a silver ribbon under the night sky. And that sky. He had never seen so many stars in his life. Never had darkness been so beautiful. 

He was brought back to you by your chiming giggle. He didn’t even realize that you had let go of his hand, and sat on a blanket you had laid out presumably hours before you had brought him here. He closed his mouth which had fallen open at the sight of this paradise. He hadn’t realized that had happened either. 

As Maul joined you on the blanket, you smiled to him. You were surrounded by soft light from the many little candles you had lit around you. The glowing light brushed your cheek with gold, and shined off the silk dress you wore.  For a moment he forgot about the valley and the stars. You were so beautiful. Enchanting and alluring in this paradise.

You giggled again, amused by his stunned silence. 

“I was much the same the first time I saw this place. It’s gorgeous during the day, but the night makes this place indescribable. The glittering stars, and the silver river. It’s like magic. It’s paradise for me.” 

Maul was finally able to gather his thoughts into some semblance of a coherent sentence. There was so much he wanted to say, and it all wanted to spill out at once.  

“This place is...you’re...everything here is just....perfect.” He said, “Everything here is perfect.” 

He breathed out, looking from the valley, to you again with all the adoration in the galaxy.

Joy beamed through you and through your smile. Maul felt it wave through the force as you hugged him. He melted. He fell into the hug, and all but crushed you. Maybe, if he hugged you tight enough, you would be able to feel all the love, appreciation, adoration, devotion, and everything else he felt for you in it’s full measure. If only words could be passed from skin to skin.

“Thank you for bringing me here.” He murmured into the crook of your neck.  

“Of course my love. Only the best for our anniversary.”   

Maul pulled away with a suspicious look. 

“You’ve had this planned for months haven’t you?” He teased, knowing full well your meticulous tendencies.

You chuckled, and pulled away to look him in the eyes, hands slacking around his neck to rub the skin at the base of his neck.

“Perhaps.” You gave him a mischievous look paired with a smirk. 

“The cutest smirk in the galaxy.” He thought.

He laughed at your ambiguous response, though he knew the real answer.  

“Well, then I will happily enjoy whatever it is you have planned my dear.” He said as he pulled you in close beside him. You merely smiled at him in a way that said that you were indeed hiding something.

He had his suspicions about your plan. There was certainly something he wanted to do tonight, though that could wait if need be. He wondered what exactly it was that you were so excited to show him. What could make this paradise better? He never could have guessed what was in store for him. 

“Don’t worry love. That which I want to show you will show up soon.” You promised, “Until then...”   

You held his face, and turned his gaze from the stars to you. 

For the first time tonight, he really looked at you. His eyes met yours, soft and deep as he watched you, memorizing the colors of your irises and the candlelight glowing within them. His eyes wandered slowly to follow the curve of your cheek, and when he reached your lips, his thumb brushed gently against them. His eyes didn’t leave your lips until you looked down, bashful because of his intense gaze.  

“Hey,” he cupped your jaw with his hand, and gently nudged you to look up at him, “Don’t look away from me.”  

His whisper sent a shutter down your spine and sharp inhale through your lips.  

He stayed there. Staring at you with adoration and a little something more.  

There was a beat of silence before he took a shaky, laboured breath in. 

“May I?”  

His voice was breathy; desperate and he cupped your cheek, glowing with candlelight.

You chuckled a little, and looked into his wanting eyes.  

“Of course you can my love. We’re married remember. You don’t have to ask every time you want to kiss me.” Your hand held his to your face as you smiled back up at him.

His lips crashed to yours. They melded together as though they were made for each other long ago when the universe was first born. Your hands reached out to hold his handsome face. 

His touch traveled to your waist, and ran up your sides, pulling your frame in to press against him. He could feel the silhouette of your body beneath the silk of your gown. His hands wandered and rubbed at the fabric, feeling it wrinkle under his fingertips, barely protecting you from his searing touch. Oh how he wanted you to touch him. He wanted to feel your skin on his, your hands on his bare chest. Your lips on his neck. Oh he needed you to cool the burning desire in his soul. 

But before he could make his desires known, he felt you begin to pull away. His lips followed yours, unwilling to let you go. He tightened his hand around your waist and gave a disappointed whimper at your persistence. He never wanted to stop kissing you. 

You chuckled into his kiss, and held him back by his shoulder. 

“I know my love. I’d adore to kiss you more, but there’s something I have to show you...Look off to the horizon.” You whispered to him, pointing out to the edge of the world.

He pouted, but he was curious, as always, so Maul turned his head and when he saw what lay on the horizon, his eyes blew wide, and your smile grew wider. 

“Wha-what is it?” His smooth voice was filled with wonder at what he saw.  

The night sky had grown darker. Deeper. The stars were still shining, but cutting through that darkness, and through the stars were bright, beautiful ribbons of lights, cascading down to the horizon. Blues and greens danced between the mountains, and the river ran silver below. 

“It’s called Aurora Borealis. The Northern Lights.” You explained, endeared by his curiosity.    

“It’s beautiful.” He whispered. 

He was transfixed. His eyes were filled with whimsy, and for the first time in a long while, he smiled as wide he could, and he didn’t think of anything else. The hues from the sky mirrored in his eyes, and you couldn’t look away from them if you wanted to.  

 “What are they?” His voice pulled you from your state of admiration.  

You blinked and collected your thoughts. 

“Do you want the scientific answer, or the legend I was always told.” You asked. 

“Either.” His voice was breathy again, but this time it was filled with wonder; He still hadn’t looked away. He looked at the sky the way he looked at you. 

“I’ll start with the legend then.” You smiled, and scooted closer to Maul, laying your head on his shoulder, your arm reaching up to rub his back, “The story goes that there were once two lovers who were bonded by the Force. Their love ran stronger than any in the galaxy,” You noticed Maul grimace in reaction, and you huffed in amusement, knowing full well his opinion on that detail, “But despite the strength of their love, they were forbidden to be together. He was a nobleman, and she was a slave girl who served his mother. So, for many years they hid their love until the nobleman was married off to a princess whom he did not love, and made to move to her home planet. The slave girl was heartbroken, as was the nobleman, but they promised never to forget one another. And their promises held. So, as a reward, when the two had lived their lives, and passed on from this world, the Force reunited their spirits, and they were wed in the afterlife. The lights you see are their spirits, travelling together for eternity, followed by the celestial spirits, and beings that celebrated along with them. They travel the sky and bless those who see them with a love strong enough to last through life and death and beyond. You explained before releasing a happy sigh,“That’s how my parents always explained it to me. I loved that story.”  

Maul took a second to look at you, his eyes holding only admiration.

“That’s beautiful my love. It reminds me of you.”  

“Of me?” You asked, cocking your head in curiosity.

“Of course.” He stated, looking back to the ribbons of light before continuing, “The way you love me, it transcends this galaxy. Your love is that strong. That true. And you show me that every day you stay beside me. Even beside that, like the lights, getting to see you, even just once, is enough to leave one wanting for a lifetime. And getting to see you every day? Your light never dims. You could never dim.”  

Maul kept his eyes glued to the lights. He may be married to you, and tonight may be your anniversary, but when those words fell from his mouth, he couldn’t look to you. Embarrassment warmed his face. In all the time you had been together, he still had trouble letting his heart spill from his lips. But when you turned his face towards you with a gentle palm on his hand, he knew that his words were more than welcome. 

He saw tears in your eyes, but these weren’t tears of sorrow. No. He could feel your overwhelming gratitude and love and admiration for him crashing into him. He knew you could feel his love as well.  

“I love you.” You whispered before pulling him in, and kissing him with your whole heart. 

“I love you too,” He breathed between kisses, “I have always loved you. The minute I set eyes on you I needed you to be by my side. My heart begged your name when we met, and since then I have never wanted any other word to fall from my lips. You are the light in this universe. You are every star. Every sun. Every planet. You make my dark soul feel beautiful.” 

“It’s because you are beautiful my love.” You cooed, tracing his jaw with your finger, and following his tattoos with your eyes, “You’re calming like the ebbing of waves on a shore. When I hear your voice, it’s a soft lullaby. I remember, when we met, it was your voice that caught my attention. It never seemed to match your reputation. I couldn’t get enough of it, and to this day, I still can’t. WHen I hear you say my name, my world stops and everything is perfect.” You huffed a laugh as your eyes flitted from his jaw to his own eyes.  

“I can’t believe I was lucky enough to marry you.” Maul whispered to you, although you were alone. 

“I can’t believe I was lucky enough to meet you!” You smile at him through a laugh with endearment shining in your eyes.  

“You’re the world to me my love. The galaxy.” 

“And you’re the galaxy to me.” 

Maul kissed you softly before turning his gaze once more to the Northern Lights.  He loved you. His wife. His rock. And he would love you through life and beyond. That was a guarantee, and promise he would never, ever break. 

Tags! 

@justalittlecloud, and @fanficsforheartandsoul​ ! 

Feel free to let me know if you want to be tagged!

[goldencuffs]

fake dating au part two

Whenever Laurent was overwhelmed, or feeling the kind of loneliness even a good cock couldn’t cure, he would sneak off into the library in the north wing of the Palace, where most of his mother’s official portraits were displayed.

Laurent loved all of them; Hennike was smiling in every single one, blonde hair curled perfectly, and teeth a stunning white. The colouring of her gowns and crowns were so bright, even painted, they seemed to shine in the dullest light. Laurent didn’t really know her; she had died three days after giving birth to him, but he had watched so many interviews and home videos of her, he felt like he had. She had been beautiful, well spoken, and everyone had been shocked when she had fallen for Al, because she had been betrothed to someone else.

Laurent liked coming down here to talk to her. It helped to have her listen to his dramatic tirades. He had started doing it when he was thirteen, when Auguste had enlisted in military training and left him alone, but had stopped a few months later, when Al caught him, his face ashen as he’d watched his youngest son babble to his dead wife.

After that, Laurent made sure to only come down in the dead of night, when he was absolutely desperate.

Which was clearly now; Laurent’s head had been spinning since the dinner at Heston’s. Even dessert hadn’t cheered him up — Heston, the absolute cretin, had served only four options of dessert and not a single one had chocolate in them. Not even one! It was like people intentionally went out of their way to put Laurent in a foul mood. Laurent had already drafted a wordy letter about Heston’s appalling lack of class and hosting abilities on the way home, and he was going to send it to the local tabloid first thing in the morning.

Laurent paced around the library, addressing his favourite portrait of his mother. It was her wedding portrait, and he loved all the detailing in it. The blush pink flowers in her bouquet matched her lipstick and her blush, and the tiara she was wearing had 588 diamonds in it. It was called The Laurent Tiara, and when Laurent had found out it had been Hennike’s favourite crown, he’d cried into his pillowcase for an embarrassingly long time.

“If I tell Al the truth now, he’ll kill me,” Laurent wailed at an appropriately low volume; he was very considerate of the sleeping guards when he threw his tantrums. “Or worse — get me married! Oh god, he’ll set me up with that idiot Torveld and I’ll have to spend the rest of my life hearing about his coin collection. Who even uses cash anymore? And what exactly is the point of having money if you can’t use it? And has Al even considered the aesthetics of our coupling? How are we supposed to wear matching outfits if Torveld looks rubbish in Egyptian blue and azure? Hello! Those are my signature colours!” Laurent sunk down on the lumpy sofa and buried his head in his hands. “Maybe death really is the better option.” He looked up at Hennike’s green eyes. “Is heaven overrated? Where would you personally place it on a scale of one to ten?”

She didn’t answer him, obviously. It was no use, anyway; Laurent was definitely not getting into heaven.

*

Laurent woke up irritated and unrested, and not for his usual, fun reasons. He hadn’t come up with any sort of solution to his dilemma and he had had a very strange dream where Damianos punched him while Al watched on. Then the scene had changed, and Laurent was on stage accepting his tenth Oscar for Best Actor, even though he had yet to star in any films.

“I’m thinking of becoming an actor,” Laurent told Al later that night during dinner.

Al’s eyes narrowed and his mouth became a sharp line. “What?”

“I mean, I have the looks, obviously. And really, how hard is acting anyway? Clearly you don’t even need to be very good at it to star in a movie — look at Channing Tatum. I’m sorry, but it’s very obvious his height was the only thing that got him into Hollywood, and even then it’s not that impressive.”

Al put down his knife and fork. “Can we —” He sounded very strained, “have a normal conversation for once.”

Laurent considered this. “I don’t think we’ve had enough conversations to statistically find out what constitutes a normal one,” he said. Al went red, so he continued, “So you don’t think acting is for me? Shall I try directing then? Or maybe —” He sat up excitedly in his chair. “I could write movies! I have so many ideas! Why, for instance, has no one considered a gay version of The Princess Bride? What would that even be called? The Prince Groom? Ugh, no, that’s terrible. Oh, who am I kidding — with my face and my body I have no choice but to be on camera. Otherwise, it’d be such a waste.”

The vein in Al’s forehead was throbbing. If he had been wearing his crown, it would have gone unnoticed, but like this, it was rather unflattering.

Al said, “Laurent,” in a sombre tone. “I really hope you’re joking.”

“About The Prince Groom? Kind of. But the acting thing — would it really be that bad?”

“You are a prince,” Al said, teeth clenched. “If it is the glam and glitz you want, you have more than enough here.”

Laurent, uncomfortably, thought of his room, the only place in the Palace that was truly his, devoid completely of personal artefacts. He swallowed. “Yes, well.” He tried a smile. “Maybe I should borrow another crown from the royal archives. I don’t think I’ve worn one with emeralds yet.”

Al resumed eating. “Speaking of crowns,” he said, completely glossing over Laurent’s last statement. “I’d like you to wear the Crown of Naos when King Damianos arrives.”

Laurent’s mouth dropped open. “As if! Al, the gold colouring on that completely washes me out! Not to mention the fact that that thing weighs like, five kilograms!”

Al’s nostrils flared at the word Al. He said, “The crown is a gift from Damianos’ great great grandfather to yours. It will be an appropriate and symbolic gesture if you wear it.”

“But why can’t you wear it? Or Auguste?”

“I am not the one having an affair with the King of Akielos,” said Al.

Oh, right. Laurent had forgotten about that. But what was the point? It wasn’t as though Damianos would recognise the gesture. If anything, he might think of it as inappropriate.

Instead he said, “Well, gee, Al, I didn’t peg you as a romantic.” Laurent fluttered his lashes a little.

Al pushed away his plate. “I’m done, thank you.” A servant immediately came to clear away his food.

Al left the dining hall, his shoulders tight. Laurent wished Auguste would hurry back home already.

*

In the morning, on the way back from the stables, Jord said, “Looks like your wish came true.”

Laurent stopped dead. “Oh my god — is Pierre-Alexis Dumas here? Is he finally going to collab with me?”

“Who’s Pierre-Alexis Dumas?” said Jord.

Laurent whirled on him. “Watch your fucking mouth.”

“Sorry.” Jord said, not sounding the slightest bit sorry. The audacity! “But look.” He pointed past Laurent, to the front of the Palace.

Laurent looked. There was a nondescript black limousine parked on the long, gravel pathway. Laurent would have dismissed it, if he didn’t spot sight of Jeurre, Auguste’s chauffeur, leant up against one of the doors, smoking.

Laurent gasped. He passed on his bridle to Jord, who fumbled to catch it, and ran inside.

Auguste and Al were in the plate room. Al was sitting on the large, velvet throne, a glass of whiskey in his hand. It wasn’t even noon! And he was baring his teeth in that weird way — smiling, as he called it.

Auguste was standing in front of him, hands behind his back. He had gotten very tan, and his hair was much darker, a strange golden colour that made the blue-green of his eyes more appealing.

They both turned when Laurent entered. Al’s mouth was already drooping at the sight of him, but Laurent only had eyes for his brother, whom he hadn’t seen in eight whole months.

Laurent wanted to hug him, which surprised even himself. Laurent was not a hugger. He wasn’t much of a toucher, either, unless it involved getting laid.

Auguste gave him a nod. He sometimes acted so much like Al, it disgusted Laurent; the only difference was that Auguste’s eyes were always kind.

Laurent peered at him closely, shocked. “What have you done to yourself? Are you having a mid-life crisis? Should we call Paschal for a yearly psych evaluation?”

Auguste laughed. “It’s a moustache, Laurent. It’s very fashionable in Kempt, you know.”

“It’s horrendous!” Laurent cried. He stared at the thick hair above Auguste’s top lip in horror. “Right. I’m officially ruling Kempt out as a holiday destination this summer if all the men are growing that.”

Al’s eyebrows furrowed. “I like it. It’s very refined.”

“Oh god, now we have to get rid of it,” said Laurent, which made Al frown and Auguste laugh. Auguste squeezed Laurent’s shoulder. He was always mindful of Laurent’s boundaries. “I think you’ve grown taller.”

“I haven’t,” Laurent said. He showed off his riding boots. “See? It’s three inches of heel.”

“Very impractical,” Al said under his breath, which was not a very Kingly thing to do.

Auguste was still smiling. “I like it. It matches the piping of your coat.”

“Yes, exactly!” Laurent was so happy in that moment, he leant forward and hugged Auguste. It was very short, but Auguste looked so pleased afterwards, Laurent wished he had prolonged it.

“Did you get me anything?” he asked, to cover the embarrassment following his sudden burst of affection.

Auguste raised an eyebrow. “I’m hurt, Laurent. You’re not going to ask me about my classes or my rather excellent Anthropology professor?”

Laurent scrunched up his face. “Are you stalling because you didn’t get me anything?”

Auguste smiled. “There’s about fifty boxes of Grand Cru chocolate in your bedroom.”

Laurent’s sound of ecstasy was too loud; Al spilled some of his whiskey onto his pants. Auguste clapped him on the back in commiseration.

As the servants laid out a small meal —  roses of smoked salmon on cucumber slices, macaroons, thin slices of cured meat and cheese, crunchy shrimp salad on crusty rolls, grapes and strawberries and mango and pineapple, individual strawberry shortcakes, that kind of thing — Auguste said, “Father tells me you’re having an affair with the King of Akielos.” He said it casually enough, but Laurent could see he wasn’t thrilled about the idea.

Laurent swallowed his last bite of sandwich and placed a hand on his heart. “Al! You should know better than to gossip, shame on you!”

Al just sighed, a long, suffering sound, and Auguste glared openly at him. “I thought you promised to stop disrespecting Father like that.”

Laurent’s stomach pooled with an uncomfortable tightness. Being told off by Auguste somehow was always worse than being told off by Al.

���Fine,” Laurent said shortly. He said to Al: “Oh dearest Father, Papa, Your Majesty, light of my life, the man who impregnated Queen Hennike, so I, your glorious creation, could be born to bring some joy to this bleak, bleak world: stop gossiping immediately.”

There was a very long pause. Then Auguste laughed. “You are such a shit.”

Al sighed again. “He’s becoming more and more insolent by the day.”

“Thank you so much,” Laurent said, wiping away an imaginary tear.

Auguste barked another laugh. Al sipped more whiskey; a very good sign. Laurent was going to take advantage of this; he wanted a new watch.

Auguste continued his questioning a few minutes later. “So. You and the King — it’s true?”

Laurent flapped a hand. “Oh, you know how it is. He saw those pictures of me from Aimeric’s birthday party where I wore those silk shorts that were just long enough to be tasteful and the poor darling had absolutely no choice but to slide into my DMs and woo me.”

“What’s a DM?” asked Al, and if the question had come from anyone else, Laurent would have found it adorable. He probably would have tweeted it as well.

“Texting,” Auguste said. He seemed contemplative. “Aimeric’s birthday — from last September? It’s been a bit more than a year.”

“Yes,” said Laurent. He tried to say it as wistfully as possible. “He bought me a Ferrarri.”

“Really?” Auguste sounded impressed. “The 1954?”

Laurent grinned. “Do you want to drive it?”

“Fuck yeah,” Auguste said, then quickly cleared his throat and looked at their father. “I mean, yes. Perhaps later in the afternoon.”

Al shook his head, but he didn’t say anything for the rest of the meal. Well, he didn’t say anything to Laurent. He really was in a good mood.

*

Having Auguste back had Laurent so distracted it wasn’t until a few days later that he realised how frantically the staff were cleaning the floors and walls and painting frames.

In fact, he became so relaxed doing less than nothing all day, since Al was too busy doing this and that, or fawning over Auguste, he didn’t comprehend why the chefs needed fifty boars delivered fresh on Friday morning, until Al told him before their weekly Council, “I want you to wear your red high neck blouse tomorrow.”

“Why?” Laurent asked, checking for any fine lines in the shine of the armour of one of the propped knights in the hallway.

“It is the colour of the Akielos banner. I am trying to seem as diplomatic as possible.”

Laurent went very, very still. With dawning horror, he said, “The — Damianos is coming tomorrow?”

Al’s expression turned thunderous. “Do not waste my time asking stupid questions, Laurent. You know how much I despise it.”

Laurent’s eyes widened. “Oh no,” he said quietly, real fear settling into his bones. Damianos was going to murder him tomorrow. He would need to get a facial tonight, to ensure he was the most beautiful corpse the human eye had seen. And then something much more horrific occurred to him. “Wait! I can’t wear the red high neck with the Crown of Naos! Those colours completely clash!”

Al seemed to age a few centuries in a blink of an eye. With a shake of his head, he walked into the Chambers, leaving Laurent alone in the hallway.

Laurent frowned. One of these days, he was going to be the one storming out. It was only fair.

*

Things only got worse.

Laurent’s last minute facial broke him out, so he threatened to sue and smashed one of their stupid reclining chairs.

Laurent had honestly thought that was going to be the worst of it; the pimple along his jawline was easy to cover up once he got the local dermatologist to inject something in it.

But on the morning of Damianos’ arrival, Laurent was in a terrible mood. He hadn’t slept at all, worried about his pimple, his horrible outfit, and the fact that a man who was the size of a small house — Google said Damianos was 6’6”, but he was definitely way more, no arguments — was going to viciously kill him.

“Hurry up,” Laurent snapped at the servant dressing him, who had been pulling too sharply at his laces for the last six minutes.

“Yes, Your Highness,” he answered meekly, and continued fumbling about.

When a few more minutes passed, Laurent looked down at him. “Okay, seriously, this is ridiculous. You usually get me dressed in ten minutes or less. What is the problem?”

“I —” The servant looked like he was on the verge of tears. “Your Highness, the laces — I can’t do them up. It’s uh — it’s too tight.”

“What do you mean?” Laurent asked, narrowing his eyes. “This fit perfectly a month ago.”

“Yes, well —” And his eyes slid over to the bed, where an empty, open box of chocolates was stacked against many other empty boxes of chocolate.

Laurent saw red.

It took three guards and then Jord and Lazar to keep Laurent restrained enough to not kill him. In the end, he yelled until his throat was hoarse and the servant broke down, running out the room with his face covered in tears.

Afterwards, Laurent attempted to do up the laces himself, because he was not fat, and he definitely had not gained weight; he was svelte and sexy and desirable.

In the end, he could only do his trousers up, and only just. If he let out a particularly deep exhale… well, breathing was overrated anyway, Laurent had always thought so.

“Oh, forget it!” Laurent howled, miserable and on the verge of tears himself. “I look ridiculous.”

“No, you don’t, Your Highness,” Jord assured quickly. Too quickly.

Laurent glanced at himself in the mirror. His ass was practically suffocated in these trousers — and that was his best feature! He ran a hand down it forlornly. “It’s too tight.”

Jord’s eyes followed his hand with avid interest. He was drooling.

“Could be tighter,” said Lazar, leaning against the bedpost.

Laurent flung himself on the bed. “No it couldn’t. I need to lose about three kilograms in the next —” He checked the clock, “half an hour. Oh god. Just tell Al I died. It’ll make his day, go on.”

“Orgasms help with weight loss,” said Lazar. “I could fuck your face.”

Laurent sniffed “Don’t be so stupid.” He looked at the clock again. “Obviously, riding you will help me lose more calories. Both of you get on the bed, quick.”

*

Laurent did not lose three kilograms in half an hour. As enjoyable as the sex had been, it had only made him tired and anxious.

Jord suggested that Laurent should just let the laces at the back trail, and cover it up with a coat, even though it was far too hot in the year to wear one. Laurent obliged anyway, knowing how difficult Al would be if he showed up wearing undiplomatic colours. He changed his trousers into a different pair, making sure it had an elastic waistband to stretch accommodatingly.

When the crown was placed on his head, he staggered a little. It really was unnecessarily heavy. His great great grandfather must have had a head the size of a watermelon.

Laurent walked unsteadily down the hall, towards the Palace steps where Auguste and Al were already waiting. His insides became so twisted with the thought of seeing Damianos, he had to make a detour and hide behind a tapestry to have a panic, but only a little one.

Outside, the sun was blazing. Auguste clapped him on the back in greeting, and Laurent winced, the material of his blouse sticking to his armpits. Al’s lips curled at his outfit, but Laurent couldn’t care. He hoped he looked beautiful enough — just enough — so Damianos would reconsider his murder. At the very least, Laurent hoped nothing happened to his face.

“Alright?” said Auguste. “You’re sweating.”

“Shut up,” said Laurent, mortified. He was a prince; he did not sweat.

Auguste’s response was cut off by the sound of the gates opening and rolling tires on gravel. Laurent’s heart was in his ears; he swallowed, but it made him feel more sick.

The sleek, black car was parked in the driveway. Several seconds later, Damianos stepped out, tall and handsome.

Laurent whimpered. It was one thing to see photos of Damianos on the internet, walking briskly down the street or shaking hands with Al, and it was another thing entirely to see him in the flesh as he walked down their driveway.

He was so tall. And he was built like a tree; all thick arms and chest and thighs. Laurent had such a weakness for thighs, they were really the best part of a man’s body, how they framed the groin and the cock and —

Laurent realised, suddenly, that he had not prepared at all for how he was going to greet Damianos.

Lovers kissed each other, yes? Laurent didn’t think he could do that without being punched but god, would Al think it was weird if he didn’t at least attempt to kiss Damianos? Maybe he could pretend to suddenly be shy, too coy to look into Damianos’ eyes in front of everyone — yes, yes that sounded perfect.

Damianos came up the stairs, smile wide and straight. His teeth were amazing. Were they fake? Laurent didn’t think so; he ran his tongue over his own, nervous, heart still thumping in his ears.

He greeted Al first. Laurent’s head was spinning. What if Al said something? What if Auguste did? What if Damianos said something that alluded to the fact that this was technically, the first time he and Laurent would be speaking to another?

And then Laurent couldn’t think of anything else, because Damianos was standing right in front of him.

He reached out, one large, dark hand to shake Laurent’s. Laurent staggered forward, into his chest, and closed his eyes.

*

When he opened his eyes again, Laurent saw the most beautiful angel.

“Wow, you’re hot.” Laurent poked a very hard, very strong bicep. “Heaven’s pretty cool.” He was dead, obviously,  because people this good looking didn’t exist in the mortal world.

“You’re not dead, Laurent. Can you sit up?”

Laurent thought about it. He wasn’t dead? That was good news. But he felt like he was dead because he couldn’t move his body at all.

“Here, can you follow my finger?”

“Hmm.” Laurent said and stared unblinkingly at what he assumed was a finger. It was quite blurry.

“I think he’s concussed.”

Laurent giggled. The stranger’s accent made it sound like he had said cock-cussed. It made Laurent want to suck cock.

He said, “If I’m not dead, I’d like to be. Jord, get me my blue Prada scarf. I want to be buried in it. Lazar, get your gun out.”

“He doesn’t seem concussed.” That was Al. The compulsion to die was suddenly much stronger.

“We should take him to the hospital,” the hot angel said. Laurent was in love.

He said as much: “I really love you,” he told the blurry figure. Then he rolled over onto his side and threw up.

[korra-the-red-lion]

Unnatural Affairs. Chapter 1: Move In Day.

(Ally)

The first day of university was one of those exciting yet absolutely terrifying things. Luckily, it was just move in day and that gave me a week reprieve before I actually went to my first class. Still, the anxiety of moving away from home was something you couldn’t help, even if you don’t always get along your parents. Being on your own, expected to fend for yourself alone. That made me shiver to my core.

The car bumped along the road as we approached the campus. My dad said something to my mom under his breath, for her ears only. I didn’t mind, too busy focusing on the school buildings coming into view. It wasn’t a massive campus, but that fit me just fine. I grew up in a small town, so a smaller university was the least overwhelming choice for me to pick. I originally got accepted into Chester University, but with a student population of 45,000, I could feel my heart rate increase just reading about it. My dad was disappointed that I didn’t go to Perkins, his alma mater, but it was just so far away and quite frankly, had a reputation as a party school. No, not for me, thank you very much. I liked that Mount Seamus had a small student population (only 3,000) and was close enough to home that I could go back if I needed to (only an hour and half drive).

“Alexandra,” said my mom, looking over her shoulder, “how are you feeling?”

I tore my gaze away from the window. “A little nervous, if I’m being honest. Excited too, but mostly nervous.”

She smiled at me. “Perfectly normal. I think you’ll be great, sweetie.”

I smiled back at her, before returning my eyes back to the window. We were rolling up to the drop off spot for students. My parents would drop me off there and take my things to my room. I was happy for a chance to be away from them for a short time. I loved them, but sometimes they could be a tad bit stifling. It will be nice to be able to explore on my own for awhile before having to do the whole tour with them.

The car bumped to a stop. I undid my seatbelt, breathing slowly through my nose. I could feel my nerves trying to get the better of me. My mom reached around and placed her hand on my shoulder, giving me an encouraging nod. I nodded back to her and opened the door, the warmth of the August air hitting me.

“We’ll drop your stuff off and meet you at the student services building, okay?” said mom.

I nodded, not trusting my voice right now.

Mom reached out the window and kissed my hands, filling me with warmth, calming me down a little. My dad looked over and mumbled out a ‘good luck’ before they drove off. My dad wasn’t a man of many words, and it was having a hard time with me moving out. I just hoped that he’d open up a bit more before we got here, but clearly that wasn’t happening. Still, there was still time.

The sound of music and people cheering drew my attention. They were holding up signs that welcomed the new students, signs pointing people in the right direction, and just general fun vibes coming from that direction. That’s where I needed to be, so that’s where I went.

The music was a little too loud for my liking, but I just dealt with it. I didn’t have to be at this spot for too long. A student spotted me and waved at me to come over. She grinned as I approached, high fiving her friend. She had her hair tied up in a high ponytail. The colours of the school were painted on her cheeks, nearly hiding the smattering of freckles that spread across her nose and maybe her cheeks. Her friend was a bit shorter, with her hair done in a messy bun and wearing matching face paint.

“Hey-o, welcome to MSU, frosh,” said the freckled girl excitedly. “Is this your first time on campus?”

I nodded shyly, trying to not take a step back. The anxiety was trying to overwhelm me again.

“Nice! I’m Lyn, and this is my buddy Loryn!” she indicated the girl next to her. “We’re here to show people around and help out with anything you need for today.”

“If you want it, that is,” added Loryn quickly, maybe noticing my discomfort.

“Yes, totally!” Lyn looked back and forth between us, frowning slightly for a second before grinning again. “This is not mandatory by any means. It’s more like, uh, a more personalized tour? Some people find the whole group thing super overwhelming and shit, so we do this so people can just have some one on ones.”

“I would like that, actually,” I said with a smile. “If you don’t mind showing me around, Lyn, that would be lovely.”

Lyn winked at Loryn before coming around the table. “Hehe, another win for me, Loryn. If you don’t pick it up, cleaning the locker room sure is gonna suck for you.”

“Shut up and just show the poor girl around. Oh, and try not to be too loud, Lyn.”

Lyn rolled her eyes and indicated me to follow her. She was tall, probably around 6ft or something close to that. I didn’t notice it before, because I was distracted by the blue and white painted all over her face, but she had stunning electric blue eyes. The kind that most girls envied. They really popped against the paleness of her skin.

She must have noticed me looking as she turned towards me a little bit more, her eyes searching mine. Her face softened and she said to me, “You must be really nervous, huh?”

“I am, yeah…” I tucked my hair behind my ear. “It’s my first time away from home, from my parents, you know? You dream of moving out and being on your own for so long, but when the day comes, all you want do is go back home and wish you can just live there forever.”

Lyn nodded. “I get that, totally. Hopefully you’ll adjust here quickly, but girl, don’t feel bad about homesickness. Most of us feel it.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry! I’m Ally, by the way,” I said quickly. It totally slipped my mind to introduce myself earlier, but it occurred to me when she called me ‘girl.’

“Ally, huh? That’s a nice name,” she smiled at me again. “Okidoki, let’s get down to business, shall we? This is here is the main campus, where you’ll find all the classroom buildings and the library. The residence buildings are all located around the main campus, but no building is longer than a 10-minute walk around here. Food hall is over on the east side, over yonder,” she pointed to where I assume the meal hall was located, “so it’s nice depending on which res you’re in. I was in Lukas Hall, which was close to the AC but across from the food hall, so I always had to pack snacks for after practice in case I couldn’t grab something before class.”

“Sorry, but what’s the ‘AC’?” I asked, tilting my head to the side.

“Shit, sorry, you’re new. It’s the Athletic Centre, where I spend most of my days.”

I bite my lip in thought, looking her up and down, trying to guess what sport she played. She was tall and had lean muscle. She was wearing flip flops and track pants, her toes had chipped nail polish on them. She was wearing a university t-shirt, but it gave no indication to which team she was on. She was smirking at me with her arms crossed over her chest, knowing I was trying to guess.

“Okay, um, basketball?” I guessed.

She laughed with a gentle shake of her head. “Nope! I’ll let you guess one more time.”

Damn, okay. She wasn’t too bulky, so I knew basketball was a risky guess. I think volleyball is wrong too. There were no scraps or bruises on her knees and legs to indicate that she played soccer or hockey.

I smiled brightly when it came to me. “Swim team!”

Lyn broke out in a huge grin. “Damn, yeah! How’d you guess?”

“Well, I didn’t notice any bruising on your skin. So, it kind of eliminated contact sports. I did think maybe you did cross country or swimming because of your build. You’re muscular, but it’s not heavy muscle like other sports. It’s the kind of muscle required for endurance. But then I saw your toes…for the most part they look fine. I feel like a runner would have more calluses and swelling down there. Therefore, the logical conclusion had to be swimming,” I explained.

Lyn gave a low whistle and shoved her hands in her pockets. “Well damn, Ally. That was pretty freaking good. You wanna be a PI or something?”

I blushed as I shook my head. “Not really. I just always had a knack for noticing details.”

“Well, that’s a pretty cool knack. I’m shit with details, so there’s no way in hell I could have guessed that just from sizing someone up. Come on, I’ll show ya the rest of the campus and we’ll head over to the meet up spot. I assume your parents are meeting you there?”

I nodded and we were off again. Lyn was honestly not great at explaining where things were, since she would just vaguely point in the direction and tell me the building names, even though I didn’t know much about them. But, she was really nice and friendly. I actually ended up forgetting about how anxious I was about this whole thing and ended up really enjoying the tour. I knew I’d end up doing it with my parents again anyway, so I didn’t mind that this wasn’t the gold standard tour given out by the university coordinators.

Eventually we ended up back to where I met her and Loryn, who was now gone. Maybe she was giving someone else a tour. Lyn directed me to where my parents were waiting for me. My mom was checking her phone, and when our eyes connected, I realized I never took it out once while I was with Lyn. I guiltily pulled it out from my purse and saw that I had three missed texts and a missed called from her. If I was anxious about moving out, my mom was way worse.

Of course, I understood why. Ever since I was a little kid, I noticed things that other people didn’t. At first, my parents chalked it up to youthful imagination but after great grand dad passed away and I told Nana that he wanted to apologize for how he treated her and Betty when they were growing up, my parents came to the conclusion that there was something wrong with me. There isn’t, in the traditional sense. It just seems as if I could connect to the supernatural aspects of this world. It wasn’t normal, and it really upset my dad quite a bit. I tried to make sure I never talked about it once I got old enough to understand how they felt about the situation, but there were times that it slipped. Like at Kat’s 13th birthday bash, which I ended up having a panic attack at because I swore that I saw some sort of demon crawling out of the garden shed. I think my mom just didn’t want me to feel like an outcast again, but university is supposed to be a new beginning, right?

“Sorry, mom. I was talking to someone and just forgot to check my phone,” I said, a wave of shame washing over me.

My mom, a human scanner when it came to people I was with, looked Lyn up and down before nodding slowly, meaning she approved. My dad, however, stared at her for a solid minute of silence. Lyn shifted foot to foot uncomfortably and tugged at her ear.

“Did I do something wrong?” she asked under her breath.

“No, you didn’t. My dad is just very overprotective and tends to do this stupid act to scare people away,” I muttered back.

Finally, my dad clicked his tongue and nodded as well. “I’m glad that you found someone to show you around,” he said slowly.

“Yes, Lyn was very nice to do that,” I said. “The campus is lovely, and it will be nice to have a familiar face to see.” This drew a smile onto Lyn’s freckled face.

“Your daughter is super awesome,” she said to my parents, “but I can’t stick around much longer, unfortunately. Gotta go back and see if there are any other frosh who need my attention, you know?” She spared me a goodbye wink before sauntering back over to her table, where some guy was there instead of Loryn.

I found myself staring over at her before my attention was drawn back to my parents, especially my mom. She had a map of the campus and started asking me where everything was and how close I was to the major buildings (those being meal hall, the library, and the student centre in case I needed campus security for any reason).

I had a feeling this second tour was going to be much longer than the one I just had.

XXX

My parents helped me set everything up in my room. It wasn’t a big space, but that was to be expected. I’m an only child, so the real adjustment is learning how to share the space with another person. She wasn’t here at the moment; she went to supper with her parents. My mom offered to go picked something up so we could eat it here, leaving me alone with dad.

My relationship with my dad was…complicated at best. He was loving and looked out for me, but it was also difficult for him to come to terms with the more… how to say, unnatural aspects of my personality. He grew up as a devout Catholic, so these kinds of things just made him uncomfortable. I remember when I was 9 years old and being told I wasn’t allowed to go over to Chris Parks’ house anymore because his older brother used a Ouija Board during a Halloween party, and my dad was convinced the house was filled with evil spirts since.

So yeah, sometimes it was hard to get along with him. It didn’t matter how many times I explained myself to him, he was always harsh with judgement. It’s not like I woke up one day and asked for this. Trust me, if I had the choice, I’d be much happier living in a world of naivety like the other kids. I’ve had to go to therapy and be prescribed meds to help control my anxiety about seeing dead people and demons. That kind of shit scars you, doesn’t matter what age.

I was humming a tune to a song that helps me stay calm while making sure my poster of Supergirl was straight when I heard my dad clear his throat. Dropping my shoulders in anticipation, I looked over with a frown.

“Yes, dad?”

“Take a seat, I just want to chat before your mom gets back,” he said, patting a spot on my bed next to him.

Wary of what was coming next, I sat with my shoulders curled into towards my body. I fiddled with the arm of my glasses and waited for him to speak. There was no point in rushing him when he got like this.

“Alexandra, I know that growing up, I was harsh with you when it came to…” he waved his hand at me, “…you know. But, it was only for your own good. This here? This is a new chance, a chance to start fresh. No one here knows about your…you know. You can make friends, maybe even get a girlfriend. But baby girl, promise me that you won’t go looking for those kinds of dark things. Promise me you’ll just be ordinary, okay?”

There it was. Ordinary. The word was like a punch to the face every time he said it. I could feel my face grow hot with shame and anger as I got to my feet. “I- dad…you know I hate it when you say it that way…” my voiced cracked as I tried to keep it together.

“I’m not trying to make you feel bad, Alexandra. I just want you to have a good time here and not-”

“What? Not screw up?” I turned away from him, feeling the tears welling up.

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“That’s how it sounded to me!”

Dad got to his feet as well and try to put his hand on my shoulder, which I shrugged off, not wanting him to touch me. I hated that he made me feel dirty about this.

“Listen, Alexandra, just…I’m sorry, okay? I just want to know you’ll be safe while you’re here.”

I rolled my eyes and forced myself to take a deep breath. “Okay, whatever dad.”

Whatever dumb thing he was going to say next was interrupted by mom coming in with the food. I quickly wiped at my eyes and forced myself to face them both. My mom’s eyes were red and puffy, clearly from crying in the car. Well, there I go too. I burst into tears and pull my mom into a tight hug, trying to take in her everything. I was ready to get away from home, I swear. But leaving my mom was harder than anything else in the whole world.

There we stood, sobbing onto each other’s shoulders while the food got cold beside us.

XXX

I stood on the corner as my parents drove away, my mom waving to me from the window. I had no more tears to spill, so I stood there in painful, hallow silence. Finally, when the bugs started to get too awful for me to deal with anymore, I made my way back to my residence. MacGavin hall was considered one of the better residences on campus, which is why my parents insisted I stayed there. I wasn’t going to argue with them, since they were paying.

I swiped my student card against the reader and pulled the door open once it beeped green. I made my way back to my room in miserable silence. There was already music blasting from someone’s room, and some of the students were sharing alcohol in the hall. Obviously, the RA was either a party person themselves, or they just didn’t care. To be honest, I didn’t care myself at this time.

I opened my door and saw that my roommate, Sarah I think, was sitting on her bed, headphones in. She rolled over with similar puffy eyes and smiled weakly at me.

“Same boat, huh?”

I nodded with a laugh. “Uh, yeah. That was way harder than I thought it would be.”

“Right?” She sat up, rubbing her face. “I was like, so excited to leave home and be like, independent from them. But then when it like, occurred to me that I wouldn’t be waking up in my house tomorrow… it sorta just like, hit me so hard. I ended up snotting in my salad.”

Okay, that made me genuinely laugh. I sat down on my bed and we ended up sort of just talking through the rest of the night, until we both fell asleep.

Maybe the first day of moving away from home was exciting and the start of a new journey. But those movies and books never talked about how hard it could be to let go. They never talked about the tears and the empty feeling of knowing that you just left everything you knew behind. It never talked about the fear that came with being in an unfamiliar place. As I drifted off, I knew I would be okay, even if it took a few days. But man, did my heart ache.

[amphtaminedreams]

A/W 2020 Fashion Month: Before Vogue Went Blank

Hi to anyone reading,

I’m sorry this post is so late! I really have no excuse apart from all my mental energy being taken up by shooting and editing my Euphoria lookbook up until now and me being too much of a lazy, nap-loving twat to face the mammoth task of a fashion month review; honestly, by the time it’s done, it’s like a dissertation-level amount of characters, so let’s say the final push to get this out is in sympathy with all my 3rd year friends I started uni with finishing their ACTUAL dissertations.

Things have got scary since I originally started saving the photos for this post, and the world has been turned upside down. In response to the COVID-19 pandemic, the likes of which have not been seen since the Spanish Flu, Italian Vogue’s April cover was blank. As I’m writing this, 26,000+ people have died of coronavirus in Italy, the worst affected country behind the U.S in terms of sheer numbers ( though quick update: as I post this, I’m pretty sure our incompetent prick of a PM has made sure we’re up there too). Proportionally, the actual death rate is even higher, along with a handful of other European countries. There have been some complaints made about the cover and it’s supposed “lack of imagination”; all I know is that in a country whose death toll accounts for 10% of worldwide coronavirus deaths, something of a visual silence feels appropriate. 

That being said, for me, writing is one of the only things giving me a sense of purpose right now. Yeah, surprise surprise, working in a grocery store isn’t all that fulfilling. Who would’ve thought it? So what better time to reflect on a time when all the rich people of the world were going about their lives as usual and sitting front row at fashion week rather than crying on Instagram live to their millions of followers about how trapped they feel in their 10 bedroom mansions.

I’ve got to say, this year’s A/W offerings were a lot better than I expected, mostly due to the fact that I’m not generally a big fan of winter fashion; it’s hard to be disappointed given my preconceptions! There’s only so many knits and coats and jeans you can see before it begins to get a bit tiring, and I expected that to be reflected in the presentations. Fortunately, even the brands which are known for their bohemian, Coachella-esque collections generally managed to translate that into something recognisable and consistent on the runway whilst actually being weather appropriate. Of course, there were a few disappointments-I’m sure if I say one of them begins with D, you can guess which brand I’m talking about-but that was more than made up for by the standouts. Gucci in particular was my 2013 Tumblr wet dream and the Moschino show was what I can only describe as a live continuation of Sofia Coppola’s Marie Antoinette, though I’ll stop with my praise there and wait til I get to actually reviewing before I go overboard with kissing Alessandro Michele’s ass. And on that note, in chronological order, I’ll get one with the reviews! First up, Acne:

Continuing on a winning streak when it comes to catering to my personal preferences (if someone tries to tell me designers don’t care about my personal preferences I’m going to whack out that “just found out the world doesn’t revolve around me, shocked and upset” Marina Diamandis tweet), Acne once again channels futuristic hippy commune living in a dystopian wasteland. I know, those are very specific personal preferences

I love the shredded hems and the burnt velvet, the rawness of it all, and the baroque/your-nan’s-wallpaper patterns are actually a surprisingly nice touch. I imagine if Giselle from Enchanted had to make her dresses out of a thrifty goth’s curtains rather than an upper-middle-class New Yorker’s, they’d look something like this collection. You’ve even got the odd bit of classic fresh Scandi tailoring in there with the oversized coats and blazers which holds it back from being a bit TOO flea market. Plus, the renaissance painting detailing on the black leather-look coat is a stunning detail as well; I’m so glad it seems this trend is here to stay, why wouldn’t I want random nude bodies all over my clothes? 

As for the styling, I can’t get enough of the tousled hair. As an eternally tired person who can't be arsed to pick up a brush most of the time, I feel represented. Along with the outfits, it says “I’m an art student/transient painter in the 70s living in a city loft who smokes a lot of weed and does acid on the regular” and that is a life worth manifesting.

Alberta Ferretti was dreamy, and a perfect example of how to translate the bohemian aesthetic of their S/S show to A/W. Somehow despite the furs, ruffles (pussy-bows under tailored jackets and knits/generally heavier pieces always looks really chic imo), tulle, metallic tapestry style prints and chunky jewellery, it all still looks very effortless, like a natural continuation of what we saw last summer; the typically masculine structure of the oversized suits with the ornate patterns and the accessories lends to the careful navigation along the line where maximalism and minimalism meet, the looks as practical as they are decorative. Picture it: you work some high-flying, powerful job in the city, commute on a motor cycle and roll up in one of these suit sets. This collection is for the edgy businesswoman who is completely comfortable telling all the twattish males she works with where to stick it and I want to be her. 

The evening gowns are, of course, stunning too. In this analogy where I am a powerful businesswoman and not a pushover who works at a grocery store right now and only beefs with rude customers, I would be wearing one of them to the boujie work Christmas party. The ruffled dresses remind me of something Valentino would put out with the colour palette and the ruffles, and whilst we’re on the topic of colour palettes, this one is beautiful. The lilac and hot pink is SO right.

Though predictable, Alessandra Rich is just as much of a treat as usual, the first brand you’d go to if you were styling a throwback it-girl, Chanel Oberlin in Scream Queens if it took place 30 years earlier. Reminiscent of an amalgamation of vintage Chanel and Versace, there are so many cute details I love here, from the white tights with the black heels and the double breasted blazers to the gold chainlink belts and the pearls. The tartan suits with the shoulder padding are very Heathers, the prints the best of your mum’s 80s wardrobe, and nobody else out there is doing bows as well as this; these are the outfits that prissy bitch wears in the cartoons of my childhood that turn out to actually be quite good fashion inspo 15 years later, Trixie Tang from Fairly Odd Parents I’m looking at you. 

This girl was the blueprint. 

I think someone like Lilly Collins or Daphne Groeneveld would be an ideal fit for any of these looks, or Lana Del Rey if she wanted to stop serving us middle-aged suburban soccer mom and took us back to those H&M ad campaign days. Lana stans please don’t come for me for saying that, I am one of you; I say this because I love her. It’s all altruistic. 

Whilst I admittedly didn’t love it as much as last summer’s, I really enjoyed the Alexander McQueen collection too, plus I had a better idea of what to expect this time round; no, we’re not gonna get a repeat of the Plato’s Atlantis show but we do always get some beautiful pieces. Again, like with Alberta Ferretti, this seems like a natural continuation of what we saw in the summer, just with adjustments made for the colder, darker, and altogether moodier months. A/W being the gothier older sister of S/S, it seems right that a lot of the looks turn their back on the ethereal, almost fairy-like feel of what we saw before and embrace the vampier side, reds and blacks (the ultimate Bratz Rock Angels colour combination), plenty of dramatic structures and formidable suit sets. It’s punk but it’s classy, and even with the lighter pieces, we’ve got the grunge inspired harnesses on top to contrast with the elegance and effectively, toughen the whole look up, something Gucci does well too. 

The patterned suits with the clunky boots in particular are very cool and I need a gun metal grey heart detailing harness, but undoubtedly the MOMENT of this collection is Adut Akech in what appears to be a silver chainmail dress. She looks like an Amazonian goddess, and whilst I could never dream of pulling something like that off myself, I could happily admire her in it for hours.

There wasn’t much to get excited about at Altuzarra. The collection was very elegant for sure and the feathered belts are cute but it was all quite pedestrian and nothing new-the only detail I really like is the cut out on the second dress from the left, 3rd row down.

As for Anna Sui:

I’m not altogether sure why I wanted to review it. A lot of the outfits as a whole are a bit messy, and not in that avant-garde, expensive-looking Margiela kind of way, just in a “how many fabrics can we possibly get on this model” kind of way. Plus, the styling seems weirdly outdated-a lot of the jewellery looks like the kind of thing you’d see if you searched “gothic choker” on Ebay and ordered the results from low to high, and the makeup and hair in particular is very 2012 Tumblr fashion blogger. Backcombed hair and red lipstick? We’ve got a Zoella thumbnail on our hands.

When the collection did go down the bohemian route though (and when that route wasn’t a failed attempt at what Etro does a lot better), there were a few nice pieces and prints. I mean you really can’t go wrong with a teal fur trimmed coat.

Ashish, on the other hand, took their aesthetic from a similar era and did it a lot more creatively and kookily; this collection looks a lot more deserving of being on a runway. The prints are so loud and costume-y that at times the garments risk looking like something you’d wear at a decades themed dress up party, but they’re saved by understated and much more commercial silhouettes, plus some gorgeous hair and make up. On the whole, very groovy, unintentional disco queen, despite the few risks that didn’t quite pay off.

Next is a brand I always look forward to. In the words of Myrtle Snow:

BALENCIAGA!

Seriously though, if any brand knows how to blend costume and high fashion, it’s them. They take over-the-top, almost absurd silhouettes and turn them into theatre. This year we’re taking it in the direction of Phantom of the Opera, I guess? Dracula? The Woman in Black? An off-broadway production of Harry Potter where Snape is the protagonist? Whatever the direction of the collection is, I live for the dramatics of it all. Demna Gvasalia got these models walkin’ down the runway like they’re members of the Volutri, which is a reference you should all understand given the renaissance Twilight is having online atm.

Straight off the bat, I adore the staging, and all the models are exquisite-the theme of the show was climate change, and I always love when there’s a story behind the presentation of the clothes. I can’t imagine how amazing this must have been to witness in person, though I’m guessing equal parts mystical and intimidating. There are so many things I love here: billowing coats, cinched in waists, the pattens that are sprinkled sparingly in amongst the black, and the bloody shoulder pads that almost run PARALLEL to the model’s necks. This is really a collection that Myrtle Snow would be proud of and brb whilst I get rid of my padlock necklaces in favour of putting whatever meagre amount I can get for them on Depop towards a Balenciaga padlock belt (as if, lol, I don’t even think selling my soul would cover it).

And then there’s Balmain, which isn’t always the fashion critic’s favourite, but which I do tend to like. 

I mean there are some really good takeaways here-though the 80s inspired suit, as wearable as they are, can get a little repetitive, they are staples which here seem to pave the way for Olivier Rousteing to try something new for the brand. The moulded breast plates (reminiscent of the Tom Ford one Zendaya wore though I’m not sure which came first!), for example, along with the Matador-style capes and the flowing silk dresses are the most glamorous incarnation of Lara Croft one can possibly imagine, probably just as equally suited for a Roman goddess as they are for an Assassins Creed style action heroine. And yes, I am aware of the fact that Tomb Raider and Assassins Creed are two separate games, okay!  I just don’t know enough about the visuals of either to firmly plant this collection in the camp of either one, so I’m going down the crossover route with it!

Not to say there weren’t any bad choices-I omitted a good portion of the looks that were shown; there were definitely pieces that I found to be a little tacky, particularly a recurring chain print which has got to be one of my least favourite patterns out there. Overall, though, it’s gonna be the richly coloured art-deco prints, the wet-look boots and the gem-encrusted scorpion brooch which stick with me, so I’ll let it slide. 

Bottega Veneta was very meh; even of the looks I picked out, there are a lot I’m now looking back at and wishing I hadn’t included. Some of the men’s pieces are nice, sure, and I feel like one of those vaguely sick, victorian ghost looking male celebrities everyone obsesses over (Timothée Chalamet and Dane DeHaan I’m looking at you) would make those suits on the second row look fine af, but it’s mostly the womenswear that I’m here for and on this occasion it wasn’t great. A couple of the coats are nice and that’s about it. Like I really had to act as if the tassels weren’t there on a lot of the clothes and go from there because I really don’t like them in this context and if I was to veto looks purely on one of the garments having tassels, there’d be nothing to show or reference when giving my opinion on the show. They were EVERYWHERE. In a summer collection, done right, they can be a nice detail but here they just feel unnecessary and if I’m being honest, are quite ugly. 

Thank god for Brock taking the sour Bottega Veneta tassel taste out of my mouth. Never a let down. Literally, everything they put out sends me into a daze of imagining I’m in some romantic drama wearing one of the pieces, in a man’s idea of “no makeup”, running round in a field looking forlorn and windswept because my ghostly lover has-

Okay, you get the picture. I’ve never read Wuthering Heights, but it goes something like that, right? If not, lets just say envisioning myself in any of these catapults me straight into some period drama where I’m born into wealth and sit by my mansion window looking sad all the time and writing poetry and lusting over some stuffy upper-class man I can’t have and who is probably played by Colin Firth because I’m pretty sure that’s what happens in most of them (about to enrage my future English lit undergraduate sister with that line).

Nobody does modest, muted sexy to such a masterful degree. I mean, when Maison Marigela did face veils I was just mildly afraid, but here they’re subtle enough that they’re quite beautiful and almost other-worldly, acting as some kind of boundary between this world and the past that Brock aims to recapture through its designs-the red lip popping out from underneath is a perfect touch too. I don’t like it AS much as the summer collection but I would say that’s solely on the basis of the more autumn/winter appropriate colour scheme and the heavier fits, which is just a personal preference. I mean, I’m usually not a fan of empire waistlines at all and Brock even manages to make that work.

Burberry this season was a real mixed bag, mostly due to the styling. There are some really gorgeous, London back alley vintage shop looking pieces, especially the 70s style coats, reminiscent of outerwear a slimy record exec would've worn back in the day repurposed by someone like Alexa Chung or Zoe Kravitz or whichever effortlessly cool woman it is we all want to be-also the private boy’s school rugby gear looking shit is classic Burberry and I’m a fan of that, even though it’s not the most inventive or exciting. I just don’t get why there had to be SO much ill-fitting plaid over ill-fitting plaid. Again, like with Bottega Veneta, I thought the menswear was a lot stronger; whilst I wasn’t really wowed by anything, it seemed a lot less forced, whereas a few of the womenswear looks gave me the vibe of a design team desperately grasping onto some ill-conceived ideas of street style and relevancy. 

The design team at Carolina Herrera for example, know their niche. They never try to be something they’re not, always sublimely preppy and pretty and predictable-when it comes to target market, the bag is reliably secured. Laid- back princess dresses never get old for those constantly “summering” in one expensive coastal town or another, for the rich American moms attending charity galas and the Spencer Hastings and Blair Waldorfs of the world; women with glossy hair and fresh faces who act as if they woke up looking like that polished but are actually anal as hell and take 2 hours to get ready and would NEVER, I repeat NEVER, shit in a public toilet. 

Yes, I managed to worm toilet habits into a review of a Carolina Herrera collection. I’m sorry. Enough with the pearl clutching. 

Next is Celine:

I mean, when there are THIS many looks, it’s hard not to find something you like, and though VERY predictable and verging on lazy when you’re putting out the same shit every collection, Celine’s aesthetic is so similar to my own ideal style, it’s hard to be mad at it. That being said, a lot of the pieces, as per usual, came across as cheap YSL knock offs; the overall outfits are cute, but the more you look at the details-it particularly pained me to include a metal bow belt and an ill-fitting velvet skater skirt but I liked the rest of the outfits-the worse it gets. Please, PLEASE someone drive it home to Hedi Slimane, I’m begging you: QUALITY NOT QUANTITY. I get what he’s going for, 70s hipster Jane Birkin is a vision I can very much get behind, but not when it seems to be so rushed.

With the men’s looks, you can get away with it a lot more; when so much of menswear is so plain and unchanging, the slightest hint of Mick Jagger is enough to make a outfit edgy. But even then, I still feel like we’re seeing a load of variations of the same outfit. There are always some pieces that catch my eye, this time round the capes and the velvet blazers, and I would wear most of these things, sure, however I don’t think the combinations SHOULD necessarily look like something I’d personally put together; a runway collection is supposed to be aspirational and cutting edge, not pedestrian (entirely intentional self-drag, lol). Also, side note, the lack of diversity really bothered me. 111 looks and not one of these models has a body type that is naturally achievable for most people. It’s 2020 for fuck’s sake. I’m tired.

SO, let’s liven things up a bit with the Central Saint Martins collection, a breath of fresh air in terms of diversity (though a few more plus-size models would be nice):

As a former University of London student, I hate to heap praise upon them. If you’ve studied in London as well, you’ll know CSM students are ANNOYING. I mean, I’m sure they’re lovely as individuals but you can’t fully understand the meaning of the word pretentious until you’ve seen a group of them at a Uniqlo Tate Late. That being said, they are very good at what they do and I’m so glad that Vogue Runway includes them; this is what Off-White thinks it is, and really it makes sense that a bunch of current fashion students are able to come together to present one of the most experimental and forward-thinking shows of this season. 

And let’s talk about the RANGE. From catsuits worthy of comic book heroes to  dresses Twiggy would’ve worn in a 1960s editorial, every subgenre of fashion has been fully delved into here. Whilst we’ve got the adrogyny of the suits and suspenders combo and kitschy gender-bending co-ords David Bowie would be proud of, at the other end of the scale we’ve also got models walking down the runway dressed like wood nymphs or some other kind of siren-like creatures. There’s looks that wouldn’t be out of place in a Gucci or Come Des Garcons collection but at that same time would be equally at home in a Berlin techno club. 

Honestly, credit where credit’s due-it was a really interesting show and I wouldn’t expect anything less.

Chanel was quite literally the polar opposite of the CSM show. 

Very blah. 

It’s crazy because before you properly get INTO fashion, Chanel is like the epitome of style. And then you do, and you see the runway shows get lazier and lazier (with some exceptions) every year, and you realise that same prestige that had you aware of Chanel at the age of 7 or 8 is literally all that’s keeping the brand going at this point. I’m not saying the collection is flat out ugly, a lot of it’s cute, but you’re CHANEL for fuck’s sake. Yeah, I like the crucifixes but SCALLOPED HEMS!? No. I do NOT recall travelling back in time to witness Primark’s Spring 2013 collection on the runway and I am NOT having it.

It’s not at all surprising that a lot of the time newer brands Charlotte Knowles (above) tend to be more interesting than those more established-and yes that was a Chanel indirect if the transition wasn’t obvious.

With no room to rest on laurels or reputation, everything has to be bolder and smarter and more distinctive and most importantly, has to appeal to its target market with the fervour of an L.A sign spinner. I only found out about Charlotte Knowles because of a Vogue article citing her as Bella Hadid’s new favourite brand to wear, and once I saw the collection, it was clear why; daringly modern, slick, and edgy is both her street style (say what you want about her as a model but her outfit game is unbeaten) and Knowles’ USP to a T. If Dion Lee, Off-White, GCDS and Acne had an orgy, this would be the result, and that is a GOOD compliment.

Next, Chloe:

Not a huge amount to say, to be honest. Low-key, wearable, and cute. Like Emma Roberts’ Nancy Drew if she did an autumn exchange program at the Sorbonne and studied art history, libraries and coffee shops on the weekdays and galleries and protests at the weekend. On reflection, that definitely makes this collection sound more exciting than it is but there are some effortlessly beautiful pieces here. The 4th row in particular is full of stand outs-the vest with the watercolour faces on with the shirt underneath is perfection, and the burgundy suit with the saffron ruffled collar peeking out from underneath is adorable and not at all reminiscent of the Ronald McDonald inspired nightmare that any combination of red and yellow tones should theoretically be.

As for Christian Siriano, I see why people hate it, I really do. I understand that it seems kinda unfair to have it show the same week as Brock and Rodarte and Oscar de La Renta. We’re talking 2 very different kinds of quality here. BUT, at pure face value, his clothes are FUN, plus Coco Rocha will always have a special place in my heart as someone who lived on The Face and America’s Next Top Model and every show that could possibly give me an unhealthy body image ever.

Like are you telling me you wouldn’t wear these dresses to a party!? Live a little. They just need tailoring...which ideally would be done BEFORE the model’s walking down the runway in it but...you know...can’t have it all.

Christopher Kane is a show I always look forward to.

I would say his designs are the only thing that make geometry look fun but I’m going to expose myself and admit that would be a lie because I actually found geometry really fun. Trigonometry was my shit, lol.

He is a designer who perfectly demonstrates that juggling interseasonal consistency and taking risks can be done. There’s always something DIFFERENT about his collections, fresh and subtly experimental. There are occasionally a few misses, sure, but I’d rather that than for a brand to keep playing safe, plus he never goes too far in the opposite direction either; no going weird for the sake of weird. I don’t like it AS much as the summer collection but it’s mostly because of the more muted, autumn/winter appropriate colour palette.

Comme Des Garçons? Too weird?

Never.

Honestly when it comes to a CDG collection, I have to really shift my perspective to appreciate it. I’m not looking at fashion presentation, I’m looking at a moving piece of experimental art. I know, it’s a stretch. But you know you’ll never be bored by one of their shows. Not gonna lie, this specific collection crossed the line into plain ugly a couple of times for me. We had padding so extravagant it looked like several models were walking round with Ikea pillows stuck to their chest and headdresses reminiscent of the kids’ game Headbandz. In amongst that though, we did get some gorgeous veils like the ones seen above and the shoes and socks combo is actually quite wearable.

I’d say Dilara Findikoglu is the cut-off point after which things get a little too avant-garde for my personal taste, and it hovers over that cut-off point flawlessly; despite the other-worldly elements of her collections, they remain somewhat grounded by nods towards conventional fashion that allow the beauty, be it inner or outer, of the wearer to shine through. Comme Des Garcons garments undeniably have character but they tend to swallow up any trace of the individual underneath, whereas the character of Dilara Findikoglu garments seamlessly merges with the wearer and in turn elevates both to something transcendent and ethereal. If the Pussycat Dolls got transported into a rugged, post-apocalyptic future, they’d scrape together these outfits to perform in, I know it; the energy of the collection, with the body jewellery and the frayed cut outs and the chalk white faces, is very warrior princess, just as raw and intimidating as it is hot as fuck, and I want that energy in my life. Along with a Dilara belt, of course. I would wear her name like a badge of honour anytime she wants. Dilara, pls pls let me be part of your tribe. PLEASE.

Anyway, this is where I thought I’d cut things off, so as to end on a positive note. You know what that means: Dior is coming up. I feel bad knowing my first post was defending Maria Grazia and yet here I am now, looking at the bar down on the floor, but I mean, you never know; maybe girl is doing this on purpose and one day she’s gonna come out with a Gucci level quality show like a phoenix from the ashes.

If you got this far, THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING even if you’re just here for the pics. Part 2 will be covering some of my most anticipated shows from Elie Saab, Fendi and Etro to Gucci and Moschino, Miu Miu and Marc Jacobs, and everything in between. Yes, the shitty ones too.

I’m plowing through all the material as quick as I can so I hope to get the next post up really soon, and yes-you can count on the overwhelming sense of needing to be productive pushing me into fulfilling that statement. 

Thanks again and I hope you’re well!

Lauren x

[yeoldontknow]

Bringing Down Eden: Prologue

Pairing: Lucifer!Hoseok x Angel!Reader Summary: On the shores of Brighton Beach, Hoseok stands alone to watch the sunrise. This is his hour, his time, and no one in a millennia has interrupted him. Until, of course, you, a newly appointed guardian angel, decide to risk it all for your charge. | please see series masterlist for full description Genre: 7 Princes of Hell AU; romance; smut; drama; angst; horror Rating (this chapter): PG-13 Warnings (this chapter): angst; themes of death and mortality; religious themes (like...honestly i will be going to hell for this fic im so sorry) Word Count: 2.5K

It sounds better on the rocky shores of Brighton. 

He does not know why this is, but it is always brighter, closer, tangible somehow; only here, bare feet pressing uncomfortably into the earth, can he recall all the beautiful, all the melancholic details with a clarity that goes beyond fondness, beyond ardor. The stones of the beach, he thinks, suit him, or perhaps it is he who suits the stones. The irregularity of their texture causes the soles of his feet to ache, the balls of his feet stinging with the weight, and he thinks this kind of pain is apt. 

Really, he likes that he can stand in complete stillness without sinking into sand, into the deep rooted sensation that the earth is trying to swallow him whole, all at once and all over again.

His fingers twitch as he languidly outstretches his arm to ease the tension in his neck and shoulders. With this sudden movement, a hundred pairs of eyes find him. These eyes and these bodies keep their distance, watching with only a hollow sort of sympathy, the kind that is only passively felt without a true purpose. Eyes trained on the sea, the wind carries sounds of fluttering feathers, the joints of too many wings tense and frozen in wait, and he can feel them - their apprehension and their hunger, roaming over his person in expectation. On this breeze, the silk of their feathers grazes his fingers in a phantom touch, a memory born out of his skin. 

Expression placid, he tenses his fingers and balls his hand into a fist, joints cracking as he imagines the glory of their wings is osmosed back into his bones. Would they reel back from the intimacy of such cruelty? Would they gasp, abject shock marring their elegant, resplendent features? It’s unlikely. 

To them, he is a time bomb, a volatile and violent thing, and they keep their distance in an effort to prepare for the blast.

No, in the end and for all time, they will not touch him and he will not touch them. He is used to this, to a loneliness that is now only implied after being studied from afar for so long. Lately, he finds he does not have it in him to care. Today, the hollowness of these unfelt touches has him pressing his tongue against his teeth, bored by the lack of creativity in their attempts to make him feel.

And besides, it is starting soon.

Shutting his eyes with a pregnant sigh, he waits for the first tickles of warmth against his skin, the bleeding light already staining the midnight black of night a deep purple. The anticipation of dawn is the only thing worthy of pulling corners of his mouth curl into a smile. If he could step outside himself, he hopes the beauty of bliss would kiss at his cheeks, his smile languid and pure, yet he is sure it looks as though his smile has mated with a grimace. Really, this pained expression of pleasure is all he can manage anymore, the pleasures of joy stolen long ago from the cavern of his heart.

Beside him, a light flutter of feathers shifts the air, minute and barely perceptible, but this small change in atmosphere is enough to warp his smile into a scowl. Someone has crossed a boundary, is feeling bold, is attempting a daring sort of recklessness found only in the ignorance of youth and, truthfully, they are being impolite. This is his hour, his brief moment of solitude. This is a known fact and it is always respected, even if it is not understood.

‘You're thirty-two years too early.’

Your words fall heavy, weighted, and dripping with disdain, souring your holiness. Wrath is absent, so too is pride, traits you are barred from learning, but he can hear the fear. Through his closed eyes, he can sense you are staring straight ahead, trying terribly hard not to look at him or let him too close to your wings.

‘Believe it or not,’ he begins cooly, his own words tasting and bitter, ‘my presence here has nothing to do with you, or a human, or any of them.’ He nods his head back towards throng of angels waiting and watching, and he keeps his gesture small, refusing to give them the satisfaction of his acknowledgement. 

‘He is my charge,’ you press, blithely ignoring him, ‘and I won’t let you take him early.’ 

On this you are adamant, firm in your convictions. It’s clear you have come to stand beside him with a purpose, chest full of intent and mouth full of words you likely rehearsed over and over as soon as you felt him on this beach. Exasperated, he expands his consciousness, wondering to whom you could be referring. Latching onto your energy, almost immediately he finds the heartbeat your spirit clings to. It’s frail, small, newly born and new learning to thunder, finding strength with every unpracticed beat, and it is so wonderfully sweet. 

If he wanted to, he could latch on and tear it asunder. If he wanted to, he could cleave to this soul just as ardently as you, waiting and waiting through the swift passing of three decades, claiming what was never meant to be neither yours nor his, simply because he could.

But he does not. He lets it go, releases it back to you with the hope he will never hear it again.

‘I’m not a reaper,’ he hisses through grit teeth, frustrated to still be conversing so soon before dawn. 

‘But you’ve done it before,’ comes your biting reply. There’s so much more you want to say, so many words you swallow, and he can hear them all even if you don’t want him to.

Furrowing his brow, he squeezes his eyes shut tighter in irritation. ‘Only in extreme cases.’

Awkwardly, you shift your weight beside him, sending some stones tumbling away from your feet. ‘Then why did you come here?’

He groans, annoyed. This is a question he hasn’t been asked in a very long time. Everyone knows the story; they all have seen the proof - for centuries, it has felt like even the humans know, even if they don’t know the right version. At best he is a thing in a zoo, the perimeter of the sea his cage. This early in the morning, at this sublime hour, he is rarely seen anywhere else. You, for all your fierce intonations and verbal assaults, are either a newborn or a recently appointed guardian. These days, he has little patience for either of those traits.

‘It sounds better here,’ he says simply, tone reverent in its efforts of finding peace. 

‘It's not like you can hear it,’ you say softly, inherently apologetic yet still the words sound remarkably cruel for a creature so innocent. 

At this, he opens his eyes with a tense frown. Turning his head, he glares at you. It pains him to see you as you are, so bright and young and whole - a pure, sweet thing. Head to toe in crisp white, beautiful, and new, you are perfect and he envies you or, perhaps, he envies your innocence. There is a poetic magnificence to how wonderfully in contrast you are to each other: he, standing tall and imperious in his pitch black suit and shirt, blood red tie dripping with regret, standing beside you, a whole angel, clean, bright, and glowing. 

He remembers his own days in white, a white so much brighter than the rest - blinding. In those days, he was incandescent, every beam of light pressed together and contained in a singular existence. He doesn’t know if it is the shade he misses or the symbolism, the rank. Briefly, he thinks it is a combination of both. 

He assumes it is the speed with which he does these things - taking you in, seeing you, reading you, maybe even swallowing you - that makes you move gently backwards, apprehension stretching into the pout of your bottom lip. Curiously, he cocks one eyebrow at your expression, remaining mute and milking his power before he is reduced once more to an old broken relic. 

‘But I can still remember.’

This, it seems, is enough. You don’t press him for any further explanation. 

And then, through the corner of his eye, he sees it, the tiny shadow of his snapped and withered wing gently touching the supple fabric of your linen trousers. He stares at it, not because this is the closest he has come to touching one of his brethren since his fall, but because he can almost feel the ache of his bones in the shadow. 

All at once, he remembers the gold and the gleam of his feathers, iridescent and glimmering, burning like fire. He remembers the full length of his impossible wingspan, all the freedom in the universe kissing and holding him in flight. Now he is left with exposed marrow, bones scorched to a miserable brown and gangrenous black, trapped as he is in an endless and eternal state of decay. 

You follow his line of sight and see how careless you have been to fall into such a shadow as this, quickly stepping away as though the soft sinew of your flesh has been burned. You are wide eyed when you look at him again, wide eyed and waiting to have your grace stolen through the pores of your skin by either his greedy fingers or his hungry tongue. 

Instead, he simply studies you. 

He gazes at you impassively for a few moments, admiring the poise and ease with which you move. In a previous life, he was faster than you, even more glorious and transcendent. In a previous life, he would have taught you how to stun the world into silence just by existing, by breathing. 

Now, with no companion to mourn his fallen beauty, he turns back to the shore. The sky is starting to change, the dull hues of night starting to bleed as light imbues the crevices between the stars. Again, he shuts his eyes and lets himself become consumed.

The first ray of dawn caresses his face with a gentleness reserved only for him, the same way it always does, these first touches a profound daily reunion. The sea reflects the sun’s beams, throws them around the earth in search of his flesh and his lips, desperate to kiss him and to love him. As if on cue, his skin begins to glow beneath the light, seems to turn him into the light itself as it illuminates his weary body. This was a trait he could never quite be rid of, a habit that, after the fall, only makes him hurt. 

Inside, he burns and he aches, and, to everyone else, he is magnificent.

It is his mind which brings the music forth, the hymn washing over the emptiness of his soul as though the waves of the ocean have come too far and mean to drown him. Like this, he hears everything: the prayer, the voices, the love found within the golden smears dawn. 

Still, his eyes remain closed for there is no need to see the colours of morning, even though they are always painted for him - only for him. He’s grown accustomed to remembering the shades in accordance with the notes of the hymn, a thing written and created simply because he was born, made for the heavens and made for the sun, and because he was once exalted. Opening his eyes, now, means losing the trick, means breaking the spell, means accepting that where there once was majesty now there is nothing at all. 

Because that’s all there truly is. Nothing. Now, there is only the sound of the waves crashing onto shore before receding back, successful in their mission of kissing the land. Now, for him at least, there is only the pain of memory. His fall, his true punishment, means that he is cut off entirely from his personal symphony, removed entirely from the magic of dawn. The music that once belonged to him will never again reach his ears, while all his brothers and sisters can listen. They can listen, they can feel, and they will always remember who he once was.

And when it is over, when he finally opens his eyes to stare at the shore, the sun, his sun, now shines above the sea. 

Majestic. Marvelous. A phantom limb.

‘Son of Morning.’

It is a whispered statement, one of slow realization and startled compassion. These are words he hasn’t heard in millennia, and it is somewhat miraculous to hear the phrase from a tongue other than his own. Turning to face you, he finds himself grimacing. He didn’t expect to see you weeping, and he knows you are not weeping for him.

‘That was your first time hearing the hymn, wasn’t it?’ he asks, proud of the beauty even though it is no longer his. 

‘Lucifer, I –’

Furious, he cuts you off.

“Don’t,’ he snaps. ‘Just don’t. It’s Hoseok, now. It has been for a while.”

‘Why do you come here if you can’t hear it? Isn’t that torture?’ A tear rolls down your cheek, hot and brutal in its trail, and you lift a delicate hand to wipe it away.

‘I come because it is mine,’ he explains, somehow managing to sound wildly passionate even though he feels dead. ‘I come because it is no more painful than what has already happened to me.’

With that, he turns from you, posture rigid and movements purposeful as he starts to walk away.

‘Lucifer!’ you call after him, and he is unsure what more you could possibly have to say - least of all to him. 

‘See you in thirty-two years,’ he tosses at you, careless, reckless, disinterested. Yet, he recalls the heartbeat, the steady rhythm of life and hope and pur, uncorrupted virtue. It changes, he knows. Over time, they always change, but you. So steadfast in your fight, your optimism. Perhaps, he thinks, it would be worth to see, to be proven wrong. 

‘Maybe,’ he amends, not bothering to cease his footsteps.

A hundred pairs of eyes watch him stalk down the shore, fists clenched at his side and wings of bone cutting jagged lines into the stones as he passes.

[imaginesofruneterra]

Ezreal x Reader: Friends to Lovers & Confession Headcanons

Anonymous asked: If I may, can I request Ezreal x Reader headcanons as Friends to Lovers and how do they confess to the other?

[Sure! Ezreal is one of my personal faves, so this is pretty self indulgent, lol. Also, sorry for the wait, I’ve just had a lot of homework lately!]

How you met:

The City of Progress was just how you'd imagined it--a wondrous haven of invention, innovation, and passion. Sure, the streets weren't actually paved with gold and silver, but they were still a sight to behold.

You'd always dreamed of opening your very own bookstore, and what better place to do so than Piltover? It was practically swarming with hardworking merchants and avid readers such as yourself.

Things were looking up. Runeterra was your oyster...but first, you had unpacking to do.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

'Shit, shit, shit!' Ezreal groaned to himself as he skidded around another corner. For the first time in months, he was faced with a problem that he couldn't just blast away with magic. 

“Get back here, young man! I’m not finished with you!” cried a nasally voice from behind him. 

Ezreal had to give the old guy some props. For someone who spent all damn day in his study, his uncle was in surprisingly good shape--not to mention the fact that he was currently fueled by his passionate, unbridled rage. Ezreal knew he’d get over it, though--he just needed some time to cool off. And so, he decided that a cheeky little detour was in order. He was great at making those. 

Ez drew in a sharp breath. He felt his gauntlet hum with the buzzing of bright, arcane power. He squeezed his eyes shut, and the next thing he knew, he was surrounded by piles and piles of books, all haphazardly strewn on the floor. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You jolted. A customer?! You weren’t even open, and you could’ve sworn you’d locked the front door! 

The blond stranger hadn’t seemed to notice you yet. He was too busy fixing his soft-looking hair in the reflection of your store’s big, glass windows. 

You cleared your throat and gave him a small, sheepish smile, saying, “Hi, I didn’t hear you come in! Sorry about the mess...I’m still trying to get all this stuff sorted, straightened, and shelved.”

“Oh, hey!” he replied. “Didn’t mean to barge in. I just need to lay low for a while.” 

You furrowed your brows. "You a criminal or something?"

The boy simply laughed in response.

"I'll have you know that the only crime I'm guilty of is being super devilishly handsome. Well, that and grave-robbing, but yeah. Details, details. Just...please don’t call the sheriff on me."

You were dumbfounded. Grave-robbing? This scrawny guy? You couldn’t believe it--well, not until you recognized the powerful relic he wielded.

"Holy shit, is that one of the gauntlets of Ne'Zuk?" you exclaimed, grabbing onto his arm. 

"Good eye!” he said. “Looks like someone's done their homework." You hoped he didn’t notice your blush.

"So why’ve you got it? An artifact this rare belongs in a public museum!"

“There's an unspoken law in archaeology: finders, keepers. And I found it myself--fair and square.”

"I should really go report you, but I have way too much on my plate. Guess there's always tomorrow." You were bluffing, of course, but the stranger didn't seem to catch on.

"Hey, now! Let's not get ahead of ourselves!" he said, his voice cracking a bit. "How 'bout...I help you get organized? Yeah! I'll help clean--then we're even. Sound good?”

Free labor? Hell yeah! 

“It’s a deal,” you replied. “So, here’s where we put all the novels...”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You spent hours chatting with your cocky companion as the two of you shelved books together. You learned his name--Ezreal--and why he was hiding--to avoid being lectured by his uncle, the esteemed Professor Lymere. Apparently, Ez had been using Lymere’s money to fund his expeditions...again.

And yet, despite his questionable lifestyle choices, you were captivated by the explorer. He was charming, and funny, and made for some really good company, if you were being honest. 

Ez told you of his travels--from the sands of Shurima, to the bitter blizzards of the Freljord. You suspected that he'd fudged quite a few of the details, but his tales were entertaining nonetheless. They filled you with awe, and made work go by faster. You couldn’t help but want to hear more. 

And so, you decided to treat your new friend to a meal, and the rest is history. 

General headcanons:

Ez tries to sweet-talk people into buying your books. He claims they're the best in the world. It really only works about half of the time, but his failed attempts are rather amusing.

He sees you as his partner in--completely metaphorical--crime. Nothing to see here, Sheriff Caitlyn...

The two of you love to geek out over ancient myths and cultures. Legends never die! And neither do the heated conversations you have--ones that bring a vibrant sparkle to your eyes.

Ezreal is actually a pretty good artist, which comes in handy during his travels. He has tons of sketches of temples and tombs...and secretly, some of you, too!

Confession headcanons:

You hummed to yourself as you helped Ezreal pack his bags for his trip to Ionia. It was bittersweet--though you were happy for him, you had no idea when he’d return. Maybe it was selfish...but part of you wished he would stay. You hid it with a smile.  

“Are ya gonna take me along someday, Ez?” you joked, nudging him in the side. 

He stiffened. “Whenever you want,” he replied.

Well that was unexpected. “You’re serious?”

“Huh? Y-yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“Whenever I ask that, you always say no ‘cause you think it’s too risky for me!”

“It’s just that...if something bad happened to you, I would never, ever, ever forgive myself,” Ez explained, wincing at the ominous thought. “But...I’d be lying if I said I haven’t pictured us traveling the world, side by side.” 

You were stunned speechless. He...really said that? And he meant it? God, this was too much. 

“W-what are you saying?” you stammered.

“I like you!” he blurted. 

You almost passed out.

"When I was a kid, my dad always told me, 'True explorers follow the compass in their heart.' I...didn't really get what he meant at the time, but now...I know it led me to you."

He took your hands in his, then drew you into a hug. You clung onto him for dear life. 

“I like you too, dummy!” you cried in his ear. “So you better not leave me behind!”

He chuckled. “I wouldn’t. You’re special to me.” He pulled you even closer to him. 

“I’ve seen a lot of priceless artifacts in my time, but you’re the greatest treasure of all.”