#I wonder what the implications were for accepting those flowers

[arquinx]

I remember when Redspring Studios wanted us to notice something about the locations and I thought it was weird that there was something growing out of the sewers.

[edgyggstantomlol]

the other side of falling (excerpt)

Premise: Tina (Tom) is helping Harley “Mishti” (Harry) with applying her henna for an upcoming function. The plan was just to do some simple floral designs, but Tina has an idea.

"Harley," Tina began slowly.

"Hmm?"

"Of course henna goes on your hands, but I've heard that it can be used elsewhere too. On hair, for one, and I believe someone I know once wore a pattern on their neck," she said. There was that look in her eye again, the one she got when plotting. Mishti was still wary of it, though not as much as she ought or used to be, if the way her traitorous heart skipped a beat was anything to go by.

"Oh, yea, technically," she replied, ignoring the heightened pitch to her voice. She'd long accepted that she simply would never be able to speak normally around Tina, least of all when their hands were clasped, one over the other.

(Tina had very soft hands.

Like, very soft. Ridiculously soft. Overwhelmingly soft. Heart wrenchingly soft.

Mishti wondered what lotion she used. Papa swore by Nivea, but in her experience Nivea never made anyone's hands as smooth as Tina's, and anyway the smell is different - jasmine, she could tell, and something that might be green tea. Maybe it was a body wash.)

After a brief moment of silence, Mishti glanced back up at the older girl, and flushed under her expectant gaze, realizing she'd been wanting more information.

"Well like, you can apply henna beyond your hands, over your forearm," she said quickly, ducking her head again, and missed the fond smile Tina sent her way. "And a lot of people put it on their feet, especially around the ankles, but if you've got the time and skill you can get your whole foot covered. I've never seen a neck one, probably because that'd be really hard to keep untouched, but it's possible! And yea, there's a henna for hair, but it's kinda different from the one I'm using now."

Tina hummed in response, contemplative, and after a moment nonchalantly took Mishti's hands with a gentle but firm grip, guiding it as they traced out the curves of petals. It took all her strength to resist the sudden chill that washed over her at the touch, and she just barely avoided shivering and messing up all her work. Or worse, alerting Tina to how much of an effect she had on Mishti.

There was a lull in the conversation again as they focused their attention to the finer details of the design they'd settled on, and Mishti sank back into the vague but pleasant buzz that came with the sensations and motions. Applying mehndi was always something close to relaxing, but also inevitably stressful in some capacity given her awkwardness with the tubes and lack of experience with flowers. Tina had no such issues, skilled in art as much as basically anything else she did - a cause of jealousy for most, but only admiration and awe for Mishti.

And gratefulness as well, in that moment, for her mehndi was coming out far better than it ever did when she did it on her own. She hardly noticed the gentle smile that settled on her face as she worked hand in hand with Tina to trace out a curve, a vine, to dot along her wrist. She didn't actually need Tina's assistance for those simpler parts and straight edges, but she wasn't about to deny this chance.

They finished the last of her nails, being careful to evenly distribute without overlayering or going beyond the borders of her nails.

"Just about done," Mishti murmured, mostly to herself, but Tina caught her words and straightened. "About that," she began coolly, shifting back to let Mishti admire their handiwork. "I was thinking there's a little more I could add, to elegantly bring it all together."

"Ah? But it's wonderful already, and I don't want my hands over-designed or cluttered," replied Mishti, looking up at the other girl.

"I don't mean on your hands, or arms," Tina added, and Mishti tracked her eyes as they drifted down her legs. She blinked rapidly for a few seconds, before blushing violently at the implication, which only further focused Tina's attention on her.

"What! What, no no no, no. You - I, no, that, you couldn't, that's - I mean," Mishti fumbled rapidly, almost waving her hands in discouragement before she realized she shouldn't. "Tina, that's, you don't have to!"

"I want to though," she answered immediately, gaze sharp and unwavering as she looked firmly into Mishti's eyes - which only served to further fluster her.

"But tha - hm!"

Mishti choked on whatever she meant to say when Tina grasped her knee, still looking at her. She wasn't able hold back the involuntary shudder this time, surprised as she was, and could only gape silently.

They were both silent for a long moment, just watching each other, before Tina, still staring, loosened her hold without releasing. There was a light pressure to the way she ran her thumb along the edge of the stocking under her hand, skimming the skin just beyond the fabric. Mishti reflexively bit her tongue at the spark of electricity that shot up her thigh.

"You're a pretty thing, you know," Tina murmured, sounding the closest thing to breathless she could be. It took a long moment for the words to sink, and then for Mishti to formulate a response, distracted as she was by the fingers delicately trailing back and forth along her knee.

"I," she whispered eloquently. "Um, it's. Th-thanks?"

"You deserve pretty things, too," Tina continued, persistent. "To match your looks. You have very nice ankles. Cute. Lovely, with your charms and chains. A little design to go with would look nice, no?"

"Uh."

"I'll do it for you," she said resolutely. "It won't be anything elaborate, just something neat and simple to match. I won't mess up."

"Ah yea well, yea, you're uh you're very good definitely," stuttered Mishti. "But! But, but, no you can't, you don't have to, that's . . . you don't have to."

"Harley," said Tina lowly. "I would like to. Very much."

Mishti shut her eyes for a long moment, wishing her heart to stop racing, except Tina's fingers were still brushing along her thigh. So she nodded slightly in agreement after a moment, and didn't catch the victory and impatience that flashed across Tina's face.

[littlepadika]

Third Time's The Charm l Pero Tovar x f!Reader

Warnings: f!reader, reader is pale, get together fic, reader is a little clueless and Pero is a bit of a himbo but I love them, pure fluff 💕

For a sweet anon who is a linguist and cat rescuer 🐈 you asked for Pero and I agree. Pero all the way!!! I tried to include as many details as you gave me. I hope you like it ❤️

Pero didn’t expect to fall for you, the linguist helping this band of mercenaries navigate this foreign land. He didn’t even know he could feel this way about a woman. He felt drawn to you by some invisible force, like the wildlife that always seemed to gravitate towards you in the woods. He was a poor poet but you reminded him of home. You weren't from spain but you had a soft heart, nurtured in a safe domestic village where no danger ever came. It was quite the opposite to him and it fascinated him as much as it attracted him.

In the beginning he told himself the desire was a merely protective instinct. You were one of the only women and you couldn’t wield a weapon as well as the others. However it grew deeper than that. You were a quick wit like William yet introspective, liking to be alone. You were the voice of reason, often tempering Pero’s brutal instincts. You were the only member of the group who spoke spanish with him, asking him to teach you new words.

He desired you, but not in the way he was used to. Yes your body drew his eyes, the curves and soft skin, but it was your smile and your voice that made his heart race. After a night of laughter and telling stories by the fire, his dark eyes would follow your curves as you went back to your tent. He wondered what you did there, your candle burned hours after you had gone. He loathed sharing your attention. He wished he could bottle up your smile and laugh and hold it close to him in his tent when you were gone. He wished he could make jokes or flirt, but those skills were never important for survival.

Once he came to the conclusion he was utterly bewitched by you he had no choice but to do something about it. Let's just say it took longer than he anticipated.

Pero started with bringing you fistful of flowers and herbs he had yanked from a patch on the mountain side. He had no idea what they were but they were pretty like you. Flowers were typical courting gifts. He thought the message would be clear as day. You accepted them, not truly understanding the implication. You had a crush on the man but you never thought he could feel the same. A man like him who probably had maidens throwing themselves at him everywhere he went. You assumed he was giving the flowers to you for tea since you had mentioned you were running low. A friendly gesture.

"Thank you, Pero. I needed some more supplies for tea." You accepted the bundle with a smile.

"You're welcome, little one." Pero crossed his arms behind his back watching you tuck the flowers into your knapsack. "I wanted to-er- make a gesture..." He chewed his words trying to think of the best word for what he felt. He rocked back on his heels hoping you'd just read his mind. Infer from the gesture.

"I'm glad I'm traveling with you all as well." You filled in the blank, patting him on the shoulder and walking back to the group. Pero groaned in frustration. You misunderstood him!

The second time Pero tried, he asked you to eat supper with him separate from the rest of the group, in a clearing where you could see the stars. He taught you more about his home country and shared some spicy sauce he had stashed from home. He fell even deeper for you when you showed no aversion to spicy food. You loved it as much as he did. However, his dropped hints about wanting to take you to Spain with him and to court you officially were lost in translation.

He's just being friendly. He just wants someone to warm his bed. He's taking pity on you. You rebuffed his advance, standing abruptly and claiming you were tired.

That was two nights ago. The whole interaction left a bad taste in Pero's mouth. He felt he had scared you off somehow because you avoided him the next day. Were you truly not interested?

"You stare at her any harder and she'll turn to stone." William quipped, pulling his horse next to Pero.

"Shut up." Pero responded, as he had given up denying his feelings for you to his friend.

"You were quite cozy last night. Lovers quarrel already?" William waggled his eyebrows.

"We-we did not get there yet. I'm afraid she is now repulsed by me." Pero scowled, the thought sending ice through his heart. He should have been content with what he had. Not pushed for more. Not with a creature as beautiful as you.

"Nonsense. She was saying the other day how much she admired you!" William scoffed. "I should not say, but she watches you just as much as you her."

"That's- you do not need to say these things to make me feel better." Pero winced.

"I speak the truth! Just ask her outright. No more of these games, as entertaining as it is for me to watch. It isn't your way."

"Perhaps you are right, amigo." Pero sighed watching you again. You were so ethereal on horseback, dark hair fluttering in the wind. He mustered his best smile when you turned, looking back at the two men suspiciously.

You were happy on your own perhaps that's why you were clueless to romantic advances. You never really looked for someone to spend a life with. You assumed that when it was right, it would just happen magically. That's how you felt with Pero but nothing had materialized. Shouldn't it be easy? Shouldn't it be... natural?

You longed for intimacy with him. To hear his stories, to trace his scars until his eyelashes fluttered and he finally relaxed. You longed for sweet words in his native tongue whispered into your ear as you shared tea. But those were all day dreams. The real man was far more ambivalent. He helped you more than the others but maybe that was because you were a girl. He sat next to you but maybe that was because he could speak his native language with you. And the other night when you ate alone it was only a friendly gesture. All of your explanations never hit the true target.

Pero steeled himself to try one last time, standing outside your tent where you were reading. His comrades were still awake and drunk a few feet away.

"Little one... are you awake?" He whispered.

"What is it, Pero?" You eyed his shadow along your tent warily.

"There's-there's something I would like to discuss. Would you walk with me?"

"Alone?" You were half hoping, half dreading.

"Yes. If that's alright."

"Wh-what about?" You frowned, not moving.

"Dios!" Pero clamped his hand over his eyes in frustration. "I'm trying to tell you that-that I care for you. Deeply." He spoke to your tent, feeling as if the words would never penetrate through to you.

Your frown broke into a grin and you giggled into your hand. Pero cursed under his breath stomping away through the mud to the sound of your giggles. She's mocking me!

"Wait!" You managed to say through your laughter. "Wait come back-"

You flung open the flaps of your tent, jogging after him.

"I've made a fool of myself." Pero grumbled to himself, not stopping. "Stupid-"

"Pero! I'm the one who has been stupid." You tug his shoulder, getting him to finally stop and face you. "Gosh I'm clueless in love, Pero. I always have been. I-I never thought- perhaps I don't give myself enough credit but you're... amazing and I'm just-"

"Amazing." Pero echoed, taking your hands, his heart stuttering to a halt.

"I feel the same for you. I wish for you to court me." You answered his hopeful look as directly as possible even though your face burned red. "I'm sorry I've driven you crazy." You lifted his hands and kissed each one. "Sometimes we need to be told things directly."

"I realize that now, hermosa." Pero sighed, his usual scowl twitching up in a smile.

"Now will you kiss me?" You huffed, unable to reach him even on your tip toes. "Por favor." You add.

Pero doesn't reply but he leans down and captures your lips with his own, cupping your head gently.

"Hey!!!! Tovar finally grew a pair!" Someone shouted.

"Shut up! Mind your own business" You heard William scold.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[cheri-translates]

[CN] Gavin’s Long Journey Date

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date, 长旅之约, which has not been released in EN! 🍒

[ This date was released on 8 July 2021 ]

Deers rest peacefully beside me, and birds caw from the branches.

All of a sudden, a rustling sound of flapping wings disrupts the peace in the forest.

Smiling subconsciously while tilting my head upwards, a gigantic griffin descends from the sky.

MC: Welcome back, Griffy! Have you been eating and sleeping well?

I walk up to it, burying my face in the griffin’s fluffy chest fur, letting out a happy sigh.

??: You’re only welcoming it?

The voice I’m most familiar with drifts from the griffin’s back. After that, a figure leaps down smoothly.

MC: Gavin, welcome home!

With a turn of my face, I smile while giving him a wave.

Gavin is wearing simple and informal clothes. However, the extraordinary way he carries himself and the exquisite crown on his forehead could only belong to a prince.

He bows before me in a teasing manner, handing me a small bag. Even without opening it, I can smell the fragrance of pastries.

Gavin: Goddess of Nature, I bring you this round of offerings. But stop sharing them with these animals. They’ve put on weight again.

MC: They’re only cute when they’re round and plump.

I retort, unconvinced. Even so, I pinch the squirrel on my shoulder, placing it back onto the tree.

MC: I have also mentioned that you don’t have to bring me any offerings. The person who made the agreement with me was your mother, and I've already accepted sufficient offerings from her.

Despite what I said, I open the little bag that Gavin gave me, grinning while taking out the pastries.

As a deity, I’m basically adept in everything within my own forest. However, I lack the skills and abilities to bake such snacks.

As such, I’m exceptionally happy whenever he brings me such food.

While eating, I continue speaking with unclear articulation.

MC: When your mother came to the forest that year with a jewel which had been passed down from generation to generation, as well as her crown your deity father once gave her...

Gavin: With those items as offerings, she hoped that you’d become my guardian deity who would keep me safe and train me till I became a passable king.

When deities accept human offerings, they reciprocate by bestowing blessings onto humans. This way, a wonderful transactional relationship is formed.

Back then, a queen had brought her son of around fourteen or fifteen years of age to my forest.

That elegant and dignified lady was smiling, but there was faint worry in her eyes.

She told me that her days were numbered, and that she wouldn’t be able to watch her son grow up.

The child’s father was a high-ranking deity who was busy maintaining the earth's order and rarely showed himself.

As such, she gave me offerings, hoping that I'd become her son’s guardian deity, and to protect this small prince.

Gavin does a stretch, then removes the saddle on Griffy.

Gavin: You’ve said it many times, and I remember it all. 

Gavin: Instead of these things, why don’t you eat quickly? I specially bought the basket which just came out from the stove, then rushed Griffy over. The pastries won’t taste good if they get cold.

Gavin draws out his tone, but a smile remains on his lips.

I turn my head towards Gavin, who is helping me manage the medicinal plants with a practised hand. I can’t help but ponder softly in my heart.

This person doesn’t let me protect him much...

Although this half deity obtained the added protection from the Goddess of Nature, he has never asked for assistance aside from guidance.

He has always strived for the things he wanted, and would persist through failure until he reaches his goal.

Later on, this prince who excels in both learning and military skills, and can even control wind, is the one who helps me out.

He always brings me all sorts of human food and small trinkets, calling them offerings.

Gavin: Why are the medicinal plants here turning bare again... did I water them too much?

I can’t help but laugh secretly while walking over to his side. Holding up those medicinal plants, I restore them to life.

Till this day, he only lets me help him in this area.

I think about how despite not having been coronated king, Gavin has long since been able to run a country.

As a guardian deity, I haven’t neglected my duties, have I?

MC: Come to think of it... Gavin, why haven’t you held a coronation ceremony?

Gavin pauses in his movements.

Gavin: Do you want me to become king?

MC: Of course.

Gavin: But if I become king, it means that you’d no longer be my guardian deity.

MC: That... is correct.

Gavin averts his line of sight, and he doesn’t seem to be in a good mood.

This seems to be the case every time I broach this topic with him.

Clearing my throat, I attempt to change the topic to break the awkward atmosphere.

MC: Oh yes, how many days will you be staying this time?

Gavin doesn’t respond. As though he has finally made a certain decision, he sighs deeply and lifts his head, meeting my eyes directly.

Gavin: The reason why I came this time is because there’s something important I needed to tell you. I’ve decided to succeed to the throne.

The overly abrupt news leaves me dumbfounded on the spot.

Gavin doesn’t elaborate further, and continues.

Gavin: Before that, I intend to follow the ancient text and collect the rumoured offerings that deities cannot refuse. That will allow a strong deity to become my new guardian deity, to protect me, and to protect this country.

Hearing his resolute words, my heart feels slightly upset.

Although completing my agreement is a good thing, why does my heart feel empty?

He even said he was going to find a new guardian deity...

I blink a few times, unable to comprehend the feelings churning in my heart.

Gavin: But right now, you’re my guardian deity. Which is why I hope you can accompany me on this journey. Is that okay?

Gavin looks straight at me, his eyes as transparently clear as a cloudless amber sky.

Facing such a him, I can only nod.

-

Despite not yet rationalising my emotions, I reluctantly embark on this journey with him.

The first stop of this journey is the forest in which fairies live.

Looking at the first treasure recorded in the ancient text, I heave a long sigh.

MC: A crystal which can counteract all sorts of curses. It only grows at the tip of the World Tree...

Gavin: What’s wrong? Deities don’t like it?

MC: It’s the opposite. No deities have refused such an offering. To be honest, even I want it. But...

I lift my head. Looking at the giant tree which plunges into the sky, I have a bad feeling.

MC: You have to know that even though I’m a deity, I was born from nature, and the source of my strength comes from the forest and the land. Which also means...

I’m not good at flying.

Likely hearing the implication of my words, Gavin doesn’t hold back, chuckling softly.

MC: Gavin! Don’t laugh! At that height, even a griffin would have difficulties flying up there. Furthermore, people are good at different-

Gavin: Get on.

Gavin leaps onto the griffin, lowering his head to look at me.

The griffin releases an excited caw, its wings flapping up and down.

Faint morning light caresses the side of his face, the gorgeous rosy glow wilfully painting the azure sky.

His hair and indigo cloak roll up with the air currents, the crown on his head reflecting arc lights.

And on his face, there’s a heroic valiance even clearer and more radiant than any jewel.

For a moment, I’m left slightly dazed.

As compared to any other moment, I can clearly sense that he is no longer that little child who had his brows tightly furrowed back then.

The person before me has shed off his childishness, is sufficiently intelligent, and sufficiently mature - a person who is about to become a young king.

I always knew that he was someone worth having faith in.

But there seems to be something else in his eyes that causes my heartbeat to accelerate uncontrollably.

Likely seeing that I haven’t moved in a long time, Gavin leans over, pulling me in front of him steadily, his arms wrapped securely around my waist.

Gavin: Let’s go.

With this soft statement, the griffin, which had been anticipating this for a very long time, flaps its wings, soaring towards the azure sky.

At the same time, a powerful gale whizzes under Gavin’s beckoning.

Using the wind as wings, we fly very, very high.

Gavin: I wanted to take you flying like this since a very long time ago. But I wasn’t able to find a suitable chance.

His words land on my ears amidst the fluttering sound of wind - high-spirited, clear, and without restraint.

I can hear the throbbing of my own heart, reminiscent of the bits of feathers in the air, drifting along with the breeze.

With Gavin around, Griffy doesn’t have to exert much effort, landing at the crown of the World Tree.

There is a rich display of light and colours on the dense and green treetop. Amidst the various lights, a cluster of dazzling crystals emit a tender and dream-like colour.

Gavin: Looks like this is it.

He plucks a crystal deftly, storing it in the travelling bag he carried along.

Seizing this chance, I take several deep breaths to calm the inexplicable throbbing in my chest.

MC: Since we’ve successfully obtained the first item, are we heading to the next destination? Or are we resting here for the night?

Gavin: We’ll set off straightaway. But give me a moment.

Gavin reaches out to pluck a few smaller crystals. Using a few branches around us, he weaves a simple bracelet, then clasps it around my wrist gently.

Gavin: Since you like it, bring a few more back.

Just as he finishes speaking, a few fairies who were grinning among the leaves earlier rush out towards us.

Fairy A: Congratulations! May the fruits of the World Tree protect the two of you forever!

Fairy B: Congratulations on your marriage! I wish you two everlasting sweetness!

MC: Huh?

Watching as the fairies start to sprinkle flower petals over our heads, my face burns with a “whoosh”.

MC: [blushing] What nonsense are you saying?

The fairy grins while speaking once again.

Fairy B: Firstly, don’t the two of you play together often, and like each other more than others?

Very few humans enter my forest. Aside from the small animals, the only one who visits me frequently, chats with me, and has fun with me is Gavin.

As compared to those small animals which aren’t able to talk or bring me snacks, it’s true that I like Gavin a little more.

With this thought in mind, I nod.

At the side, Gavin nods too. But for some reason, the tips of his ears are slightly red.

Fairy A: Secondly, didn’t the two of you make a unique agreement with each other?

Not knowing where this is heading, I nod again. After all, I’m Gavin’s guardian deity.

At the side, Gavin does a similar action.

Fairy A: Lastly, he made a bracelet for you using the crystals of the World Tree, then put it on for you personally. Doesn’t that symbolise that you’re destined for each other?

The fairy says this matter-of-factly, and the surrounding fairies agree in succession.

MC: Wait wait wait wait, this is a misunderstanding! We’re...

The words are at my lips, but I pause.

It seems that I’ve never considered how to define my relationship with Gavin.

I’m his guardian deity, but I can vaguely sense that it goes further than that.

In the end, Gavin takes half a step forward, blocking me from the celebrating fairies.

Gavin: That’s just the tradition of fairies. Humans and deities don’t have such rules. She’s a guardian deity belonging only to me.

-

The heating stove is bright red, and the sound of forging is unceasing.

??: Drink quickly, drink quickly! There are many more barrels!

The dizzying fragrance of alcohol permeates the air. Even if it’s dispelled by the breeze, it lingers for a long time.

??: You’ll only enjoy yourself to the fullest by accompanying it with the best quality cheese! Want a chunk of smoked meat too?

The bustling marketplace is rife with people hawking their wares, cheese, smoked meat, fruits and perfume. The dazzling lineup leaves one overwhelmed.

??: I didn’t expect that humans could drink as well as us! Not bad!

??: After all, he’s a half deity!

A circular table is in the middle of the lively marketplace, surrounded by dwarves who are adept in iron casting.

Aromatic mead courses through the crevices of the crowd and the small path, being sent to the table in a continuous stream.

MC: Gavin, are you sure you can still drink?

This is the first time I’m seeing Gavin drink this much. He wobbles a little while standing beside the table. Fortunately, his eyes are still sober and clear.

Gavin: I’m fine. 

Gavin: [to the dwarves] We agreed that as long as I can outdrink all of you, you’d give the rarest treasure of the dwarves to me - a golden belt praised by all the deities.

Dwarf A: We never lie!

Dwarf B: Goddess, try some! 

Before I can refuse politely, Gavin has already pulled over the wine cup offered to me, drinking it in one mouthful.

Gavin: I’m the one competing against all of you.

Whether it’s due to the mead or the nearby heating stove, my face grows slightly warm.

Another barrel of mead is finished, and the alcohol-loving dwarves at the table have already collapsed.

Gavin presses the wooden wine cup onto the table heavily. Arching a brow, he raises his volume slightly.

Gavin: You’ve lost.

Dwarf A: Fine, you win! The belt belongs to you! But...!

The dwarf stands up wobbly and burps. In front of Gavin, he pats his own chest.

Dwarf A: There’s... there’s something even more... important that I must do! Axe! I want to make an axe - the best axe - and give it to my beloved lady!

While saying this, he runs and staggers towards the forging stove. The dwarves in the surroundings cheer him on and whistle.

MC: What’s happening this time...

The dwarf is inebriated, but his limbs remain deft. He holds up a hammer and picks a chunk of steel which has been scorched red. Then, he begins hammering it with clanking sounds.

Dwarf A: Half Deity! Come here!

Dwarf B: Come and make something too!

The dwarves are rowdy, and they bring Gavin over to a forging stove, teaching him how to forge weapons.

I head over curiously. Gavin seems to think of something. He glances at me, a smile surfacing on his lips.

Then, he holds up a chunk of mithril and gives it a detailed look, as though visualising the shape he wants to carve it into.

After a while, Gavin picks up the iron hammer, hammering in a decisive manner.

Sparks dance in the air, and the flames from the stove are exuberant. The clamour and sounds of hammering are incessant, bringing the celebration of the marketplace to a climax.

Dwarf A: Done!

Cheers erupt from amongst the crowd. That drunk dwarf raises the axe he had forged, then runs towards a small stall in the marketplace.

Dwarf A: This axe is for you, my beautiful woman! Please marry me!

Even from across the marketplace, the loud voice of the dwarf drifts over clearly.

Dwarf B: Hahahaha! Not bad!

The dwarf at the side chuckles so hard that he isn’t able to straighten up. He takes several deep breaths to calm himself down, then turns around to speak to Gavin.

Dwarf B: Half Deity Lad, you too. Your skills are pretty good for a beginner! If you have a beloved lady, don’t hesitate. Just propose directly!

At the other side of the marketplace, the proposal succeeds. A brand new celebration and banquet has already begun.

I don’t bother about the joy which is about to drown us. I simply look at Gavin.

Perhaps he’s drunk a little too much. Right now, he’s staring fixedly at the short staff he forged, a look of contemplation on his face.

What the dwarf said earlier echos in my ears, akin to a mystical magic spell.

Looking at Gavin, I find myself wondering if he’d give that short staff to me.

Would he smile while looking straight into my eyes, or would he avert his gaze in embarrassment?

I’m left dumbfounded by these inexplicable thoughts.

Perhaps I’ve also drunk a little too much.

-

Early the second day, we bid farewell to the dwarves, preparing to continue the journey.

MC: I didn’t think we’d witness a wedding. It’s a pity that we couldn’t hear more about how they met and got to know each other.

Gavin: Mm. I’m also really curious.

MC: It’s rare to see you interested in such topics.

Gavin: After all, meetings are special things to me. Meetings and keeping each other company are very beautiful things.

Gavin’s tone is gentle, as though he’s recollecting his most treasured memories. Pale gold sunlight illuminates his eyes, which are even more dazzling than the most expensive jewels.

In this short trance, a fleeting yet unrealistic thought burrows into my mind without notice.

I shake my head forcefully, and decide to say something to distract myself.

My gaze quickly sweeps around the surroundings, then locks on a target.

MC: Gavin, do you still remember how we met Griffy?

As though he didn’t expect my sudden question, Gavin blinks a few times, then strokes the grown-up Griffy, chuckling as he speaks.

Gavin: Of course I remember.

Gavin: Back then, my mother had already passed on for a few years. And that deity father never appeared. 

Gavin: Perhaps because of those things, I had a pretty bad attitude towards you during that time. Sorry.

Till this day, I can still remember that period of time.

His amber eyes, which always sparkle and shine, were dyed with a heavy grey. Even his hair, which always sticks up, had drooped listlessly.

But it’s precisely because I was always by his side that I understood the heartbreak and struggles he faced during that period of time.

And I rejoiced that at the very least, I was there to keep him company.

I walk towards him, reaching out to tousle his hair. Gavin leans down and comes slightly closer to me, a peaceful smile on his face.

Gavin: In short, I came to the forest one day.

Gavin: It was raining that day. I walked to the vicinity of your small house, and discovered that you were taking care of a small, stray griffin which had wandered here from somewhere.

Gavin: You’re a goddess, but you didn’t care about yourself, and only cared about shielding the griffin from the rain.

Gavin: You treated its wounds and fed it, while getting drenched by the rain yourself.

Along with his depiction, memories surge into my heart, and they are dyed with a hazy colour of rain.

MC: I recall how you shielded me from the rain with a large leaf. Back then, I was thinking about how rare it was to see such gentle moments from you.

Gavin: Since then, I...

Gavin’s voice grows softer and softer. He turns his face away a little unnaturally.

MC: Since then?

Gavin ignores my question. He simply clears his throat and hands me something.

Gavin: MC, this is for you.

Accepting it subconsciously, the cold and smooth texture of metal causes me to hold my breath.

It’s the short staff he had personally forged yesterday.

His emblem is carved on the body of the staff, and a quality gem is mounted at the tip.

MC: This is...

Before I can say anything, Gavin hurriedly explains.

Gavin: I’m a human, so I don’t follow the traditions of dwarves. In the culture of humans, giving a handmade gift to someone is a form of etiquette to express gratitude. So... this is a thank you gift. Thank you for teaching me so much, and for taking such good care of me.

MC: I... I see!

Gavin speaks calmly and appears utterly composed.

Accepting the short staff, I turn around to pack my items. Recalling the image that surfaced in my mind earlier, my face burns again.

Clearing my throat, I ask Gavin a question tentatively.

MC: Gavin, according to your customs, what would you give to your bride?

Gavin: I’d craft a ring personally.

While saying this, he takes my travelling bag and fixes it onto Griffy’s back. Then, he picks up the ancient text to confirm our next destination.

MC: When that time comes, I’ll definitely pluck the most beautiful flowers in the forest and make a wedding bouquet for your bride.

Holding a wedding and having a partner - these are things worthy to be happy about.

But when I said this, I found that I couldn’t bring myself to smile.

It’s as though my heart is drowned in deep water. It feels acrid, and there’s also a tightening in my chest.

I’ve lived for a very long time on this land, witnessed the construction and destruction of many kingdoms, and experienced battles and peace since the ancient times till today.

Yet, I’m unable to understand the feelings I’m currently experiencing, and what they signify.

-

After that, we head to many other places together.

We cross the dessert, fly over the ocean, scale the highest mountain peak, and head to the deepest abyss.

We dance in a sea of flowers along with the odes of travelling bards, and bargain with a gigantic, greedy dragon.

The treasures in the travelling bag increase in number. Every treasure obtained makes it increasingly clearer that this dream-like journey is about to come to an end.

On an unknown empty island, Gavin and I sit side by side on the shore, watching as the waves at our feet lap against the rocks.

Looking at the pearl head ornament Gavin just gave me, my voice comes out hoarser than expected.

MC: What will you do once you become king?

Gavin: Quite a number of races are interested in humans. Perhaps I could try broadening trade. I also have to revolutionise the senate.

He talks about his responsibilities earnestly - from commerce to ruling the country, from art to food.

Gavin’s dead seriousness tickles me to laughter.

I console myself with the thought that even after he becomes king and I’m no longer his guardian deity, our relationship wouldn’t change that much. 

Gavin suddenly stops mid-speech, as though deliberating something.

I turn my head, only to see the reddened tips of his ears.

Gavin: Also... I want to marry the lady I like and make her my queen. This way, I can always be with her.

Gavin looks afar off, his gaze gentle, as though he can see his desired future.

For some reason, I want to rush towards that future with him.

And I suddenly realise what that acrid feeling twirling around in my heart is.

Without realising it, my feelings for Gavin have been intertwined and encased by a sense of possessiveness.

I don’t want him to have another guardian deity, nor do I want him to give these treasures we’ve collected together to another deity.

Most of all, I don’t want him to put a personally crafted ring on the finger of another lady.

The sea breeze rolls up tiny, light blue flowers on the beach. They dance in the air, floating towards the ocean.

At this moment, all the clamorous emotions and feelings quieten down, and are crowned a name and definition -

All of this is called “liking”.

-

The journey is about to end.

Griffy returns us to the ground.

Looking at my forest and at my little courtyard, I feel as though everything happened a lifetime ago.

Gavin: It’s nice to be home.

Gavin retrieves the travelling bag, then pats the fence at the door.

Gavin: Wait. Why do the medicinal plants look even healthier than before I left...

I tug onto Gavin before he can check on the medicinal plants.

MC: The journey has already ended, and you’ve collected sufficient treasures. Are you going to succeed to the throne after this? Looks like my agreement with your mother has been fulfilled.

Gavin: That’s right. But aren’t you going to let me rest at your place and have a drink of water?

MC: You have quite a number of things to handle after this. These treasures need to be offered to the deity. And you also have to... marry the lady you like. You should take action quickly and settle these things at one go!

I give him a stern expression, trying to conceal the childish impetuousness in my heart.

Gavin: Do you think the deity will really like these?

Gavin doesn’t leave. He stands in place, his words bringing with them a smile.

Looking at the full and bulging travelling bag, I feel tremendously envious.

MC: Of course. Who was the one who picked them with you? All right, go and offer them to your new deity. Who are you looking for? I could put in a good word for you so he or she would give you a little more blessings.

My voice grows softer and softer, and my gaze flits around.

Gavin: If she’ll like them, I can put my mind at ease. 

Gavin speaks softly, but doesn’t respond to my question. He takes the travelling bag, placing the treasures we’ve collected on the grass before me.

The crystal from the top of the World Tree, the golden belt crafted by the dwarves, the unwilting flower from the deepest part of the desert, the coral from the deepest oceanic trench...

Aside from the recorded treasures, there’s also cheese from the dwarves’ marketplace, a headscarf from sea nymphs, sun-dried jerky from the giants, and other miscellaneous items.

These items were brought along with Gavin because I liked them.

After setting down the last item, he takes half a step back.

Then, he gets down on one knee, tilting his head upwards to look at me.

Gavin: Goddess of Nature, I give you all of these offerings. Please bestow blessings upon me, protect my country, and crown me.

Gavin: And please make a long-lasting agreement with me, to become my queen, and to keep me company.

Gavin: Till death do us part.

Gavin looks at me, his sentiments and tenderness condensing into honey coloured amber.

Sunlight filters through the leaves, landing on his face like a kiss, making his eyes bright and glittering.

MC: [blushing] I...

Before I can respond, Griffy caws happily, giving me a nudge from behind, causing me to fall into Gavin’s arms.

MC: [blushing] Griffy! I didn’t raise you to be this big so you could do that!

I grumble, pretending to be stern. Then, I close my eyes defeatedly, burying my head in Gavin’s arms, not wanting him to have a clear view of my blushing face.

Gavin’s soft chuckle and his breaths land on my ears, akin to the first tender breeze in early summer.

Gavin: I used to worry that the reason for our interactions was due to that prior agreement. 

Gavin: Once the agreement ended, you would no longer have a connection to me. 

Gavin: I was troubled by this for a while, and also tried to delay that day from arriving. 

Gavin: But one day, I made a decision. 

Gavin: Instead of holding on to that past agreement, why don’t I make a new vow instead.

Gavin tilts his chin towards those treasures.

Gavin: But I don’t want you to simply be a goddess who responds to my prayers.

Gavin: This journey was meant for you to understand that my feelings for you aren’t simply the dependence humans have towards their guardian deities.

Gavin: I just don’t know how effective it was...

Gavins speaks, averting his gaze.

Recalling the hints and occasional bashfulness during the journey, I finally understand everything, and my face turns incomparably red.

MC: [blushing] Right from the beginning, you already...

Gavin coughs softly.

Gavin: So, are you willing?

Watching as his eyes draw increasingly nearer to me, it’s as though a pot of honey has been overturned in my heart, and all the flowers seem to be blooming at the same time.

I lift my hand.

MC: I’m the deity who controls the land, forests, and all the animals.

MC: I hereby make an agreement with you-

The forest seems to respond to my words. Birds outstretch their wings, trees rustle, and the land releases a faint humming sound.

Light flickers at my fingertips, akin to a sprouting bud as it flows and spreads over Gavin’s crown.

MC: I will always protect your kingdom. May your land be forever fertile, and may your kingdom forever be peaceful.

My power weaves my words into an unbreakable vow between us.

As a goddess, these are the strongest blessings I can give to him.

With a small smile, I continue speaking. Softly, I give him the blessings from me as MC, and also my response.

MC: I will also share my life with you, and my power.

MC: I will accompany you for a long time, until the destruction of the earth.

A light blooms, encasing us within it.

Gavin doesn’t speak, and simply looks at me.

I recall the day we saw the sea together, and recall the fluttering light blue petals, and the gaze he had when he stared afar off.

I’m guessing that his gaze has finally found a dwelling place.

The rays of light around us gradually recede, and the vow is established.

This isn’t a lengthy ceremony, nor does it involve complicated steps.

But we have cast a connection different from before - one which is unique in the world.

Having used my powers, I lean into Gavin’s arms, looking at the same sky together.

MC: Aren’t you going to say something?

Gavin: Erm... you really looked like a goddess earlier.

There doesn’t seem to be a change in or relationship. However, there’s a certain sweetness in our dialogue.

MC: I am a goddess! Wait, that’s not what I was referring to. May I invite Your Majesty, who has obtained the goddess’ blessings through his own strength, share his thoughts with us?

Gavin pretends to ponder over this seriously.

Gavin: I just remembered that there’s one thing I haven’t done. I plan to make another trip to the dwarves’ nation.

MC: Did you forget something?

Gavin pulls me up, and we stand together. He pats Griffy, getting it ready to set out.

Gavin: I mentioned before that I’d personally craft a ring for my queen.

Gavin: You also promised that you’d pluck the most beautiful flowers in the forest to make a wedding bouquet.

Gavin: I look forward to seeing it when I return.

🐦 MOMENTS 🐦

Gavin’s Post: If griffins really existed, they'd probably feel quite nice.

MC: Would a griffin’s fur feel like a bird’s or a lion’s?

Gavin: ...I have never thought about this question.

-

Gavin’s Post: If griffins really existed, they'd probably feel quite nice.

MC: If only we could rear one!

Gavin: We might need a larger courtyard to let it build a nest.

-

Gavin’s Post: If griffins really existed, they'd probably feel quite nice.

MC: I really want to bury my face in it...

Gavin: Even though we don’t have a griffin, we could ask Flyer if its willing.

🐦 Calls: First ll Second

🐦 Support the cafe by dropping by the tip jar!

[seriouslysnape]

Hopeless Romantic

__

Lucius Malfoy x Fem. Reader

Warnings: Implications of sex, Language.

Word Count: 1,634

“I see you found one of my messages.”

__

Even Lucius would admit, he wasn’t very in touch with his romantic side. The love language of Lucius Malfoy was physical touch, have no doubt about that. He felt that if his hands were on you, then he was displaying his care and adoration in the only way he knew how. However, after spending more and more time with you, he learned that there were other ways to show his affection.

Words of affirmation were definitely one that stunned him. You were always telling him how you were proud of him and how you admired him. At first, he tried to ignore the way his heart did a little leap whenever you spoke to him this way. It made him feel warm and fuzzy inside, which wasn’t always normal for him. He’d find himself going back to those moments, smiling off into space at how it made him feel. 

Lucius had never been a “flowers on Valentine’s Day” kind of guy. His hands being on your body or his fingers running through your hair or even just brushing by you when he walked by was his way of showing his love. While that was always great and appreciated, he just didn’t understand yet that you needed more than that. 

You had mentioned it a time or two before that you needed to hear his love for you and see it. Lucius became rather irritated, thinking that you were just being overly clingy and ungrateful. Lucius was a VERY proud man, and it was rare for him to ever doubt the way he did things. If you weren’t satisfied with him, then that was a you problem in his eyes. 

While it was incredibly frustrating that he never showed his devotion any other way, you understood that Lucius didn’t know how to. Over time, you were able to identify that his lingering touches and passionate kisses were his way. So, you accepted it and moved on.

Despite this, Lucius began to notice something new. You had accompanied him at a dinner party of sorts, enjoying the company of others and taking that much deserved social time. Lucius had been standing with you, his hand on the small of your back when he caught the conversation you had been having with one of the guests. She was telling you about how her husband had started writing her love notes, and leaving them around the house for her to find later.

Lucius almost audibly scoffed at the thought of such a cheesy idea, but he stopped himself when he saw the way your eyes brightened in a not-so subtle way. You gushed and gawked with your friend for the next ten minutes, going on and on about how romantic that was. Lucius was surprised that you had such a reaction to the idea, and he suddenly began to see just what you had been talking about. 

He spent the rest of the evening thinking about it, wondering if he could pull off the same exact thing. He was confident at first, because how hard could it be to put his love into words? He didn’t realize just how challenging it would be until he had been sitting at his large desk for almost thirty minutes, quill in hand, and the paper completely blank. He was surrounded by crumpled pieces of paper that had been discarded, none of them proving to be successful drafts.

He couldn’t think of a solitary thing to say, or even how to say it. It seemed that his penmanship skills were less than perfect. He was growing more and more aggravated with each passing moment. This shouldn’t be this hard. He was crazy about you, so why couldn’t he string together a damn sentence?

He tossed his quill back onto the desk, ready to give in to defeat. He sighed harshly, his eyes roaming over his previous attempts that were scattered in front of him. His gaze wandered to a gold-framed photograph that he kept at the front of his desk. He picked it up, letting out a soft chuckle as he remembered the day it was taken. 

It was a rather candid picture, which was much different than any of his other images of you, but it was his favorite. It was a bit of a secret hobby of Lucius Malfoy, but he had a glimmer of interest in photography. You were often the subject of his pictures, sometimes they were fully staged and sometimes not. He might take pictures of you just cuddled up next to him on the sofa, or sometimes he’d have you model for him to take more sultry, provocative pictures (that he kept stashed away in a locked drawer in his desk for his sole viewing pleasure).

He glanced over the finer details of the framed picture. The way you looked so glowy and gorgeous. Your eyes sparkled a little more and your skin looked heavenly. His mind wandered to how he loved to touch you as a reminder that you were there with him. How he cherished the way you snuggled up next to him when you were cold or wanted attention. Before he knew it, he was thinking about all the things he loved about you. Exactly the things he wanted to put into words.

He quickly picked his quill back up before he lost his stroke of genius. He wrote like a madman, writing one to three sentences on each piece of parchment before moving on to the next one. He used a lot of the things that you said to him on a daily basis to help him along. He was on a roll after a few minutes, pushing out at least five or six little notes to leave around the house. He planted them in various places, and considering his residence was massive, he had plenty of spaces.

He was proud of himself, but hoping that you would find them endearing. He wasn’t home when you found the first two. The first had been stashed into the novel you were currently reading, falling onto your lap when you opened the book. You raised a brow at the parchment that you identified as Lucius’ personalized stationery. You opened the folded note, reading it so many times because you were sure that you were dreaming.

[Y/N],

Your heart is as pure as the words written on these pages. I love you for being my greatest story.

Lucius.

You were totally shocked. Surely, this wasn’t YOUR Lucius that had written this? The same Lucius Malfoy that sneered at anything even remotely commercially romantic? This was a textbook definition, straight out of a romantic Muggle movie that he would never be caught dead watching. You were filled with joy, an amazing feeling of care rushing over you. It was a wonderful surprise, one that you would keep close to you. 

While the first one was a shocker, the second one was three times that. An hour or so later, you entered the bathroom to take a shower when you caught a glimpse of the small piece of parchment tucked into the corner of the mirror. You plucked it into your grasp, a blinding smile appearing on your face.

My love, 

I hope you find this with a smile on your face, the same one that I have undoubtedly fallen in love with. I love you for being the light of my life.

Lucius.

This one caused tears to prick at your eyes. You were overwhelmed with emotions. You had watched Lucius become “soft” over the years and watched him comply with your needs. Seeing HIS handwriting, writing THESE words that he put together was a gorgeous thing. You wiped away at the happy tears streaming your face when you heard someone enter the connecting bedroom. Sure enough, the man in question appeared in the doorway. A grin appeared on his face when he saw you holding the note.

“I see you found one of my messages.” Lucius said, approaching you at the bathroom counter. 

“I’ve found two...how many are there?” You asked, even more gleeful that you might have more to find.

He hummed thoughtfully.

“Quite a few,” He admitted, snaking an arm around your waist. His smile disappeared when he saw the faint tracks of tears on your cheeks; “Have you been crying, darling?”

He swiped at your damp cheeks, a soft giggle escaping your lips.

“Yeah, but happy tears. I wasn’t expecting this at all, Luc.” You confessed, resting your hands on the collar of his shirt.

He felt his heart melt. He never knew how something so simple would touch you like this. You deserved to feel worshipped and appreciated, and if this was the way he needed to do it, then so be it. 

“I meant everything I said. I do love you. Even if I don’t always say it.” He said, holding your face in his hand.

“I love you, Lucius. I’m proud of you.” You said. 

Oh, there it was. His favorite words of encouragement. He smiled again, listening as you carried on.

“Even if you don’t say it a lot, you always show me,” You said in a seductive tone; “And, oh, do you show it well.” 

His smile faded into more of a smirk. His first instinct to pick you up and place you on the counter, stepping between your legs and leaving hot kisses on your neck. Before he progressed further, he stopped.

“Wait, don’t you want to find the rest of them?” He asked, figuring you’d rather do that instead.

You shrugged. While you did totally want to, you could spare a few minutes for this. You kissed him in response, replying before making sweet love with him.

“Yeah, but I want you more.”

[moonlitceleste]

hello, i love you, goodbye

Timari January Day 16 - “Why would I ever date someone like you?”

@timari-month-event​

If you’re reading this...sorry in advance. Also, in case it’s unclear, the italicized lines are Tim’s thoughts!

“I’m in love with you.”

Tim could only stare as Marinette’s confession rang through the clearing where she asked him to meet that late afternoon.

He didn’t think he’d ever hear those words fall from her lips—not because of the implication behind them, but because of the timing.

After months of waiting and wondering, Tim hadn’t expected them to come now, of all times.

Maybe because he had hoped it wouldn’t be now.

Marinette stood there fidgeting nervously at his lack of response, clearly doubting her decision to pour her heart out to him, and god, he wanted nothing more than to grab her face and kiss her senseless.

...but he couldn’t, because in two days Red Robin would be leaving on a three-month undercover mission. No contact, no communication, no nothing.

How could he tell her he loved her just to let her down?

How could he possibly ask her to wait for him without knowing if he’d ever return?

Even if he told her of his job as a vigilante, he would have to leave in a few days’ time, not to mention the danger knowing his identity would put her in.

Marinette might have been extraordinary, but she was still a civilian.

He loved her too much to let her get hurt.

So he steeled his emotions, put on a carefully blank mask, and hoped she could forgive whatever he said next.

“Why would I ever date someone like you?”

Marinette immediately recoiled at his harsh tone and took a step back.

Her face adopted a look between hurt and confusion, and Tim felt his chest ache because he did that.

“What? But I thought—”

“You thought what? That I liked you?”

I love you.

He forced himself to laugh, but it sounded wrong to his own ears.

“You will never be good enough for me.”

You’re too good for me.

“I-Tim, are you okay? This isn’t like you.”

He forced himself to channel the Tim Drake side of Tim-Drake Wayne, all unflinching glares and ice-cold stares.

Her eyes flitted over his face, as if searching for something. A hint of emotion, maybe.

But he couldn’t let her see him cracking beneath his stone mask.

“I’m your friend. If something’s wrong, I can help.”

He shrugged her hand of his shoulder harshly.

“We’re not friends,” he snapped.

We were never just friends.

The whispered words sounded so broken, almost as much as his heart.

“What?”

“Don’t you get it? I lied. I only ever talked to you to get you to stop annoying me.”

I’m sorry. IloveyouI’msorry—

The words finally struck a chord in Marinette, and she blinked rapidly in a vain attempt to stop her tears.

But she couldn’t hide her pain, because regardless of Tim’s detective skills, she always wore her heart on her sleeve.

It was one of the many things he loved about her.

“Is that how you really feel?”

The whispered words sounded so broken, almost as much as his heart.

No.

“Yes.”

His response was robotic and so utterly fake, but Marinette was too deep in her own head to notice.

Her cheeks shone with dampness, and Tim felt the unbearable urge to pull her close in his arms and kiss her tear-streaked face.

It tore him apart to see her try and hide behind her hair, as if he was someone she had to hide from.

He tried not to think about weeks ago, when a sobbing Marinette ran into his arms for comfort and he promised he’d never make her cry.

He was a liar, and Marinette hated liars—but he’d gladly take her animosity if it meant she was safe.

He’d rather her hate him than get hurt for loving him.

She looked up, and he felt his world stop as her enchanting blue eyes met his.

Her lips moved, forming syllables he couldn’t understand through the deafening roar in his ears that told him to drop to his knees and beg for forgiveness.

They sounded a lot like “goodbye.”

This reaction of numb acceptance wasn’t one Tim had expected, and a dreaded feeling in his gut said he had hurt her more than intended.

He diverted his eyes away from her retreating form, staring blankly at the rose bushes to his right. There were never roses before Marinette came to Gotham.

His brain whispered that it wasn’t too late for him to chase after her, and it took all of his willpower to not give in.

Every cell in his body urged him to run to her regardless of the consequences, like one of those cheesy romance movies where they bypassed airport security just to tell the love of their life to stay.

But he shoved his emotions down, down, down, until all he felt was numb.

It could have been hours after her footsteps left when Tim finally fell to his knees and cried.

PERMANENT TAGLIST @avengerthewarrior *@bluesimani @enternalempires @flower-girll @freesportspalacesalad @glastwime859 @h1sss @heart-charming @jalaluvsu @kitsunebell @maskedpainter @moongoddesskiana @nathleigh @too0bsessedformyowngood

[nanstgeorge]

“little garden” implications

starting to think that “little garden” = fandom elain and this was sjm’s way of subtly tackling how she has been reduced to her hobbies and overlooked by characters & the fandom for her traditionally feminine characteristics. this has even led some people to determine her possible endgames (ex; lucien and tamlin) for the series just because she likes gardening. not because she has expressed interest in them, but because she likes gardening so that automatically means she must end up with someone associated with flowers.

im not opposed to elain somehow taking over spring court or ending up with lucien (if the story convinces me lmao) but there’s an issue with sticking her there just because it seems like it works. like elain residing at spring court has been a popular fan theory since the beginning of the series but every book that has been released only seems to disprove it even more? she has never explicitly said she wanted to live there, even chosen a life for herself at night court, but fans and the inner circle just took this idea and ran.

“But Elain.... The Sprint Court had been made for someone like her.” (Nesta)

“Elain in black was ridiculous. Yes, she was beautiful, but the color of her long-sleeved, modest gown leeched the brightness from her face. It wore her, rather than the other way around. And he knew the cruelty of the Hewn City troubled her. But she hadn’t hesitated to come. When Feyre had offered to let her remain home, Elain had squared her shoulders and declared that she was a part of this court—and would do whatever was needed. So Elain had let her golden-brown hair down tonight, and pinned it back with twin combs of pearl. He’d never once in the two years he’d known her found Elain to be plain, but wearing black, no matter how much she claimed to be part of this court … It sucked the life from her.” (Cassian)

i’d say that it’s arguable whether or not nesta truly has an accurate depiction of elain now that we have a more in-depth portrait of nesta’s mind and childhood. of course this was not cultivated by nesta herself, with much help from her mother, but elain is still a child to nesta. a child who is a bartering tool between her and her disfigured dynamic with feyre. a child who is a reminder of her own insecurities. essentially, this quote from acosf sums it up, “nesta made her own choices, but our mother laid the ground work.”

“Elain is pleasant to look at, but she has no ambition. She does not dream beyond her garden and pretty clothes. She will be an asset on the marriage market for us one day, if that beauty holds, but it will be our own maneuverings, Nesta, not hers, that win us an advantageous match” (Mama Archeron)

“It doesn’t matter what I think. Go back to Feyre and your little garden.”

Elain, sweet and oblivious.

Elain was like a dog, loyal to whatever master kept her fed and in comfort.

But to let Elain involve herself, jeopardize her safety—

“Look who decided to grow claws after all. Maybe you’ll become interesting at last, Elain.”

“Always defending sweet, innocent Elain.”

Challenge filled each word. Challenge—from Elain, of all people.

Elain stepped closer, brown eyes wide. Undoubtedly wholly convinced of her own innocence, her innate goodness.

Elain had accepted his death as inevitable. She hadn’t bothered to fight for him, as if he hadn’t been worth the effort, precisely as Nesta knew she herself wasn’t worth the effort.

It was inevitable, Nesta supposed, stomach churning. She was the monster. Why shouldn’t the two of them band together and shove her out? Even if she’d foolishly believed that Elain had always seen every horrible part of her and decided to stick by her anyway.

now onto feyre, who has always had a softer but different opinion of elain. this doesn’t mean it’s accurate to how elain is or was, but it’s safe to say that this was an opinion that wasn’t stemmed out of their mother’s mind. this is not to villainize nesta, but merely explain how elain was never made out to only be a “pretty face” to feyre. but of course it’s important to remember that she isn’t scotch free for how she acted in their childhood.

It wasn’t that Elain was cruel. She wasn’t like Nesta, who had been born with a sneer on her face. Elain sometimes just … didn’t grasp things. It wasn’t meanness that kept her from offering to help; it simply never occurred to her that she might be capable of getting her hands dirty.

Perhaps buried it a bit, but she was generous, loving, and kind—a woman I found myself proud to know, to call sister.

Elain mouthed my name but kept cowering, kept her head down.

Elain, who had been gentle and sweet.

I had not painted in years at that point, had not dared spend the money on myself … But Elain had.

She had looked at that cottage with hope; I had looked at it with nothing but hatred. And I knew which one of us had been stronger.

“She loves her garden. Always loved growing things. Even when we were destitute, she managed to tend a little garden in the warmer months. And when—when our fortune returned, she took to tending and planting the most beautiful gardens you’ve ever seen. Even in Prythian. It drove the servants mad, because they were supposed to do the work and ladies were only meant to clip a rose here and there, but Elain would put on a hat and gloves and kneel in the dirt, weeding. She acted like a purebred lady in every regard but that.”

nesta and feyre both have two different feelings regarding elain but they are similar in that they both believe she needs to be protected. it’s pretty clear when elain reminds them of how they only thought of her trauma when it affected them.

“Elain was right. We’ve become so focused on how her trauma impacted us that we forget she was the one who experienced it.” (Feyre)

quite honestly, it’s the inner circle members who are aware of elain’s potential and look at her as not defenseless compared to her sisters. this of course makes it’s quite ironic that she’s used as “pawn” to get nesta to stick her neck out. moving on, it’s specifically azriel, who is someone she chose to create a bond with and probably knows her best. cassian also may be someone who considers elain to not truly belong to night court but does shift his opinion on her overall character.

“Including Elain, who is more than capable of defending herself against the darkness of the Trove, if she chooses to. Don’t underestimate her.” (Amren, oops)

“Nesta was wrong, Cassian realized, to think of Elain as loyal and loving as a dog. Elain saw every single thing Nesta had done, and understood why.” (Cassian)

“I think she’s kind, and I’ll take kindness over nastiness any day. But I also don’t think we’ve seen all she has to offer.” (Rhys)

rhysand is also someone who slowly begins to see elain in a different light as well as feyre by the end of the book. in fact, it takes rhys expressing his opinion of elain, as someone who didn’t grow up with her, for feyre to see things differently. it takes rhys, who brings back up the first description of elain in the series, for feyre to recollect another element of elain.

“It wasn’t meanness that kept her from offering to help; it simply never occurred to her that she might be capable of getting her hands dirty.” (Feyre, ACOTAR)

“Don’t forget that gardening often results in something pretty, but it involves getting one’s hands dirty along the way.” (Rhys, ACOSF Bonus)

“Have you ever seen Elain act like that before?”

“No. I mean, she’s been brave when she had to be, but she’s never been confrontational.”

“Maybe she’s never been given a chance to be that way.”

“You think I stifle her?”

“Not you alone. But I wonder if everyone has spent so long assuming Elain is sweet and innocent that she felt she had to be that way or else she’d disappoint you all.”

in conclusion, elain is a character who’s journey is yet to be complete. the first real choice she had was to not hunt for the family but essentially, she’s been deprived of real choice and independence her entire life. besides being pretty and marrying well, not much has ever been expected of her until she left the garden of her childhood and planted her own. while she may have been turned against her will, elain found solace in dedicating her attention towards the garden in the archeron mansion, night court and all those who resided there. gardening and growing things is something she chose; not something that was inflicted upon her (such as a mating bond.)

elain does not belong somewhere or with someone because she gardens. we have seen countless times over that she can make her own place anywhere but she chose to make a home at night court.

[alicenttully]

This edit on Arya Tv Tropes is something else lol -

Cersei sends informers to spy on Margaery to get any dirt on her. What she found out was a woman who enjoyed horse-riding, hawking, talking to and befriending smallfolk, not caring about getting dirty to fit in with them, collecting things she found in nature, a sea-lover and an all-around fun person. That's exactly like Arya as Sansa described her, which makes it all the more ironic since she wanted a sister like Margaery. Margaery is what Arya could have become if her tragedy never happened to her, but also shows Sansa is a very inconsistent judge of character, because the things she disliked in Arya she adored in Margaery. Margaery is also what Arya could have become had her interests and willpower been accepted and made the most of, rather than being told she was inferior to her older sister's type of proper lady.

And whoever made this edit has poor reading comprehension, because those aren’t the reasons (hawking, horse-riding- which btw, is a common activity for all noblewomen. Arya is hardly unique in this regard.) why Sansa enjoys the company of Margaery and the Tyrells.  Sansa explains why- 

Margaery's kindness had been unfailing, and her presence changed everything. Her ladies welcomed Sansa as well. It had been so long since she had enjoyed the company of other women, she had almost forgotten how pleasant it could be. Lady Leonette gave her lessons on the high harp, and Lady Janna shared all the choice gossip. Merry Crane always had an amusing story, and little Lady Bulwer reminded her of Arya, though not so fierce.

Closest to Sansa's own age were the cousins Elinor, Alla, and Megga, Tyrells from junior branches of the House. "Roses from lower on the bush," quipped Elinor, who was witty and willowy. Megga was round and loud, Alla shy and pretty, but Elinor ruled the three by right of womanhood; she was a maiden flowered, whereas Megga and Alla were mere girls.

The cousins took Sansa into their company as if they had known her all their lives. They spent long afternoons doing needlework and talking over lemon cakes and honeyed wine, played at tiles of an evening, sang together in the castle sept . . . and often one or two of them would be chosen to share Margaery's bed, where they would whisper half the night away.

She enjoys doing needlework, playing games, singing with them.  You know, simply being able to interact with her girls her own age.

Regarding Margaery and the smallfolk, I’ve addressed this before-  I cannot speak for Margaery because we don’t have her POV, but the thing is with the Tyrells- they’re all about PR. Keep in mind they were complicit in the famine.  Now is Margaery responsible for that? No. But, if Margaery really did inherit some things from her grandmother & the implication that Olenna was mentoring her (seeing her as her chance to do things right, considering the way she looks down on Mace.) I think its very likely that she was advised by Olenna or someone in the Tyrell circle to do this. Unlike Olenna, I don’t think Loras is entirely stupid.  I think he could have seen the way the commons loved Renly, and therefore told his sister about what she needed to do to emulate that.

 Does that mean Margaery is heartless & doesn’t care at all for the smallfolk? Of course not.  But I don’t think you can compare her and Arya because its very clear in Aryas POV that she doesnt have an ulterior motive that the Tyrells likely do.  9 year old Arya was just interested in seeing the world and meeting new people. 

Margaery is also what Arya could have become had her interests and willpower been accepted and made the most of, rather than being told she was inferior to her older sister’s type of proper lady.

Well first off, Arya would hate being Margaery.  Being married off three times.

Furthermore, like Margaery and Sansa are very similar in terms of ladylike behavior so really... you’re just arguing that if Arya is like Sansa, then her life would be better.  Arya can never be Margaery & have her interests (ie swordplay) because they’re two conflicting things.  Margaery Tyrell didn’t have a sword made for her.  Margaery Tyrell didn’t wonder about what it would be like to be Wenda the White Fawn, an outlaw. Margaery Tyrell didn’t ask her Dad if she could sit on a council one day.  And maybe she did. But book Margaery is really an underdeveloped character IMO, and show Margaery makes it clear exactly the thing she wants- being queen. 

[readerinsertfanfiction]

Hi! I was wondering if you can do Kakeru Manabe dating Momiji’s twin sister. She was also born with the zodiac curse, and like they tell everyone and are ready to tell Akito and he doesn’t improve, how would everyone react? Including Manabe. Would they defend her and try to make him agree to them dating? Thank you if you read this have a good day or night sjsnsnsj 😅 ALSO IM SORRY IF ITS TOO MUCH DJDKWNDK

Heya! While I do write for Fruits Basket (thank heavens for another fandom in my inbox for once lol) I write reader!inserts not the story of your OC that you don’t feel like writing out yourself. So what I will do is write a Kakeru Manabe x reader story with a character that has the zodiac curse, but otherwise there will be no Momiji’s twin, because I sure hope that the OC has more of an identity than just being a copy of Momiji.

A/N: Of course I write a Fruits Basket piece on the eve of Lunar New Year. 😅😅😅 HAPPY LUNAR NEW YEAR TO THOSE WHO CELEBRATE. 🐮🐮🐮

Fandom: Fruits Basket

Character: Kakeru Manabe

Prompt: Sohmacursed!reader

He slept in the flowerbeds without a care. Earning complaints from many. The school council president dared to roughen him up in public, earning a surprised look as the image of prince charming broke. He did everything differently and earned no ire, only more fans for the actions he took. Kakeru Manabe was a strange individual that went against the grain and that had your attention. Someone who was capable of pulling out a different side out of everyone.

Affable was a word that would suit him. Along with attentive, for he always thought and minded the rest first, even while he slept in flower beds, or did something silly that earned Yuki’s fist once more. Kakeru Manabe was, by all accounts a charming young male that had deserved his spot in popularity despite his ditzy outer appearance, if only because of something dark hidden beneath. It was attractive, for a Sohma at least. For they often lived under a façade as well, for they often craved the genuine attention of those surrounding them.

And here was the danger for you, for a Sohma was not supposed to interact with those from the outside. For they were not allowed to be with those uninitiated and you were very much not an exception. In fact, you were a reason even.

“We can’t be together,” you had stated, and Yuki had solemnly nodded, understanding the why but not willing to accept it just like that. However, as a fellow Sohma what was he to suggest else? The outsiders wouldn’t understand and as much as Kakeru was someone of great understanding and acceptance he was just another outsider. After all, it wasn’t unheard of from their own mothers to abandon their children once they found the curse, what obligation had he not to do the same?

“Ahaha, please don’t be like that,” Kakeru had responded, first thinking that you were jesting. Your humour had always been rather outlandish, it was why the two of you got along so well. Just last week you had been the one confessing to him, albeit covertly, but now it was him who returned the words to you, openly. Surely feelings couldn’t have changed that quickly?

“Oooh, is it because you’re actually the heir of a throne in a foreign country? It is fine, I will be your Prince Charming!” the male had exclaimed, thinking that you truly were playing a game with him, but at your stern expression Kakeru’s bright shimmering light dimmed a little as he eyed you and then Yuki and then you again.

“Is it because of my family?” he questions, a pensive look on his face as he recalls the complications his own family came with. The difficulties Machi had to suffer from. The things he fought so hard to break away from. Was it all fruitless in the end?

You shook your head once more, a soft smile on your lips as you took a step away from the male, creating distance between the two of you. It was regrettable that Yuki was here, when it was supposed to be a private moment, but also fortunate, for you were sure that he was needed to pick up the pieces of his friend that you were to leave behind.

“It is mine,” you answered honestly, remembering the way Akito had reacted to Rin and Hatsuharu, recalling the story of why Hatori’s fiance had suddenly left him, the heartbreak, the pain, the inevitable tragedy that was to come, but above all the lack of what you wanted to give him the most; the curse holding you back. And that was all you had been willing to say as you turned away, leaving him with only your rejection.

But Kakeru was amongst the many traits of affableness and charm also determined, unwilling to let go once he had understood that this went against yourself as much as it went against him to let you go.

Kakeru knew himself not to be as kind and as empathetic as he would like to be, often needing others to explain to him what the perspective of the other was. But he understood family and especially complicated families as a member of one himself. Or so he had believed when he tried to dive into yours and tried to figure out what it was that had made you say what you had.

“Have you tried to embrace a Sohma? Have you ever pressed their body against yours and felt its true form?”

The mysterious head of the Sohma family had left Kakeru with even more questions as he wondered what it was that Akito had meant. Kakeru had, without a fear, approached the head to put the hierarchy of the Sohma into question. An inquiry that had earned him a cold and callous ire in which he was challenged to do the one thing you had always avoided. Was it in there that your secret laid?

He had considered it, Kakeru had, but the thought disturbed him as he realised the implications that Akito had so carefully suggested. Was he able to disturb your boundaries as such, to force out your secrets to him so casually all for the sake of starting a relationship?

“You will destroy it before you have it,” were Yuki’s words when he tried to seek counsel from his friend. Yuki’s grey eyes had been so sad, back to that gloomy cold prince he had been before they became friends. It was a loneliness that Kakeru had come to recognise in all members of the Sohma, which he sometimes saw in you as well.

“Whatever it is,” the male decided to tell you instead, “I hope one day you will come to see me as someone that you trust enough to share your secret with,” he had told you after relaying the story of his meeting with Akito. He regretted his own noisiness, lamented his curiosity, but had satisfied himself with patience. Patience that he was willing to use to wait for you to be ready, or for his feelings to die out, though Kakeru had a feeling that was going to be another long while. He was after all, quite stubborn.

[beauregardlionett]

star-crossed lovers and other tragedies made right

AO3 Link

One of Beauregard Lionett’s earliest memories was of her parents sitting her down and telling her she would one day be wed in matters of business rather than love. Her mother had taken Beau’s tiny hands in her own delicate ones and told her to never fall in love. Her father, with his eyes hard and unforgiving, warned her to always be on her best behavior. She could never remember what age she had been, but the lofty dollhouse from her fourth birthday still sat in the corner of her bedroom.

Perhaps that had been her harbinger, because not long after, her memories of Yasha began.

Beau’s family estate was in Kamordah, but four times a year, they made the brief trip to Zadash for business and personal matters alike. It was there, among the sprawling, weaving streets of the Pentamarket, that they met. Beau had ducked from her mother’s side to go exploring, rucking up her skirts with distaste as she went. Though she never got to explore on her own before, she was enthralled by the array of options before her. Pristine tents alongside ramshackle booths, steaming baked goods and glittering jewelry hawked with the same enthusiasm as mere trinkets. Her bones all but vibrated with the resonance and life that defined the market streets.

Rounding a corner, Beau’s eye caught on a stall selling trinkets and flowers and bolts of fabric. She trotted her way over, the tiny coin purse she had hidden at her waist jingling quietly. Beau eyed up the trinkets with interest, pushed onto her tiptoes to view the toys. As she stood inspecting the spread on the short table, a flash of white in Beau’s peripheral caught her attention.

Turning, Beau blinked wide eyes at the girl beside her. She stood several inches taller than Beau and looked a few years older. Her hair was shockingly white and her clothing rather plain in style and color. Beau envied that she got to wear breeches while she was stuck with her dress. The flowers assorted behind the table caught the girl’s attention, and Beau tried to return her focus to the trinkets. But they didn’t seem to have the same allure now as they had before the girl walked up.

“May I have one of those?” A soft voice spoke from the direction of the girl. Beau flicked a look sideways, surprised that for all her sturdiness, she sounded so sweet.

“Three copper,” the stall owner croaked, reaching for the stem.

“Oh,” the girl hesitated, catching her lower lip between her teeth and clenching a fist. “I only have two.”

“Here,” Beau spoke before she even thought the action through. She dug her neatly embroidered coin purse free of her belt and produced a copper piece. Holding it out to the girl beside her, Beau didn’t smile, just waited expectantly.

“Thank you,” the girl whispered, cheeks pink. “But I can’t.”

“Sure you can,” Beau shrugged, growing a little impatient. “It’s my allowance, and I want you to take it for the flower.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Beau sighed in a manner her mother would have a fit over. “My arm is getting tired, do you want the flower or not?”

With great hesitation, the white-haired girl reached out and took the copper piece from Beau. The stall owner flicked a look between the two before snatching the coin from the girl’s hand and passing over the bloom. Trinkets forgotten, Beau trot after the girl who had retreated a few shy steps from the stall.

“What’s your name?”

“Yasha,” the girl blinked down at Beau, confused rather than annoyed by her continued presence. “Thank you for helping me. What’s your name?”

Beau waved the girl’s gratitude away, unfamiliar with how she might accept it.

“It was just a copper piece,” Beau said, noticing now that Yasha had two different colored irises. “I’m Beau.”

“I suppose,” Yasha agreed, weaving the long stem of the flower between her fingers. “I forgot my coin purse at the inn, so I only had a few on me.”

“Where are you staying?” Beau inquired, keeping pace with Yasha as they strode through the bustling market streets. She wondered briefly if her mother was frantic over her missing daughter yet or not.

“The Lodge of the Eclipse,” Yasha’s voice pulled Beau back. “My parents are in town for business.”

Lips twisting, Beau kicked a loose stone in her path, tracking it as it skittered between patrons’ feet. “Mine too, but we’re staying at the Pillow Trove.”

If Yasha understood the implications of her family’s wealth and status by that comment, she didn’t show it. The girl continued weaving the flower stem through her fingers and trudged alongside Beau. She was never very good at conversation with others, one of the many reasons Beau lacked any friends back home. Thankfully, the lively chatter of the market streets filled the silence between them as they walked.

Eventually, they happened upon a small group of children playing a game with a tattered leather ball on a small off-shoot path. Perking up, Beau turned to Yasha and pointed with excitement.

“Do you want to play? We should ask them!”

Yasha looked at the flower in her hands and pressed her lips together in a thin line. Beau looked down at the bloom and then back at Yasha’s face.

“If you’re worried about it, I could put it in one of your braids.” While Beau’s mother had styled her daughter’s braids with great care into a firm, intricate bun, Yasha’s hair was mostly loose. There were braids and twists scattered throughout her mess of white hair, and Beau envied the freedom she could see in the style. She was never allowed to wear her hair the way she wanted to.

But Yasha handed over the flower and crouched for Beau to weave it through one of the older girl’s braids with clumsy fingers. Once it was secure, she grabbed Yasha’s hand and dragged her over to the other children. They eyed Beau’s skirts with hesitation at first, but when she proved the awful dress didn’t hinder her dexterity, they were eager to add more players.

She reveled in the freedom of being able to play with other children, laughing with abandon and working to help her team maintain their lead over the other. Even Yasha’s timid uncertainty vanished after a few minutes, her multi-colored eyes sparkling as she laughed along. A few adults paused their errands to watch them play, cheering one team or another on before going about their business. Others wove hastily through their game with a sneer and without a backward glance.

For once in her life, Beau didn’t care.

As they played, the sun passing on its journey above them, Beau’s foot caught on a loose cobblestone and she went tumbling to the ground. With a loud oof of impact, Beau lay stunned for a moment. Blinking against the disorientation, she winced and hissed at the sharp sting of pain on her knee. When she tugged her skirt up enough to see what happened, Beau found a jagged shard of stone pressed into her skinned knee. She tugged it free with a flinch as Yasha knelt in front of her, very obviously concerned.

“I’m okay,” Beau reassured her, voice shaky with fading adrenaline. “It just stings.”

Yasha caught her lower lip between her teeth before reaching out to place her hands on either side of Beau’s knee. With a deep breath and a low pulse of light, the blood vanished to leave behind the faintest outline of broken skin. The stinging faded rapidly, and the sharp pain replaced with a mere dull ache.

“Whoa,” Beau breathed, blue eyes wide. “How did you do that?”

With a shrug, Yasha helped tug Beau to her feet, looking bashful. “I’ve always been able to do it.”

Before Beau could respond, the sound of hurried footsteps against the cobblestone reached them over the hum of the market.

“Beauregard!” Her mother’s voice made Beau’s little shoulders tense. “Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick! What happened to your dress? Young lady, you are in so much trouble.”

Clara’s soft hand clamped around Beau’s arm and yanked her away from Yasha. The woman knelt to inspect her daughter with fitful motions and sweeping hands, attempting to brush the worst of the dirt from the dress. Moments later, satisfied that Beau seemed at least in one piece, the frustration and anger returned to her expression.

“I was just playing, mom,” Beau grumbled, twisting her fingers through her ruined dress. “You were looking at boring stuff.”

“Beauregard, you—” Clara cut herself off with a strained sigh, shaking her head. She shoved to her feet and held out an expectant hand. “Let’s go, young lady. Your father is expecting us for dinner.”

Beau knew better than to keep her mother waiting, but she twisted to look over her shoulder at Yasha and the other children, anyway. The street kids were many steps back, eyeing Clara with hesitant distrust in the way children often do with harried strangers. But Yasha stood exactly where Beau left her, eyes flitting between mother and daughter. The hum of the market never ceased around them, but Beau felt distinctly detached from that buzz now.

“See you later,” Beau said with a wry quirk of her lips, waving shortly as her mother took firm hold of Beau’s hand. Even as Clara dragged her back through the Pentamarket toward the Tri-Spire and their hotel, Beau looked over her shoulder at Yasha until she could no longer see her new friend.

--

The next time Beau found herself back in Zadash with her parents, she slipped away yet again. And by chance, ran into Yasha once more. Beau had eagerly rushed to her, happy to be recognized in return, and they spent another day in the market together. This time, however, Beau was smart enough to plan for eventualities. Before they parted ways, she and Yasha agreed on a place to rendezvous anytime they were in the city. She also got Yasha’s address so they could write letters to each other. After all, Beau’s mother had been stressing the importance of keeping in contact with people as of late.

A few years passed this way, Beau and Yasha keeping correspondence and planning meetings in Zadash around their families’ trips. They would roam the Pentamarket and forget their troubles for a while. When they were still children, Beau and Yasha traipsed through the winding aisles of Zadash, peering into stalls with curious fervor and chasing each other through the busy streets. Every time Beau stepped onto the worn cobblestone of the Pentamarket, that undercurrent buzz rushed through her veins. She didn’t know a thing about magic, but Beau figured it was comparable to this.

When Beau was thirteen and Yasha just gone sixteen, they met in the Pentamarket on yet another family trip to Zadash. Beau knew that both of their families were here on business, but she and Yasha remained blissfully ignorant to the inner-workings of their inheritance.

On days she could escape her mother and father, Beau donned her breeches and sleeveless tunic and fled to Yasha’s company. They spent their time in the city together doing whatever pleased their whims, and Beau reveled in the simple pleasure of not having to wear a dress.

On a warm autumn afternoon, after spending their morning meandering, the pair sat just outside a small bakery. They had spent a great deal of time in a shop called The Invulnerable Vagrant. Beau’s former tutor Bren mentioned it in one of his recent letters, and Beau convinced Yasha they should check it out. Of course, they hadn’t the coin or the need for anything in the shop, but the shopkeeper seemed more than happy to have a pleasant conversation with them. Once Beau mentioned she was a friend of Bren’s, the shopkeeper – Pumat – had gone on quite the tangent about how wonderful he was.

With the promise to return the next time they were free and about the Pentamarket, Beau and Yasha had journeyed to the bakery. With warm drinks in hand, they sat across from each other at a small table and shared laughter over their daily adventures.

“Wait, wait,” Beau managed around her ceaseless giggles. “So you’re telling me that a bunny did all that?”

“I think it was a family of bunnies,” Yasha chuckled, turning her drink with idle intent in her hands. “Somehow they got into the grain stores and just...ate way too much. Dad was furious.”

“That’s fucking hysterical,” Beau snorted, leaning back in her chair. “My dad’s lost a lot of his crop to a mudslide before. But we don’t have a lot of forest animals that go after grapes. I’d love to see his face if a bunny did something like that.”

“At the time it was a bit of a problem,” Yasha said with a grin. “But now it’s just really funny.”

As they fell into another fit of giggles, Beau opened her mouth to respond, only to be cut off.

“Beauregard!” Thoreau’s voice reached her, the buzz of the city freezing in her veins. Beau went rigid, jaw clenching, and watched the mirth fade to worry in Yasha’s eyes.

Her father sounded horrendously angry.

Twisting to glance over her shoulder at her father’s approach, Beau couldn’t help but flinch at the expression on his face.

“What have I told you about these escapades of yours? When are you going to grow up?” Thoreau snapped, coming to tower above where Beau sat.

“We’re just talking, dad,” Beau replied, tone clipped.

“With our rival’s daughter, no less,” Thoreau spat. “In public, as if you are friends.”

“Rival?” Beau said, incredulous. She twisted to look at Yasha again, but she seemed as confused as Beau. They barely ever spoke of their family when they were together, because they wanted to forget all that. But Beau knew the von Brandt family had adopted Yasha when she was very young. The details were sparse, but it was something about owing a debt to Yasha’s late parents. Without a biological heir, the von Brandt’s warden was now their next in line.

But as far as Beau knew, the von Brandt family dealt in the trade of ale, so there was hardly any reason for them to consider each other rivals.

“What are you talking about?” Beau spun back to her father, rapidly growing annoyed at her lack of understanding.

“Your family,” Thoreau spat the word at Yasha as if it were a curse. “Has encroached upon my territory as they delve into wine making. Whatever amicable relations we had before are void now. You can make sure your father knows that well.”

Thoreau then reached down to grab Beau’s arm in a bruising grip and yank her to her feet. Stumbling as she did, Beau struggled, peering over her shoulder at Yasha with wide eyes. This couldn’t be happening. The city buzz now entirely lost, the hopeless confusion on her only friend’s face, and her father’s steely grip around her arm…this couldn’t be happening.

“We will no longer associate with the von Brandt family,” Thoreau said firmly, gaze pinned on his daughter. “And I expect you to uphold that, Beauregard. I have tolerated a lot of misbehavior from you, but do not cross this line.”

He glanced pointedly at the breeches she was wearing, as if it proved a point. Thoreau dragged her away from the table, from Yasha.

“Dad!” Beau protested, snapping back into her body at the realization, struggling against his iron grip. “Dad, stop it! This is ridiculous!”

“Do not fight me on this, Beauregard,” Thoreau hissed as he ignored her attempts to get free. “We have an image and a profit to maintain, and those people have betrayed our trust and our companionship by making this choice. If I ever catch you corresponding with their daughter again, you will not like the consequences.”

As a distinct and familiar feeling of desperation settled in her stomach, Beau twisted to look back at Yasha. Her friend stood beside the table, fists clenched and expression pained. This was the second time one of Beau’s parents forced her to leave Yasha behind, neither of them girls able to do anything to stop it from happening. Her stomach clenched unpleasantly at the thought. Beau hoped that the reassuring smile she tried for conveyed everything she wanted to say.

Don’t worry, I won’t let this come between us. We’ll find a way.

--

Beau’s mother had sent her to the Pentamarket alone with a list of errands to complete. The only reason Beau accepted the task was for the slim chance she might find Yasha somewhere in the chaos. That, and so she could catch just a taste, a faint hint of that lively high, the city seemed to collectively breathe.

She couldn’t have been there for more than ten minutes before she spotted a familiar shock of white hair emerging from the Lodge down the street. Sometimes, luck was on Beau’s side.

They had still been sending letters to each other in the months since Thoreau declared they were to never interact. But they had been far more discrete about it all. Moreover, they hadn’t seen each other in person since then either. For Beau, it was torture – stuck with limited contact with her best friend.

From a distance, Beau watched Yasha pause outside the hotel, and decided – fuck it. Her father wasn’t here.

Abandoning her errands, Beau wove hurriedly through the crowded thoroughfare toward Yasha. As she reached between passersby, Beau caught Yasha’s wrist just before the other could walk away. Yasha pivoted, eyes wide and only growing wider when she saw who had grabbed her.

“Beau?” Yasha whispered, taking a step closer. “What are you doing here?”

“Disobeying my father, what else?” Beau grinned, breathless. “Come on, Yash. Let’s spend the day together, like we always do. Our parents never have to know.”

“I don’t know, Beau,” Yasha said slowly, eyes flicking around like someone might see them. “What if we get caught?”

“And what if we don’t?” Beau countered. She felt the nervous thrum of Yasha’s pulse at her wrist where Beau still clung to her. “Yasha, people of our parents’ caliber don’t go to the market themselves. The chances of running into someone who might snitch on us are next to nothing! Are we really going to let our parents and their feud come between us?”

Yasha caught her lower lip between her teeth, but even that didn’t stop the slow smile that grew and made her eyes crinkle. She grinned wildly up at Yasha and pulled her along into the messy livelihood of the Pentamarket, throwing themselves with familiar, childlike fervor into the curiosities that Zadash offered. They stopped to play a ball game with some local kids, laughing freely the way they had when they first met. Yasha bought them both a trost to drink and Beau turned around and bought them both warm pretzels to soak up the ale.

Beau dragged Yasha to a stall that was selling absolutely ridiculous looking hats, both of them trying a few on until they were in stitches. The stall owner chased them off after a minute, looking amused despite sounding annoyed. Beau helped Yasha pick out a hair ornament from another stall, the gems and beads crafted into the shape of a flower. They stopped to catch their breath outside a tavern and Beau helped Yasha pin the ornament among her braids, the scene reminiscent of their first meeting.

“There,” Beau declared triumphantly. “That should hold. It looks beautiful.”

“Thank you,” Yasha murmured, reaching up to brush careful fingers over the hairpin. Some of the gems caught the sun just so as she did. “I still think you should have gotten that necklace.”

“I’m not much one for flashy jewelry,” Beau said, waving away Yasha’s comment as she sat beside her friend. “Plus, the last thing I need is more jewelry, what with how much my mother has stashed away for me. She keeps hoping I’ll have a change of heart.”

“My parents keep hoping I’ll wear dresses more regularly,” Yasha sighed, plucking at the fabric of her breeches at her knee. “But they’re so…impractical for everyday life.”

“That’s what I keep telling my parents,” Beau heaved an exasperated sigh. “But then they keep telling me I shouldn’t be doing things that require breeches. Which is absolute bullshit, if you ask me.”

They sat together outside the tavern for a while longer, watching patrons pass. Beau was acutely aware of the way her shoulder brushed against Yasha’s, the warmth that radiated from her. It was comforting, a sensation that she never wanted to lose. Her veins sang with the slow thrum of Yasha’s warmth intermingling with the hyper hum of Zadash. The heady taste of combined sensations in Beau’s mouth left her feeling high, lightheaded.

“Thank you, Beau,” Yasha eventually spoke up.

“For what?” Beau turned her head just enough to look at Yasha sideways.

“For bringing me with you today. I admit I was...afraid of seeing you again. I didn’t want to get you in trouble. But this was fun, and I’m glad we did this. So, thank you.”

“Yeah,” Beau managed, surprised at the depth in Yasha’s voice. “Of course.”

Beau knew how much Yasha meant to her personally, but it seemed now that she had underestimated how much she meant to Yasha. The thought pulled at something not quite painful behind Beau’s ribs. She decidedly ignored it and looped her arm with Yasha’s when they started walking again. If the warmth of Yasha’s skin on her own felt a little more like home than it had earlier, if the high in her veins only grew, Beau pushed the thoughts aside for a later date.

--

Breezing into the vaulted entryway of her father’s house, breathless and grinning, Beau met no resistance. Her skirts were stained with mud and dirt, the hem frayed and torn in places. Cheeks blotched pink from the biting wind of her horseback ride, Beau kicked her boots to the side, scattering mud across the wooden floor. Gathering her skirts up in a bunch, Beau rushed up the stairs in her stockings, gleeful with the feel of freedom pounding in her veins.

As she tripped into her room, closing the door soundly with a nudge of her hip, Beau set about removing her skirts. She was stripped down to her underclothes, halfway out of her stockings, when the small stack of letters upon her desk caught her eye.

Hopeful that at least one might be from Yasha, Beau hastily tugged her stockings off as she tumbled toward her desk. A quick flip through the letters revealed that they were all from people she knew to be acquainted with her parents. Brow furrowing, Beau placed the unopened letters back with slow confusion and caution.

They were all very clearly addressed to her, not her parents.

Beau turned away from the desk and gathered up her clothing, setting it aside in a basket to deal with later. On her bed was a simple yet elegant evening dress, likely picked by her mother since Beau could sense the impending conversation. It was a deep blue, accented with silver embroidery and clasps on the bodice, the skirts few in layers and the sleeves a proper length.

Beau’s lip curled in distaste at the garment. But she hardly had another choice. If she wore breeches to dinner, the meal would be even longer than Beau already wanted. With a heavy sigh, and her back purposefully to the letters across the room, Beau dressed and headed down to the dining room.

Her mother sat at her father’s right, the man skimming through a leaflet of parchment as servants set the table. One maid noticed Beau’s entrance, and she pulled the chair to her father’s left out. Giving the woman a shallow nod of thanks, Beau slipped into the seat and dug her bare toes into the carpet beneath the table. She could rebel in small ways, after all.

“Did you have a good day, Beauregard?” Her mother asked from across the table, eyeing Beau’s windswept hair.

“Yes,” Beau said, picking up her fork and stabbing her cut of meat rather ruthlessly with it. Her mother’s lips twitched with obvious displeasure, but she didn’t scold Beau.

Setting down his papers, Beau’s father steepled his fingers and leveled a look his daughter’s way. Beau stared back for a moment before sighing and setting her fork down.

“Alright, what?”

“Beauregard,” Clara scolded quietly, but Thoreau held up a hand to his wife and didn’t take his eyes from Beau.

“I trust you found the letters in your room,” Thoreau said, not a question.

“I did,” Beau measured her voice, arms folded across her chest.

“They’re invitations from Zadash. I want you to look them over and take them seriously. You’re at an age now where our business partners and friends are looking to you to enter the social scene of trade. These galas and parties are to keep relations maintained and for you to survey potential suitors.”

Beau’s mouth abruptly tasted sour, the mention of marriage banishing her appetite. She was just gone sixteen and already her father and his friends expected her to carry this mantle.

“There’s no need to look as if you’ve swallowed a lemon,” her mother chided gently. “All we’re asking, Beauregard, is that you keep face with our colleagues.”

“Sure, mom,” Beau scoffed, pushing the food around her plate. “That’s all.”

“Now, Beauregard,” her father’s harsh tone began. “This is hardly a matter to throw a tantrum over.”

“Who’s throwing a tantrum?” Beau affected innocently. “I’m just taking in the fact that two days ago I couldn’t be trusted to help balance your books after a deal. But now you want me to woo the Stassman’s over champagne and finger sandwiches!”

“Beauregard!” Thoreau said, voice rising to the point that all the servants in the room froze with it. “That’s quite enough!”

“That we can agree on,” Beau snapped, pushing back from her seat and storming from the room. She ignored the calls from her mother and father back in the dining room as she stomped up the stairs. Slamming the bedroom door for good measure, Beau angrily got out of the blue dress and tugged on her nightclothes. Soft linen pants and a sleeveless tunic that were loose in their cut brought Beau some measure of comfort as she flopped into her desk chair. Staring down at the four letters left for her, Beau picked absently at the corners of the envelopes.

With a resolute tug to her desk drawer, Beau dumped the letters inside its confines and went to bed. The invitations were a problem she could deal with another day.

--

Four days after the letters arrived, Beau was perched in her window seat, leafing through a book as mid-afternoon sunlight dappled through the leaves of the tree outside her room. The sunny days in Kamordah were few because of the unfortunate topography, so Beau took full advantage of the warmth. She had gone walking and riding through the nearby fields earlier that morning, and now with the window thrown open beside her, took the quiet afternoon for what it was.

Her parents both pestered her about the letters every day. She kept her answers annoyingly vague because the truth was they hadn’t seen the light since she put them in her drawer.

Beau knew she would have to do something about them sooner rather than later.

A knock at her door drew Beau’s attention away from her book (something about a man who had traveled Wildemount and Tal’dorei in splendid adventures).

“Come in,” Beau called permission, perking up when she found a familiar face opening her door.

“Bren! What are you doing here?” Beau grinned at the elder boy as she set aside her book and pushed to her feet.

“Do I need a reason to visit?” He chuckled, his accent a memorable drawl that tripped through his Common and warmed Beau with nostalgia. Bren drew Beau into a quick, firm hug when she reached him. His time in the capital hadn’t changed his sweet, dorky nature like Beau had feared.

Bren stood just a hair taller than Beau, shoulders broad and with a slight crinkle at the corners of his eyes. His red-orange hair fell in a loose ponytail over one shoulder, and the uniform from his school all but glowed with prestige. He had been Beau’s personal tutor when she was younger, traveling from his home in Blumenthal with his mother once a month. Bren had always been bright with books and was the only one who could understand Beau’s attitude. They had a strange understanding of one another, so Thoreau used that to get Beau educated with as little struggle as possible.

About two years ago, Bren had been scouted and selected to attend the Soltryce Academy in the capital. He sent Beau letters whenever he could since moving to the capital, keeping her up to date with his studies and making sure she was continuing her own. To see him here so suddenly was quite the surprise.

“Of course not,” Beau said as she swept a look at him. “But I didn’t know you were coming.”

“I’m on my way to visit my parents back home,” Bren confessed. “One of the higher up professors, Master Trent, retired rather suddenly a few days ago. I only took a few classes with him, but the staff has given us days off while they fill his position. So, I thought I would stop for a visit on my way home.”

“Well, whatever the reason, I’m glad you’re here.”

A flash of understanding flickered across his face, and Bren clasped a hand to Beau’s shoulder. She didn’t make any move to confirm or deny his silent question, but Bren didn’t seem to need it.

“Why don’t we take a walk?”

Bren led her from the manor and out into the nearby vineyards, the day hot and bright, the grapevines buzzing as insects flit about the leaves. The removed location and her old friend’s undemanding company let Beau’s walls crumble. She told him everything her letters didn’t. About how she passed her days outsmarting her new tutors, pestering her father with ideas for the business he didn’t care to hear. She told him how she drove her mother mad by ruining almost every dress she put Beau in. He seemed amused by all of this, laughing along with her as they walked.

She told him everything about Yasha, about the letters that came almost biweekly, and her replies sent nearly as frequently. Told him about the rivalry between their families that made public interactions risky. But she also told him how those letters were a bright spot in Beau’s days, something to look forward to among the dreary trudge of her family’s expectations.

Their trips to Zadash were what Beau looked forward to most. Yasha’s company was like freedom.

“It sounds like you like Yasha quite a bit,” Bren commented when Beau had paused for breath.

“Of course, she’s my oldest friend,” Beau scoffed.

“That is not the context I meant,” Bren muttered, but breezed past the topic as if it meant nothing. Beau couldn’t keep her thoughts focused on that long enough to parse his meaning out. Her old tutor instead turned the conversation towards the happenings at the capital, entertaining her with his stories now.

When they finally made it back to the manor, the sun was near the horizon and the day cooling with dusk. Stood at the gate of her family’s estate, Beau hesitated to return. She gripped Bren’s hand and turned pleading eyes his way.

“Stay for dinner,” Beau tried not to sound too desperate. “You can leave for home in the morning.”

Something like regret sparked to life in Bren’s eyes as he gently cupped Beau’s hands in his own. His fingers were warm to the touch, and Beau could have sworn they buzzed faintly. She almost asked him if his magic felt the same way Zadash did for her.

“I sent word to my parents that I would return tonight. But I will visit on my way back to school, if I can.”

“How are you going to make it to Blumenthal before dark?” Beau asked, incredulous.

Here, Bren grinned, looking like the excited child she had once known him as. He was still excitable; it was just more amusing for her to see him this way as a nearly grown man. Pulling her into a firm hug, Bren held onto Beau for a long moment, letting her soak up as much comfort as she needed. After a moment, he pulled back and grabbed her hands once more. Giving Beau’s fingers a squeeze, he took a few steps back and turned to the masonry leading up to the gate of the manor.

“Oh, before I show you, I nearly forgot,” Bren’s hand dove into his pocket and produced a letter. He held it out to her with a sheepish grin. “I meant to give this to you before, but we got caught up in conversation. One of the maids had it and asked me to deliver it to you.”

Taking the worn envelope from her friend, Beau’s heart skipped in her chest at the familiar scrawl across the front.

To Beau.

She pressed the letter from Yasha to her chest with breathless excitement. Beau then watched as Bren began a long process of drawing an intricate rune circle on the ground. After a few minutes of this, he paused and looked up at her, grinning.

“This is transportation magic, and will get me home in a flash. Maybe one day, I could take you with me somewhere.”

“Show off,” Beau grumbled, but her eyes must have been sparkling and excited, because Bren just laughed at her warmly and shook his head.

“I will see you soon, Beauregard. Good luck.” Bren drew a last line, and the circle pulsed with pale orange light. He gave her one last wave before stepping into the circle and vanishing. When the light faded, the circle was gone, and Beau stood at the gate alone.

After dinner that evening, Beau sat in her nightclothes at her desk, the letter from Yasha open before her. By candlelight, she read eagerly.

The first half of the letter was in response to Beau’s previous message. Yasha told Beau all about the happenings at her adoptive family’s estate and reassured Beau that she would go to Zadash in two weeks. She informed her of how boring the von Brandt household was without Beau there to keep her company.

The second half of the letter, however, was something Beau hadn’t expected. Yasha informed her she was extremely nervous about the trip to Zadash because of the party invitations she had received. The list of names she provided matched Beau’s exactly, and Yasha wrote that she didn’t know where to begin, as neither of them had done anything like this before. She asked if Beau received any similar invitations and inquired if she would attend any of the events as well.

Setting the letter from Yasha aside after she had finished reading it, Beau quickly opened the drawer beside her and pulled out the letters. She ripped them open one by one, scanning the contents. Though she cared little for this aspect of the family business, Beau knew quite a lot on each family involved. She liked to use that information against people, in quiet and ruthless fashion. It was extremely fun for her to watch from afar as things spiraled after her intervention.

Now, though, she could use this knowledge to ensure she and Yasha had most interesting evenings.

Grabbing paper and her quill, Beau penned a return letter for Yasha.

--

When Beau walked into her first gala as the heir to the Lionett estate, she was entirely underwhelmed.

It was beautiful, of course, but in such a gaudy way that flaunted wealth she couldn’t help but sneer at it. Ostentatious bouquets of flowers spilled over every surface and tables overflowed with foods that seemed far too posh to actually be consumed. Bubbling alcohol filled crystal glasses held in dainty hands, lending to the atmosphere. A quick sweep of the selection told Beau it was all far too expensive and hardly even the best selection.

A social event, catering to boot-licking rather than actual taste.

With a gusty sigh, Beau was at least grateful that she had ditched the dress her mother tried to palm off on her. Bren had come through for her and sent her the attractive grey suit she commissioned from the capital. It had been far too easy for Beau to sneak it into her luggage for this trip. The dress her mother thought Beau was wearing currently sat stuffed at the bottom of a chest in Beau’s room at the Pillow Trove.

Beau swiped up a glass of sparkling white wine from a server’s tray and tucked herself away near a pillar to survey the ballroom. Yasha would be here soon, so until then, Beau had to occupy herself with whatever everyone else was up to.

They had exchanged a few letters in the two weeks leading up to their trip to Zadash, debating which parties would be best to attend. Some nights overlapped, so they were not expected to accept every invitation. Beau knew her father would have loved to pick which galas his daughter should attend himself, but he seemed at least satisfied that Beau put interest into picking any at all. Thoreau probably thought that Beau was finally taking him and the business seriously.

She laughed into her wineglass at the notion.

“You seem happy,” a familiar voice spoke from over Beau’s shoulder.

Twisting to find Yasha behind her, Beau beamed at her oldest friend, smile bright and genuine. Yasha looked stunning in the fitted, floor-length black dress she wore, all but glowing in the party lighting. Beau blamed the sparkling wine for the bubbly feeling that overtook her. Stood beside Yasha, however, was a new face – one Beau instantly distrusted.

“This is Mollymauk,” Yasha said, seeming to read the flicker of confusion in Beau’s eye. “I met him last time we were in Zadash after you left.”

“Charmed,” Mollymauk said through a Cheshire grin, extending a tattooed hand her way. “Call me Molly.”

Beau grasped Mollymauk’s hand hesitantly, flicking a look to Yasha. She supposed that if Yasha trusted this stranger, he must be alright. Beau was surprised that a bright purple Tiefling, tattooed and in loud clothing, lived so plainly and unbothered in the middle of Zadash. From what she heard and read, Tieflings had quite the prejudice against them in the Empire. His starch white silk shirt and bright red embroidered coat that swept the floor did him no favors for blending in.

“Oh,” Mollymauk crooned, his solid red eyes narrowing at her with interest. “You’re the curious type, aren’t you?”

Beau felt her cheeks flush, and she yanked her hand back. “Fuck off.”

“You can really pick ‘em, Yasha,” Mollymauk cackled.

Yasha’s cheeks went pink as she nudged Mollymauk’s shoulder, muttering something to him under her breath. Whatever she said left Mollymauk grinning cheekily.

“Well,” Mollymauk said, clapping his hands together. “Shall I fetch us some drinks?”

Beau, her glass empty, shrugged as Yasha nodded and shooed the Tiefling off, her cheeks still flushed. With a sarcastic wave and a promise to return soon, Mollymauk was off. The baubles pierced into his horns clinked gently as he did.

“Yasha,” Beau groaned.

“He’s nice, I promise,” Yasha whispered. “He’s just...like that.”

“I noticed,” Beau grumbled, setting her empty wineglass on a passing server’s tray. “But I trust your judgment.”

Mollymauk returned with drinks for them all, and they threw them back rapidly, as party goers were wont to do. Beau knew there was no way she could get through this pompous event without copious amounts of alcohol and Yasha at her side. However, they had an image to maintain for their families so they could keep attending these parties. Mollymauk and Yasha traipsed off to a nearby cluster of individuals to make small talk while Beau headed another way.

“Truly, Lord Baumbach,” Beau sighed as she took a delicate sip of her wine. “The depths of the von Brandt’s betrayal have shaken my father’s faith. It’s hard to believe that they would do this after the years of friendship. It’s rather unfortunate their daughter is here as well. I was so looking forward to enjoying myself, but now I have to skirt her presence for fear of causing a scene.”

Beau sighed gustily and rubbed at her temples in faux distress, casting a dirty look at Yasha’s back for good measure. Thoreau had drilled Beau on numerous occasions regarding which families had taken their side in this whole ridiculous affair. She knew who to pander to in order to make it seem like she gave a shit. Beau also knew that Yasha was not one for starting or maintaining conversation with strangers, especially convincing false conversation. Instead, she let others around her bring the topic up and nodded along with them, letting them fill in the blanks.

As they reached the portion of the evening where everyone else seemed properly drunk, Beau ducked from the main ballroom to meet Yasha and Mollymauk out in the rear garden. In the privacy of the trellises, they fell into each other with laughter. Mollymauk had swiped two bottles of the better wines in attendance, and they had each brought their own glass from inside. When she was three drinks in, Beau let Yasha drag her to her feet and clumsily lead her through a waltz. As they stumbled through the assorted flowerbeds, Yasha grinning broad and brilliant, Beau let her lead as she stared in awe.

Yasha was radiant in the moonlight, the flowers woven into her white braids looked more alive as she spun Beau in circles. The moon caught against the gems of Yasha’s hairpiece and her skin near radiant in the dim. Beau could feel her heartbeat in her fingertips. She figured it was probably the alcohol, but she could have sworn she tasted Yasha’s joy on her tongue from proximity alone.

When Yasha was satisfied with their dancing, they collapsed into each other on a nearby bench, breathless and giggling. By the time they were five drinks deep, Beau let down her defenses enough to get to know Mollymauk.

As it turned out, he was the co-owner of a small tavern on the outskirts of the Pentamarket. He directed the performances the establishment put on for entertainment and did tarot readings on the side. Readings which Beau promptly told him were bullshit to the melodic giggling of Yasha’s agreement.

“You wound me, both of you,” Mollymauk sighed dramatically, swirling his drink around in his glass airily. “Neither of you have even gotten a reading from me.”

“It’s still bullshit,” Beau chuckled, emptying her glass with a quick toss of her head. The carbonation burned up into her nostrils as it slid down her throat. She grit her teeth against it and scrunched her nose.

“Well,” Mollymauk said as he stood with far too much elegance for someone who had consumed as much alcohol as he had. “Me and my bullshit tarot have to be heading off. Some of us actually have to work for a living.”

Beau flipped him off as he gallantly waved goodbye to her and Yasha, a cheeky, wicked grin on his face.

“He’s very nice,” Yasha said, repeating herself from earlier, after he left. “It just takes some time for him to trust people.”

“He’s not that annoying, I guess,” Beau admitted, pouring the both of them another glass of wine.

“I expected this would be a lot more unbearable,” Yasha confessed after they were both halfway through their glasses. “But having you and Molly here made it kind of fun.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” Beau said with a lazy grin against the rim of her glass. “I thought I was going to be trying to gouge out my eyes with the dessert spoons from boredom. Plus, pretending to hate you was vastly amusing. You should have seen Lord Baumbach’s face when I was putting on the dramatics.”

Beau mocked his expression, being as over-dramatic as possible to make Yasha laugh. Sure enough, Yasha tossed her head back with a loud laugh, the one that Beau was convinced only she got to see. As they settled more comfortably into the bench they had found hidden among the hedges, still laughing, Beau felt her breath catch in her chest when she looked at Yasha. Moonlight shone down on them from above, the sky cloudless and glittering with stars. The silver beams seemed to favor Yasha, highlighting her skin as a stark, gorgeous contrast to the rich darkness of her dress. The hair ornament Beau had helped her choose years ago still glittered in Yasha’s hair as she moved.

Yasha’s shoulder pressed against Beau’s as they fell in together. She was just as warm as Beau remembered from those years ago in the Pentamarket. Yasha still felt like home, a pleasant hum lingering in Beau’s veins.

That pull between her ribs, right beneath her heart, tugged to life again. Beau’s mouth went dry with the realization that she might be in love. She drained the last half of her glass, trying to ignore it.

--

As time marched on, Beau continued to attend parties in Zadash under her family’s name, and Yasha under her family’s. They made a game of sorts out of their public interactions. It became a source of entertainment for the pair, acting like they gave a shit about the well-known rivalry between their parents. They would glare at each other from across the room and make shallow remarks on each other's outfits, Mollymauk often goading them on. Once the party goers were too drunk to remember half the night, Beau and Yasha would sneak away to unoccupied portions of the party and laugh themselves silly. Sometimes Mollymauk would join them, somehow worming his way into Beau’s heart with his stupid charm.

The letters continued, all but a lifeline for Beau throughout the dreary days in Kamordah. Yasha never put her own name on the envelopes, merely addressed them to Beau and sent them on their way. Beau knew the familiar scrawl of Yasha’s hand by heart and always caught the mail at the door before either of her parents laid eyes on it.

As they grew and aged, that night of their first party together lingered in Beau’s memories. The feeling that had fluttered to life behind her ribs aged with her. Most days, any thought of Yasha sent the pattern of her heart into a flurry. Beau wasn’t so naïve that she was unaware of her blooming affection for Yasha, but she knew well enough to keep it under wraps. No matter how difficult that task became as time went on.

Aside from her correspondence with Yasha, Beau occupied her time siphoning and smuggling her father’s wine. She endured one too many rejections from him regarding how he might do better business – so she took matters into her own hands. It was working rather well for her so far; she just had to make sure she wasn’t caught.

It was far from what one might call a happy existence, but Beau made do with what she had at her disposal. She was running on luck and hoped to keep the charade going for a little longer.

Less than a week after her twenty-second birthday, however, her luck ran dry.

“Beauregard!” Thoreau’s voice echoed through the halls of the manor. “Come downstairs, now!”

There was an edge to his tone that Beau had learned to be wary of, so she sighed and put her things away. The letter she had been finishing was folded and tucked safely into the pocket of her dress. She stood and made her way downstairs, steps slow in an effort to delay the inevitable conversation looming.

The parlor was warmed by a large fire crackling in the hearth, but it did nothing to banish the heavy atmosphere. Her father’s expression was stony where he stood behind his tall-backed chair, hands planted on the crown. Her mother sat in her more modest chair, hands folded on her lap and back ramrod straight, the picture of dignity and grace. Beau could see her mother’s white knuckles, though, and was not fooled.

Sitting slowly on the edge of the chaise lounge, the rustle of her skirt too loud in the terse silence, Beau eyed her father across the coffee table. The tip of his nose was discolored, the corners of his eyes pinched, fingers tight against the top of his chair – all signs he was not in a good mood.

“Did you think you would get away with this stunt forever?” Thoreau’s voice was even, cold, and removed. “Did you think word wouldn’t get back to me, Beauregard?”

Her stomach twisted unpleasantly, and Beau fought to maintain a mask of innocence. He knew. She wasn’t sure if he knew about Yasha, about the parties, about the letters, or the wine – but either way, this was bad.

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play games with me, Beauregard!” Thoreau snapped, coming round his chair with menacing strides. “You’ve been stealing product from me and making profit off it behind my back! I know you think you’re smart, but you aren’t. You’re clumsy and reckless. You’re lucky you haven’t gotten hurt, Beauregard! I don’t understand how you could be so selfish!”

Beau felt her jaw creak with the amount of force she clenched her teeth. She had expected her father would be upset if he ever found out what she was doing, but that didn’t mean his words hurt any less. These were all things she had heard before over the years for her petty rebellion. But at this age, trying desperately to make her own way, leave her own mark on the world, it stung more than usual.

“I had planned to send you to a monastery in the hopes they could whip you into shape. However, your mother has presented an alternative I think would be far better suited for grounding you in reality.”

“What are you talking about?” Beau repeated, her teeth grinding as she spoke.

“After the stunt you pulled with the Stassman’s a few years ago, we’ve been on even worse footing with them than ever,” Clara butted in, her tone firm. “But, graciously, and after much discussion, they’ve agreed that an alliance of union might benefit both our companies. Their son is only two years older than you, and endearingly polite and well-mannered.”

Beau stared at her mother, trying to piece together how the Stassman’s son had anything to do with her, before it clicked.

“You want me to marry him.” Beau’s mouth went dry, her ears ringing faintly with disbelief. Her parents said nothing, but their expressions made it clear she had guessed correctly. “I’ve never even met him!”

“Nonsense, you met him before,” Clara began, but Beau wasn’t having it.

“I was six years old, mother! He’s not the same person and neither am I! Can’t you just punish me like normal people instead of marrying me off because you don’t want to deal with me?”

“Beauregard!” Clara cried, expression crumpling with horror.

“How dare you speak to us that way!” Thoreau bellowed, taking a step closer to where Beau had lunged to her feet. “We have done nothing but provide the best for you, Beauregard. It is hardly our fault you decide to throw it all back in our faces and have a tantrum every time something doesn’t go your way!”

“It is so much more than that, and you know it!” Beau yelled back. “Don’t you dare try to make this all my fault!”

“The decision has been made, Beauregard,” Thoreau said venomously, glaring at his daughter over the coffee table between them. The short distance seemed like miles pulled taut over their furious tension. “Whether or not you like it, you will meet the Stassman’s son the week after our next trip to Zadash. I implore you to be on your best behavior, otherwise we will be forced to execute my solution instead.”

Beau went to retort, but found herself unable to speak. Rage and betrayal and incomprehensible hurt clogged her throat, eyes burning as she fought not to cry in front of her parents. With a mighty huff of exasperation, Beau turned and stormed back to her room. As she climbed the stairs, the letter she had written for Yasha, an attempt at baring her heart and affection for the woman, burned like a leaden weight in her pocket.

--

Perhaps it was not her parents’ wisest idea to let Beau go to Zadash after the explosive conversation they had. But above everything – even their daughter’s well-being – they prided themselves on maintaining face in the social scene. So Beau went to Zadash with her father and mother as planned. She was scheduled to attend a party halfway through their stay under the Lionett name while her father did business and her mother made house calls to old acquaintances.

Beau had written to Bren, begging him to spare a day for her and come visit in Zadash. She needed him now more than ever.

Yasha was to arrive the night before the party, and the last letter Beau had sent Yasha was before the disastrous conversation with her parents. It was strange walking into all of this, knowing Yasha didn’t have all the details.

Bren arrived the day before Yasha, looking worried and confused as he swept into her hotel room, but bearing what Beau had asked for. He pulled Beau into a fierce hug the moment they met and let her cry against his shoulder. When they finally parted, he asked her quietly for details.

Beau told him everything, her throat burning with a lump of emotion the entire time. He hugged her again when she was finished, firmer than before.

“So, is all of this why you asked me for this potion?”

“Yes,” Beau confessed as she rolled the bottle between her hands. It was warm to the touch, the thin red liquid sloshing easily within the confines. “It’ll work, right?”

“My colleague and his wife are the best alchemists I know,” Bren reassured her. “Yeza and Veth have been working with the Assembly and the Academy for years. If they say it will work, it will work.”

“Thank you, Bren,” Beau breathed, eyes wet with tears she was tired of shedding. “I owe you everything.”

“You owe me nothing,” Bren replied with a firm shake of his head. “You are my dearest friend, Beauregard. I would, and I will, do anything for you. Just promise to keep in touch, ja?”

“Always,” Beau swore immediately. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

“I would think not,” Bren chuckled. “I expect you to bring Yasha around to the capital sometime so I can actually meet her.”

“You’ll be a big shot by then,” Beau scoffed as she wiped at her eyes. “Will you even have time to spare for little old me?”

Bren laughed along with her, but drew her in for yet another hug. His hugs were warm, solid, and reassuring. Beau had never known her parents to hug her like this, let alone hug her at all. She soaked up every ounce of comfort she could get from Bren.

When he leaned back to cup her face in his hands, planting a quick kiss to the center of her forehead, Beau knew this was goodbye. Not forever, but for a while. If everything went according to her plan, they would be farther apart than they had ever been before in their lives. She would miss him more than anything. Beau had never been to Blumenthal, but her childhood was filled with memories of what it smelled like because it had always clung to Bren’s clothing. There were so many pieces of her scattered joy that connected back to him. To leave him behind would be one of the hardest things Beau ever had to do.

“Good luck, Beauregard,” Bren murmured. “I will see you on the other side.”

--

Beau corralled Yasha and Mollymauk hours before the party. She hustled them off to the Pentamarket, relying on the bustle of everyday life to provide them the cover they needed. If anyone overheard this plan of Beau’s, everything fell apart. She must have looked as frantic as she felt, because both her friends were eyeing Beau with obvious concern. Even the familiar buzz of the city underfoot failed to soothe her frazzled nerves.

“I’m going to die to tonight,” Beauregard said in hushed tones to her friends as they sat in the corner of a tavern. Not the greatest conversation starter, but to the point.

Mollymauk raised his brows in surprise, and Yasha immediately grabbed Beau’s hand, looking sick.

“Not, like, actually,” Beau rushed to amend. “But I just...I have this potion and—”

“Beau, darling,” Mollymauk interrupted. “Start from the beginning, why don’t you?”

He flicked a pointed look at Yasha’s haggard expression and Beau nodded, swallowing hard.

She explained the underground business she had been running with her father’s wine, the explosive conversation that had happened recently, the marriage her parents had planned without her. Beau told them about how tired she was of living like a lie and a disappointment, how she longed for freedom. She told them about her plans to run away to the Menagerie Coast, away from the clutches of her parents and the Empire – toward freedom.

“As impressed and proud as I am that you’ve orchestrated an underground smuggling chain,” Mollymauk said, leaned in close over the table. “How does all of this relate to you dying tonight?”

Beau unearthed the potion from Bren from her pocket, showing it to them briefly before tucking it away again.

“It will make it seem like I’ve died,” Beau explained. “The effects last for a day. My parents won’t travel with my body, I know that. If anything, they might try to find a cleric willing to attempt bringing me back if they’re desperate enough to see this marriage through. There’s a small catacomb just outside the city where people can either bury or hold their deceased until they’re ready to return home for a formal burial. I’ll likely be there when the potion wears off.”

“That’s a lot of ‘ifs’, Beau,” Mollymauk warned, his solid red eyes concerned. “This seems very risky.”

“It is,” Beau agreed, twisting her fingers together on the table. “But I’m willing to try. Especially if it means freedom, if it means I get to live my life the way I want to live it.”

“Alright,” Mollymauk said after a pregnant pause. “So in true dramatic fashion, you’re going to collapse at the party tonight?”

“My parents can’t claim I’ve run off and ruined their legacy if I have a ballroom full of witnesses to my demise.”

Mollymauk tapped his nose, looking begrudgingly impressed.

“I’m assuming you want Yasha and I to be at the catacombs to help you out of the city after, yes?”

“Only if you want to,” Beau breathed, offering them the chance to be as uninvolved as possible.

“How dare you assume I wouldn’t want to be involved in something as dramatic as this,” Mollymauk simpered. “Especially since I could drop hints and started a rumor about a certain family, one I happen to be well-acquainted with, who manages a graveyard. A family that, say, might provide enough time to get into contact with to let you slip away under cover of night.”

“You’re an asshole and a genius, Mollymauk,” Beau grinned, reaching over to punch his shoulder.

“Thank you, darling,” Mollymauk chuckled. His eyes subtly flicked to Yasha before he stretched and sighed overtly. “Well, I’m off to prepare for a dramatic night of festivities. I’ll see you two at the gala, then?”

With that, Mollymauk swept from the bar, and Yasha and Beau were left alone. Beau’s thoughts were slightly off-kilter, swirling with the ‘probably’ and ‘maybe’ to every thread of her plan. Her head was a messy jumble of attempting to find any detail she might have not considered.

“Yasha?” Beau asked after a heavy moment of quiet, forcefully pulling her mind back to the moment. “Are you okay?”

Yasha drew in a shaky breath, held it, then pushed it out in one, great puff.

“I understand why you’re doing this, why you have to do this,” Yasha whispered, reaching out to grab Beau’s hand again. “But...what if something goes wrong? Beau, what if you don’t wake up? Is this really the only way?”

“No,” Beau shook her head, turning her hand so they could braid their fingers together. Her veins were buzzing like they might catch fire between the hum of the city and the warmth of Yasha’s skin. She fought to stay sane and steady. “There are definitely other ways. But this is the one that guarantees I won’t have my parents after me for the rest of my life. I know it’s...a lot. And I know it’s risky. But I think I’m desperate enough to try.”

“What about...?” Yasha trailed off, biting her lip and looking away. Beau squeezed her hand and thought, fuck it.

“I know it’s scary, Yasha,” Beau whispered. “And I know this is probably the worst timing ever, but...” Beau pulled the letter from her pocket and held it out to Yasha. Her fingers were trembling.

“You don’t have to read it now,” Beau was quick to say, acutely aware of the moment her cheeks flushed pink. “Or ever, actually. I wrote that before everything went to shit, and now it’s just a letter full of things I want you to know after tonight.”

Yasha stared at the letter for a long moment before she looked up at Beau again. Beau fidgeted under her stare before gusting out a great sigh and moving to get up.

“Well, I’ve got a few things I need to get in order before tonight. I’ll see you at the party, okay?” She waited for Yasha to nod, but she looked so worried and pained that Beau paused. Putting her hands firmly on the table, Beau leaned in close until Yasha looked her in the eye. The magnetic shock when Yasha’s mismatched irises locked on Beau nearly took Beau’s knees out from under her. The buzz in her veins sparked and caught fire. She swallowed against the smoke that dried out her throat and kept her voice as steady as possible.

“Yasha, remember. No matter what happens, or what it looks like, I’m going to be okay.”

Asymmetric eyes bore into Beau for a suspended moment, somehow both weightless and grounding all at once.

“I believe you, Beau,” Yasha whispered. For all that she still looked terrified, Beau trusted her.

--

The party was just like every other gala Beau had attended over the years. It was entirely too pompous, populated with Wildemount’s snootiest, and perhaps one of the most tedious events Beau could possibly imagine wasting time at. She was so nervous about everything planned that she barely had the leftover presence of mind to keep up her act with Yasha. They exchanged only a handful of false distaste, and Beau could only hope it added to the idea that she wasn’t well before she collapsed.

At some point in the evening, when she surfaced from her worrying for a moment, Beau really took Yasha in from across the room. She wore a deep, midnight blue dress, fitted and long and accented with silver. As always, Yasha looked stunning.

She also had the flower hairpin among her braids. For some reason, that fact left Beau choked up.

Mollymauk – bless his dumb heart – stuck near Beau most of the night, keeping idle conversation. It served as a temporary distraction, but Beau was too on edge to do more beyond nod every now and again.

The night was about half over when Beau decided she had drawn this out long enough.

She exchanged a look with Mollymauk, and something far more serious than she was ever used to seeing crossed his expression. He gave her a nod, a quick squeeze to her elbow, and then she excused herself to the bathroom.

A horrible, ornate mirror hung above the sink, and Beau stared at her reflection for a long moment. Her mother had powdered Beau’s face before she left. Some of it hadn’t entirely blended in and now clung to the tip of Beau’s nose. Her hair was styled neatly, a tight braided bun sitting high on her head. She hadn’t put up a fight when her mother helped her into a pale blue dress with a lace-up back. In any context, Beau was beautiful – the perfect picture of a young heiress poised in a social scene. There was a pinch around Beau’s eyes, however, that betrayed her stress. She hoped it made her look like she was sick or in pain to further sell her act.

With a brief hesitation, pushing down all of her inhibitions so she didn’t back out, Beau produced the bottle from her dress pocket. With a sound pop, she uncorked the bottle. Beau toasted her reflection and muttered under her breath, “to freedom.”

She downed the contents in two quick gulps.

With quick motions, Beau washed out the residue in the bottle under the faucet and hid the bottle beneath the vanity. She didn’t want any evidence on her person later.

Emerging from the bathroom, Beau made her way back toward the ballroom. She had just walked up to Mollymauk when her throat started feeling dry. Coughing into her elbow, trying to clear her throat, Beau waved away the concerned looks she got from the couple Mollymauk was speaking to. Her reassurance came out hoarse and did nothing to persuade anyone.

After a minute of barely tracking conversation, Beau registered the discomfort in her chest. Her heart felt too big for her ribs and her lungs too small. She struggled to draw in enough air. There were spots dancing in front of her eyes, and coughing did nothing to help. Even Mollymauk looked genuinely concerned as one of the surrounding party goers flagged down a server for water. Instinctually, Beau started to seek out Yasha, eyes flitting with wild panic.

Mollymauk wrapped a careful hand around her elbow right before the potion truly kicked in.

Her stomach and throat seized as one, and Beau couldn’t hold back the strangled gasp that fled from her. The edges of her vision quickly faded to grey, her heart pounding in her ears with a rapid ringing. Beau was frightened for a horrible, conscious second that she might actually be dying. But she trusted Bren. Through the haze in her head, Beau tried to reassure herself she would be okay. The thought didn’t do much to comfort her when it felt like her lungs were disconnected from her throat.

Mollymauk’s face loomed above her in tunnel vision, his expression pinched with worry and panic as he called Beau’s name. She couldn’t hear him over the pounding in her ears, but she watched his lips shape the word.

Beau fumbled for his hand, fell short, and rapidly succumbed to darkness.

--

 Yasha.

 When we met as children in the Pentamarket, I never could have imagined what our friendship would become. You’ve been a constant companion, a loyal pen pal, and my most trusted friend.

 Lately, you make me nervous. My heart starts racing when you look at me, when you smile at me, when you laugh, when you reach for me. Everything about you brings me joy and makes me feel like I’m flying.

 Truthfully, I think I realized I had feelings for you when we went to that first party in Zadash together. You were wearing this beautiful black dress and you had flowers in your braids, and that hairpin we picked out. We pretended to hate each other, and then slipped away to laugh our asses off about it. I remember the way you looked in the moonlight, and I think that’s when I figured it out.

 I know my father said we should never interact with your family again, but you know how much I like to piss him off. Someday soon, if this letter of mine doesn’t scare you off, would you like to go on a proper, public date with me?

 If you would rather just continue our friendship, you can toss this letter and forget you ever read it. But these secrets were building up in my heart, and getting too heavy to carry on my own. If I ever find the courage to give you this letter, I hope you’ve read this far. Maybe it means I have a chance.

 Always yours,

 Beau

--

The first thing that registered was a distant murmur of voices from nearby. She couldn’t make out what they were saying, her brain feeling as if someone had stuffed it with cotton, but she heard them. Her mouth was unbelievably dry, her tongue like weighted sand paper for how much effort it took to move it.

She must have made some noise or movement, because suddenly a pair of hands pressed against her cheeks.

Her ears rung faintly, scarcely able to hear past it, as the murmurs turned into muffled tones. She needed to tell them she couldn’t fucking understand them.

Beau thought she grunted, or she tried to. It registered finally that she needed to open her eyes.

Blinking against the dry, grittiness that all but glued her eyelids shut, everything appeared blurry and dark at first. She kept blinking, trying to clear her vision and wondering just how long she had slept. The hands on her cheeks were warm, familiar, and gentle. Beau grasped for a memory, a reason she felt like this.

It all clicked back into place moments later. Terror seized her chest, and she fumbled for the hand at her cheek. There was a horrifying moment she worried it belonged to one of her parents – that her plan failed.

“Beau,” a quiet voice, warbled with emotion. “I’m here, you’re okay.”

Her vision finally shifted into focus, the ringing in her ears subsided enough that she made out some words. Every movement registered as sluggish and disconnected, but she was awake. Beau knew she was alive, and Yasha leaned over her – real and whole. Her beautiful, mismatched eyes shone wet with tears but sparkled brightly with relief.

Beau burst into sobs.

Yasha levered Beau upright and gathered her to her chest. Beau all but melted into Yasha’s embrace, desperate for any sort of validation that she was alive, that she almost had her freedom.

When they both regained some composure, Yasha filled Beau in on the past twenty-four hours. Over Yasha’s shoulder, Beau saw Mollymauk keeping careful watch at the mouth of the catacombs. The stone chambers were freezing, Beau dressed only in a white funeral gown. Yasha turned her back for Beau to change into the breeches and cotton shirt they brought for her as she spoke.

“You were right about your parents,” Yasha murmured as Beau tugged the shirt over her head. Someone had removed Beau’s braided up-do from the party, because her hair now fell in brushed out waves over her shoulders. “They’re trying to get in contact with the family Molly knows. They’re trying to bring you back.”

Yasha didn’t tell her what her family’s reason was, she wasn’t even certain Yasha knew. But Beau guessed it probably had something to do with her impending marriage to the Stassman boy. Beau resolutely stopped thinking about it.

“Did anyone say it was poison?” Beau asked as she wound her hair up into a loose bun.

“No,” Yasha shook her head. Beau caught sight of the flower hairpin still tucked among her braids. Her heart pulled weakly in her chest. “Most don’t know what to think. From the outside, it looked like you choked on air.”

There was a tremor to Yasha’s voice that Beau decided she hated. She finished tugging on her boots and moved to place a hand on Yasha’s arm. The taller woman turned to face Beau, her expression pained.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Beau whispered. “I’m sorry I put you through it.”

Yasha reached out and brushed the backs of her fingers down Beau’s cheek, slow and reverent.

“You looked right at me before you collapsed…and then you just went limp in Molly’s arms.” Yasha pushed out a shaky sigh, flipping her hand around to cup Beau’s cold cheek in her warm palm. “I’m just glad you’re alive. I knew you weren’t really dead, but you looked it.”

Yasha paused as she caught her lower lip between her teeth. “I read your letter.”

Beau’s heart skipped a beat. Oh gods.

“I’d love to go on a date with you, Beau,” Yasha whispered, her other hand coming up to cup Beau’s other cheek. “I would love that more than anything.”

“Really?” Beau’s voice came out strangled.

“Really,” Yasha promised, her eyes drinking in every inch of Beau’s face. “May I kiss you?”

“Yes,” Beau pressed from her lungs. If she didn’t know any better, she might think she was about to black out again.

Yasha stooped to press their lips together, Beau wrapping her fingers in a clinging embrace around Yasha’s wrists. It did little to ground her, but Beau felt she might float away if she let go. She thought the hum under her skin from mere proximity to Yasha had been unbearable, but actually kissing her left Beau feeling like she was dissolving. Every new, desperate press of Yasha’s lips against Beau’s only stoked the flame building behind Beau’s ribs, only magnified the buzz. One of Yasha’s hands slid to cup the base of Beau’s neck, tugging her closer as Beau released Yasha’s wrist to wind an arm around her waist instead. Beau leaned her weight into Yasha and trusted her to not let Beau fall.

This was a kiss years in the making, a confession built in the secret cavity beneath their hearts. This was a forbidden embrace, a love story banned by families too petty and proud to have a conversation. Yet they persisted and persevered against all odds.

This sensation was like stepping into the hum of Zadash for the first time again, then dialed up until it consumed her senses.

Yasha moved her other hand to wrap around Beau’s waist to all but pick her up. Beau wrapped both arms around Yasha’s neck and pressed up to her toes. She felt like she would never need to breathe air again with the way Yasha’s attention to her lips made her feel alive.

Distantly, Beau heard Mollymauk say something about needing to leave. She ignored him, and Yasha did, too. Yasha’s arms only tightened around Beau’s waist, and Beau couldn’t help the way she smiled into Yasha’s kiss. She didn’t feel like she was on fire anymore – Beau felt like she was fire.

Mollymauk’s hand was on Beau’s arm, insistent. But Beau wasn’t finished with Yasha yet. This was probably the last Beau would see of Yasha for who knew how long. She was going to get every second possible out of this kiss if it killed her. She was going to memorize every last dip and divot of Yasha’s frequency even if it drove her mad. Beau wanted to take the imprint of the city and this woman with her when she left.

Her chest was flush against Yasha’s by the time they broke apart, gasping for air. Beau’s toes were still barely on the ground for all that Yasha was clinging to her. Molly stood a few paces away, a bag on each shoulder and looking fond but impatient.

“If you’re quite done,” he drawled. “We shouldn’t linger much longer.”

“Fuck off, Molly,” Beau groused. But Yasha released her with gentle motions, pressing a lingering kiss to Beau’s forehead. Beau hugged Mollymauk fiercely for all they both acted annoyed and whispered her thanks to him against his shoulder. He didn’t reply, but Beau knew he heard her by the way his arms tightened around her waist.

They fled the catacombs in the darkness, breathless and giddy with their success. The catacombs were on the outskirts of the west end of the Innerstead Sprawl, the grassy slopes surrounding it giving way to winding cobblestone. Mollymauk lead them as they went, keeping to shadows with their heads down and eyes roaming for signs of others who might see them. The hour was late, however, and this part of the city was quiet. Despite the sleepy crawl, Beau could still sense Zadash’s energy buzzing underfoot.

As they came upon the Outersteads, Yasha split off down a wide alley and unhitched two horses from a post. Mollymauk reached into one pack and produced a dark cloak. He stepped up to Beau and tossed it over her shoulders, fastening the clasp when he noticed her trembling hands. As he reached to pull the hood over Beau’s head, Yasha grabbed the second pack from Mollymauk. Beau’s confusion must have been obvious because Mollymauk chuckled at her fondly.

“Yasha, are...” Beau looked between Mollymauk and Yasha. “Are you coming with me? What about your family?”

Yasha pressed her fingers to Beau’s cheek beneath her hood. “I’m coming with you. After the party…I gave it some thought, but I realized I already knew what I wanted. I want to go with you. The world is out there and I want to see it, too. I can’t think of anyone better to do it with.”

“Yasha...” Beau’s voice came out wobbly, but she didn’t care.

“You two are so cute it’s going to make me sick,” Mollymauk sighed. But he pulled Yasha down to press a kiss to her forehead, then turned and did the same to Beau. “Take care of each other, send me lots of letters.”

“As annoying as you are,” Beau grumbled through the tears on her cheeks. “I’m going to miss you, Molly. I’ll write as often as I can.”

Yasha placed steadying hands on Beau’s waist, helping her swing up into the saddle of one horse. She handed Beau the reins before turning to give Mollymauk a firm squeeze of a hug. He held Yasha’s horse steady as she mounted, turning to Beau as he passed off the reins.

“You shouldn’t have any trouble getting out of the city. There’s guards posted at the main gate on the south wall, but they’re more concerned with people entering than leaving. Once you’re past the gate, urge the horses to run. You should have enough distance between this city and you by dawn. Keep your hood up and you’ll be fine.”

Beau and Yasha nodded, thanking Mollymauk quietly as they pushed their horses into a slow walk. He went alongside them for a while, still keeping an eye out.

“You said you were thinking about heading to the Menagerie Coast?” Mollymauk asked, to which Beau nodded. “I’ve got friends there, so I sent a letter ahead of you letting them know you might come find them. Jester and Fjord – both of them are good people. Look for a place called the Lavish Chateau in Nicodranas, you can find Jester there. They’ll help you get settled.“

“Thank you, Molly,” Beau said, looking down at the purple Tiefling who had grabbed hold of her heart. “For everything. We owe you.”

“Just invite me down to your seaside manor sometime and we can call it even,” Mollymauk grinned, patting Beau’s knee.

With a final, whispered farewell, Beau and Yasha left Mollymauk to wind his way back to the streets of the Pentamarket. Keeping their horses set at a brisk walk took all of Beau’s self-control. She wanted nothing more than to dig her heels in and take off into the night. The city still buzzed through her veins, as did the lingering fire brought on by Yasha’s kiss. But she held back as the southern gate loomed before them. As Mollymauk had said, the Crownsguard stood on the outside of the open gate, keeping silent sentinel. They scarcely spared them a second glance as the horses trotted out of the city.

It felt anticlimactic for all of Beau’s previous planning – but she forgot about it all as she took in the sprawling landscape before them.

They got about a hundred feet away before Beau exchanged a breathless, giddy grin with Yasha.

“Ready?” Yasha asked, her fingers visibly tightening around the reins of her horse.

“Ready,” Beau breathed.

She kicked her heels into her horse’s side, calling out an adrenaline tremulous, “hiyah!”

The horses took off into the night. The wind pushed Beau’s hood from her face, the air a rushing embrace billowing through her cloak. Her horse’s hooves pounded with a rhythmic thud against the earth, reverberating through Beau’s bones. It sounded like freedom and felt like flying. The buzz was still pulsing through her, but it was different now. Yasha’s distinct humming presence still lingered beneath her skin, but Zadash’s buzz was gone. This new feeling was a thrum, a steady rhythm she could only compare to the heartbeat of Exandria, welcoming her. This truly felt like magic.

Yasha’s delighted laughter reached Beau’s ears over the rushing wind. Beau tipped her head back, closing her eyes as she breathed in deeply.

The rest of her life lay ahead.

[firelordzukohere]

Interior Decor

Hello! I started this blog because I wrote a Zuko x Reader fanfiction and I wanted somewhere to post it that wasn’t my main blog. 

I came up with the idea for this fic randomly one day and I thought I’d write it down and share it with you all. It’s going to be 4 parts with a possible epilogue, but I’m not sure yet. Please let me know what you think!!

I’ll be updating every Sunday with a new chapter! Hopefully you guys really like this and keep reading!!

I’ve also posted it to AO3 if you’d prefer to read it there

Thanks!

Zuko X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, Slight Aangst(heh), and some implications

Word Count: Almost 3k

Summary: Iroh felt it was time for the Palace to reflect the time of Peace and Love that Zuko promised five years earlier at his coronation. He takes it upon himself to hire an interior decorator to help his nephew out and work together. What he didn’t expect was for Zuko to possibly find his own peace and love in the process. 

Chapter 1: Feng Shui >> Chapter 2: Tchotchke 

Walking into the grand entrance of the Fire Nation Palace, (Y/N) couldn't help but stop and begin mentally jotting down the changes she would make to the décor. It was very dingy, dark, and drab, as though the Palace had been sitting in it's own dusty iceberg for a hundred years, keeping it's hatred preserved with each speck of dirt. The windows were covered in black-out fabric, the walls had pictures of past Fire Lords glaring down at those who dared to enter their sacred home of destruction, plants wilted and dead, no life left within them, and the carpet looked as though it had seen millions upon millions of feet within its lifetime.

Now, (Y/N) wasn't trying to be rude, but it was her job to notice these things. She had been hired by General Iroh to redo the interior of the Fire Nation Palace. This meant every single room from the throne room to the dining hall, the ballroom to the Fire Lord's private quarters, everything needed a refresh. She expected this kind of thing to be done back when the Fire Lord had first taken over, however, her services weren't requested until five years after his coronation.

Which is why she stood at the entrance, questioning why it took them so long to get someone in here. The poor Palace staff and the Fire Lord must be drowning in darkness and discomfort. Not to mention cowering in fear at Sozin, Azulon, and Ozai's deep glares within several portraits throughout.

She was busy having a staring contest with Ozai, which she was undoubtedly losing because he was terrifying to look at, when Iroh walked up and greeted her with a warm smile. The look immediately lit the room up, sending a comforting feeling from the top of her head to the bottom of her toes as if she had just dipped herself into the warm ocean to cool off.

"Ah! Miss (Y/N), thank you for your patience," he bowed causing her to return the sign of respect back, "I was just making sure my nephew was ready for our meeting today as well. He's just finishing up with the council, so we'll go on ahead without him and he can catch up," the older man winked before guiding her further into the Palace, "Please, tell me what you think so far, first impressions may not always be accurate, but they do tell quite a lot, especially when it comes to decoration," Iroh said as they walked.

Clearing her throat, (Y/N) tuned into her interior decorator mode. "I feel like I'm living in the Fire Palace from Sozin's time," she said, bluntly, however still with a hint of hope. "I feel like this Palace has most likely been causing the Fire Lord nothing but stress, as though it's a dark cloud looming over his head, watching his every move, almost like Ozai never left." Her voice calm and diplomatic, she had dealt with several Fire Nation officials before and no matter how often she tried to soften the blow, she was usually always dealt with backlash and anger over her honest opinion of the look.

Iroh, however, surprised her, and laughed with his whole body, resting his hands on his stomach for a moment, stopping their stride. "My dear, you are spot on!" This immediately caused (Y/N) to smile brightly, grateful that she was with a client who didn't seem to want to fight her every move. "Even when Ozai and I were boys growing up in the Palace here, we always felt as though we were living during Sozin's reign. Not that we believed that to be a bad thing at the time," he chuckled before continuing on down the hall.

The hallway led into the throne room, which was one of the biggest rooms in the Palace according to the layout that Iroh had given her during her interview with him. The only other room that was as large was the ballroom followed closely by the dining hall.

"This is where my nephew holds council with everyone in all four nations, whoever wants a seat with him. My brother, father, and grandfather stopped using it for that purpose and just became a place to dish out their royal decrees, banishing visitors that were not worthy." (Y/N) frowned listening to the history of this room. "My nephew likes this room to be where he listens and does very little talking, which I think is a wonderful sentiment to have." She nodded and began jotting down notes on her parchment.

There needed to be more light, some greenery added to liven up the place, possibly a little less fire around the throne itself, to seem more welcoming. Overall, the layout of the room was beautiful, it just needed some acceptance instead of deterrence.

Iroh led her toward the next room which appeared to be the ballroom. It was gorgeous, high ceilings with chandeliers, ready for their candles to be lit and make the glass sparkle, tall windows that went nearly from the floor to the ceiling providing a glorious view of the garden outside. Other than a couple of touch ups here and there, this room was incredible. However, it looked like it hadn't been used in centuries. Webs and dust littered the vast room, sheets covered small tables and seating areas and were yellowed with age.

"When my father took power, dancing and parties became nonexistent. He loathed people enjoying themselves, obviously because he did not. My nephew would like to throw a celebration after this redecoration, allowing all nations to come together and dance." Iroh smiled.

"Obviously it was more of a strong suggestion by the Dragon of the West, who rumor has it, excelled in dancing due to his bond with the dragons," a husky voice behind them added, causing the two to turn and find the Fire Lord standing behind them in his royal attire, with a small smirk on his face.

(Y/N) had seen beautiful interiors, gorgeous landscapes, sunsets, flowers, paintings, structures, and everything in between, however, her breath left her body the moment her eyes landed on the Fire Lord in person. He was a very handsome man, defined features and golden eyes that pierced any girl's heart.

This admiration, unfortunately, caused her to stare at him longer than normal, creating an awkward tension within the room. Beside her, Iroh cleared his throat, waking the girl from her trance on his nephew. She blushed furiously and bowed properly to the Fire Lord.

"Your Highness, my apologies, I wasn't expecting you this early," she whispered quickly attempting to cover her ogling with a valid reason, "I'm grateful that you have allowed me the opportunity to work on your home and make it something that you'll enjoy living within and celebrating for years to come." He smiled at her before turning to Iroh.

"It wasn't exactly my plan, as I said, the Dragon of the West is a very convincing man and deemed it necessary that since I was bringing a time of new, the Palace should reflect that." Iroh smirked.

"Please Fire Lord Zuko," Iroh said with a hint of snark in his voice, "I just couldn't bear to see you glare at the paintings of your father strewn everywhere and decided it was a time for change." Zuko blushed and sent a small glare at Iroh. "Plus, you're never going to woo any ladies with a Palace looking like this!" His statement caused (Y/N) to cover her mouth quickly and let out a giggle. Hearing the noise from her, Zuko's face burned darker, matching the Fire Nation red of his robes. "Anyway, my dear nephew, I must leave you at this time, you see it's nearly noon and I have a Pai Sho game to play with an old friend," he stepped back and bowed to both his nephew and (Y/N). "I'm sure you can take care of the rest of the tour and inform her on any changes you'd like. She's brilliant and really knows what she's doing so take everything she has to offer into account."

"Wait, you're not staying?" (Y/N) stopped him, nervously. Iroh smiled and shook his head.

"This isn't my home, it's his, he should be first hand in working with you. You're both smart and will definitely come up with something great together." Zuko's eyes were daggers as he looked at his Uncle. Iroh merely smirked before stepping away and back down the hallway she had originally met him in.

"I apologize for my Uncle, he's… eccentric, to say the least," the Fire Lord said with a frown. "I guess we should move on with the tour," he mumbled awkwardly before shuffling toward the room after the ballroom. The dining hall.

They traveled through the dining hall, the council chambers-as Zuko refused to call it the war room anymore, the spa rooms, a few bedrooms though they all looked the same according to the Fire Lord, several various hallways, where they finally ended, his bedroom.

(Y/N) had filled several parchments with notes and ideas for the Palace. She was already growing excited about the new plans and was ready to bring some life back into the Fire Nation's symbolic building.

"Not much needs to be done in here, to be honest, I don't use it for anything other than a place to sleep," he grumbled as he had essentially the entire tour. After Iroh had left, Zuko seemed unenthusiastic about showing her around and even less excited about her decorating anything.

"With all do respect, your Highness," she started, unable to bite her tongue this time, as she had the previous dozen times he said that he didn't need much done to the room, "that's a problem. Your bedroom should be a safe haven where you go to escape, especially with your job," her (Y/E/C) eyes narrowed in his direction, attempting to convey her seriousness about the situation. "This room is a comfort to you, not a grave to your father's previous sins." His single eyebrow cocked.

"With all do respect Miss…" it was then he realized he didn't know her name. Iroh had handled all the details, Zuko simply nodded his head and did as his uncle said.

"(Y/N)," she whispered somewhat defensively, ready for his retort.

"(Y/N)…" he repeated, "I have an escape in the Palace, though it may not be my bedroom like it seems to be for several of your clients, I can assure you, I'm not like them." He began to walk out of the bedroom, stopping only to turn back at her and nudge his head, signaling her to follow.

Confused, the decorator followed him back toward the ballroom and out into the garden. This view had caught her eye earlier when she was first in the ballroom with Iroh and now, finally getting a thorough look, she couldn't help but stare at the area in awe.

A large tree sat in the center of the zen place, a tiny pond full of quacking turtle ducks swimming happily within. Several other trees and flower bushes littered the area, with small fountains and statues around. It was serene and tranquil, calm seemed to wash over her instantly as she took in her surroundings, admiring the wonderful atmosphere that the garden provided.

Zuko led her toward the pond where he crouched down to rub the head of one of the turtle ducks with the back of his index finger. The duckling quacked and nuzzled closer to his touch instinctively. As the other turtle ducks saw this, they began swimming toward, looking for their own affection from the Fire Lord as well.

(Y/N) couldn't help but stare at the interaction before her, amazed at how the Fire Lord's demeanor changed rapidly. He seemed at peace and happy in this moment just spending time with ducklings in the garden.

"You see, miss (Y/N), while others escape to their bedrooms, I find myself coming here where I can be calm with my thoughts," he smirked up at her as he pat the last turtle duck on the head and then straightened up. With a sigh, she nodded her head, understanding what he meant now. "I do, however, agree, that my room needs more of a makeover than I initially suggested. You're welcome to do with it as you will, just make sure my belongings are taken care of properly." She looked up at him hopeful that he was okay with her being there.

Smiling, she moved toward the tree next to the pond and plopped down. It wasn't quite as ladylike as Zuko expected, like he had witnessed his mother, Mai, Azula, and Ty Lee do, but he couldn't help but smile and follow her lead, sitting down beside her. As she began handing him papers with notes, he watched as she animatedly talked about what she was going to do with each room and how it was supposed to make him feel more comfortable.

"For a Nation about light and the sun, your Palace has very little of it," she started, pointing at sketches she had apparently made as they walked of the different rooms, "I think removing the coverings on the windows and allowing more light to come in will be great. Plus, the sun makes Firebenders feel better, so why wouldn't they want more of it?" Zuko nodded, realizing that it made a lot of sense. "Then your people will be able to see you better instead of the dark shadow that Ozai assumingly was previous." Her casual use of his father's name seemed to shock him, but he didn't say anything and continued to listen. "If they see your face, they'll feel they can trust you more, you're not a bad man to look at either and that could possibly help you in the department General Iroh was requesting which was a new lady friend." She rushed through quickly.

Zuko held up his hand to stop her, "Contrary to what my uncle says, I don't need a woman to make me happy." He said, "I'm doing just fine all on my own." This caused her to stare at him for a few moments in deep thought and Zuko couldn't help but wonder what was going through her head. She seemed to be lost in herself for a moment before her vision returned and she realized she had been staring intently at the Fire Lord.

With a small shake of her head, she focused normally back on him, "I'm sorry, um… yes you're right, you don't need a woman, I was just trying to help." She mumbled before looking down at her papers awkwardly. Zuko handed her back the ones that he had been given and smiled.

"These look great (Y/N), why don't we start tomorrow on it? I will approve anything you want to do," he said trying to reassure the girl who had what felt like an emotional moment from his words.

"No, let me do this right, especially with the Palace. I will return with better sketches tomorrow and then if everything is approved I can bring in a team to start clearing out rooms. We'll do them one by one so you're not without the entire Palace for a couple of weeks," she said, watching as he stood up and held out his hand for her to take. Gently she pressed her palm to his and goosebumps ran up her arm at the shockingly warm contact. He smiled as he helped her to her feet, waiting several moments before leading her hand back to her side and slipping it from his grasp. "Thank you for this opportunity your Highness, you have no idea how excited I am to be able to help you feel like this is your home," she repeated her earlier sentiment with a long bow.

"Zuko," he said bluntly, causing her to look up at him from her bow. Her eyebrow cocked slightly and he couldn't help but smirk at the emotion written across her face. "Call me Zuko, none of this your Highness formality."

With reddened cheeks she smiled and nodded her head. He led her back into the ballroom and toward the entrance to the Palace. "Tomorrow then?" she asked as they reached the grand doorway.

"Tomorrow," he said, looking at her intently. "I'm interested to see what you bring me (Y/N)," he bowed to her.

She returned the bow with one final word for farewell, "Zuko." Her lips formed a smirk that Zuko couldn't stop his eyes from studying for as long as he could before she turned and made her way down the steps, internally wondering why this job made her feel all fuzzy inside.

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Master List

[animedaddymilkers]

Kinkmas 2020: Day 21

Prompt: Yandere/Spanking w/ Inoichi

Genre: Smut/18+ || Tags: Yandere, Mutual Pining, Implied Stalking, Mild Dubcon, Spanking, Penetrative Sex, Aftercare || Characters: Inoichi Yamanka, Female Reader || read it on ao3 here

this fic contains yandere and mild dubcon themes, if that makes you uncomfortable please do not read!

With a content sigh, you unlocked the front door to your apartment, a slight fuzziness blurring your vision and limbs thanks to the alcohol coursing through your veins. Your keys were discarded into the cutesy trinket tray, your shoes kicked off into the ever-growing pile nearby. The date was an okay one, nothing extremely exciting but, hey, he was cute and it was a fun time. It may have sounded obnoxious when said out loud, but no men your age interested you. Not like you didn't give a plethora of them chances, and you still made friends with most of them. You just never seemed to form that romantic attachment you craved so desperately. What that said about your mental health wasn't totally lost on you, but not like you could (or wanted) to do a whole lot about it.

The sweater covering your shoulders was thrown onto a chair, your constricting belt quickly following as you made your way to your bedroom. At first, you didn't notice it, didn't notice anything at all. You simply continued walking on past the kitchen and living room, into your bedroom where you stripped your shirt and pants off. Trudging back out to the bathroom in your underwear and bra, your brows furrowed. You didn't remember turning one of the lights on… Chalking it up to the kitchen stove light you always left on, you continued your mission of brushing your teeth and face. When you came back out of the bathroom, you headed to the kitchen for a glass of water, freezing when you saw a figure sitting in one of your chairs, contently reading a book.

"S-Sir?!" the big kitchen light was on, illuminating the stoic face of one of Konoha's strongest shinobi.

The older blond man placed his book down, seeming annoyed it took you this long to notice him before he started with a huff, "I pay all my employees well, even ones as low down on the ladder as you. One would think that allows for better locks. And it's about time you arrived home, considering you have work tomorrow, no?"

Confusion was about the only emotion you could feel as your boss all but scolded you, besides the dull horny you always felt when it came to the man in front of you, though you suppressed that part for now, "Better wha- What the hell are you doing in my house?!"

Inoichi stood slowly, towering over you and making you regret the harsh tone you used, "Because it seems you forgot whom you belong to, dearest rosebud."

Besides the fact that his reply gave you more questions than answers, you silently gasped at the pet name he used. It was the same pet name your secret admirer had been using for you. You never saw the constant flower bouquets, food deliveries, or expensive gifts as harmful. They were, if anything, an ego boost to you thus far. All delivered to you with the sweetest notes, describing how ethereal you were, and always addressing you as rosebud, albeit also sounding a bit possessive. Additionally, in the six months, you had been receiving gifts, you hadn't been on any dates, instead choosing to focus on your new career supporting the Torture and Interrogation Department. A career that found you moving up the ladder fast, though you were still just doing menial tasks. Briefly, you wondered how much Inoichi had to do with those promotions, but he took a step towards you, cupping your face in his hand, and tore you from your thoughts.

"I think it's about time you come home. To your true home, don't you?"

Your heart thumped loudly in your throat and you nodded against your better judgment, "I do."

The smile you were met with sent a warm tingle through your body, and you returned a smile of your own. Inoichi nodded and picked his book up from the table, his other hand patting the top of your head. The silent praise had your chest swelling with pride for some reason unknown to you. It should have alarmed you how easily you accepted his offer, though you rationalized that you didn't have much choice, fearing that if you rejected him the trained ninja would take you anyways. Better to go willingly than be taken by force, right? Well, that and you were still a bit tipsy.

Before long, you were tucked snugly into the side of the blond man, his arm wrapped protectively around you. The route to his home was longer than it should have been, you suspected he was purposely avoiding the main streets. Being a high ranking shinobi taking a girl home during the early hours of the morning would raise questions. Especially a girl that worked under him. His warm touch was protecting you from the cold and the smell of his expensive cologne was intoxicating. It had you snuggling into his side more, an act which made him smile, he knew his rosebud wouldn't deny him. This definitely proved you deserved a present larger than anything he gifted you previously.

The Yamanaka clan complex was expansive and the main house was nothing to sneeze at either, easily dwarfing your apartment several times over. He led you inside, showing you around and you took notice of how similar his place was to yours. Not in the layout or big furniture pieces, but he had the same type of napkins, your favorite drinks, even your shampoo in his bathroom which you assumed was his daughter's. It didn't dawn on you until he took you on a tour of his room just how deep you were in. In his room, you found clothing that was unmistakably yours, items that had gone missing months ago and some just last week. They ranged from shirts and leggings to underwear and even a pillowcase. You tried not to take note of how some pieces were stained with white spots. Uneasiness began to grow in your gut as you wondered what exactly you had gotten yourself into when your phone buzzed with a notification. You pulled it out, only to have Inoichi take it from you and punch in your passcode.

His face soured, "You really think that lowlife deserves a second date? Before you give me even <em>one</em>? Disgusting."

Your date from earlier must have texted back after you replied you wanted to see him again. He was about to slide your phone onto the dresser when it began to ring. If the scowl on his face told you anything, it was, unfortunately, your date calling. The guy did say he preferred talking over text and at the time, you didn't mind, but now, it was really rather annoying.

"Answer it. Reject him. Reject him like you know you want to," the direction was clear and stern, leaving no room for discussion as he thrust the phone in your direction.

Nervously, you took the device from him and answered the call. Rejecting someone, in general, was an anxiety-inducing task, but to have an overbearing admirer glare you down while doing so was all the more nerve-wracking. Your voice wavered slightly as you talked and although Inoichi still frowned, his hands played through your hair, skimming the ends of your locks. The guy on the other end was rightfully confused while you explained you never wanted to see him again because just an hour ago you texted you were looking forward to it. Part of you hoped he would pick up on the odd behavior and come after you, but the realistic part of your brain told you the boy was too daft and a measly coward. The opposite of the man in front of you.

Once the call was complete the smile returned to the blonde's face, "Good flower! I knew you wanted to be with me. But-," his face fell again, a look of complete seriousness that made you swallow hard, "I can't forgive your little indiscretion. Not yet. It seems you need a punishment to truly remind you of whom you belong to, rosebud."

Your face grew cold at the implications, yet still, you allowed Inoichi to lead you towards the bed. He sat on the edge and patted his expansive thighs, hardened with all the training he did. You should be refusing, should be running far, far away from this situation. But, it was too tempting. How many times does the man you fantasize about return your affections so vigorously? Additionally, a spanking from him sounded like time well spent and you did deserve it for trying to date someone else when you were meant for him. You laid yourself across his legs, the pants you haphazardly put on before leaving being tugged down to your knees. His hands caressed your backside, massaging your ass cheeks before giving a playful swat to them.

"Count them. If you lose count we start over. We'll stop when I think you've learned your lesson. Got it?"

You nodded before squeaking out a, "Yes, daddy."

The name seemed to both please and shock the man, as his hand stalled in mid-air before he grinned. Then, he brought his hand down to your cheek, prompting you to call out the number. A second smack was quick to follow onto the other cheek along with a third, his hands only stalling to hear you mutter out the number. Thankfully, he was merciful in his technique, alternating cheeks and making sure to smack the untouched parts of your backside. A couple even landed harshly on your folds, the wetness gathering there only intensifying the pleasure-pain you felt. After spank thirty, it was hard to find an area that wasn't welting up, and so he went over the areas he already smacked. It made it all the more sensitive as your legs jerked slightly and hands clutched at the comforter beneath you. Your ass was raw and bleeding slightly in a few places, yet still, his hands struck you, enjoying each conflicted whine that left your mouth.

At fifty, you prayed he would be finished, but he kept on spanking, making sure to land more smacks over your pussy. He'd make comments that were a mix of degrading praise about how wet you were for him and how well he was going to fuck you. The promise of being railed by the ever-growing hard-on beneath you was the only thing keeping you from begging him to stop. You were determined to be a good girl for your daddy, despite the burning pain you felt on your rear. Somewhere in the midst of the sixties, you actually came on his hand after he smacked your pussy again, earning rumbling praise from the man above you. Finally, at seventy-five, he stopped, most likely because his hands were sore at this point too. Your reprieve was capitalized by him affectionately rubbing and massaging your abused cheeks as if it pained him to hurt you. Without restraint, you whined into his chest as he held you, hips grinding down against his.

He laughed softly and kissed along your jaw, "Have you learned your lesson? Are you ready to accept me as your one and only?"

"Yes, I've learned my lesson, daddy. You're the only one I want in my life. Now and always, please never leave me," you held onto his shirt as you locked gazes with him, your best puppy dog eyes on display.

They worked their intended magic, as you could see his expression soften almost immediately, "Good little blossom. I'll never leave your side and you'll never leave mine. Especially not after we become one, petal."

The notion was intoxicating, being loved by someone so much they'd do anything for you. But right now, the love you needed was physical and with the goal dangling right above your head, you were desperate to reach it. Your hands slid under his shirt and peeled it off, your own being removed soon after. Within a flash, you both were naked and kissing each other feverishly. Inoichi laid back on the bed's pillows, admiring the sight of you perched atop him. You didn't mind being on top, taking the advantage to push his cock into you quickly. As you sank down on him, his hands stroked up and down your thighs, giving a testing thrust up into you. You sat on his cock as much as your body would allow and without hesitation, began to bounce yourself on him. He sighed in pleasure as you wrapped around him so perfectly, telling you he expected nothing less from his perfect rosebud. The praise drove you wild, finally getting the recognition you deserved, albeit in the form of compliments on your sex technique.

When your thigh muscles began to clam up from overuse he laid your body down on top of him. His thick arms wrapped around your torso and he wasted little time in thrusting up into you. Hands caressed your shoulders and he locked gazes with you, unable to tear his eyes away from your face. In the midst of your passionate throes, Inoichi couldn't help but get lost in your otherworldly beauty, only the noises you made and the movement of his hips kept him grounded. It felt like your pussy was made for him, wrapping around him so perfect and driving him insane, he had trouble restraining himself from fucking into you harder. His lips met yours fiercely, kissing and holding onto you like you might disappear at any time. You put a hand on his cheek as you kissed him back and snaked a hand down between your bodies to rub at your clit. Though, your hand was soon removed, being replaced by one of Inoichi's, who explained he was determined to be the one who pleased you. As if you'd have any qualms about that.

His surprisingly smooth fingertips rubbed at your clit and with the constant feeling of his cock pounding against your cervix, you quickly came a second time. Yet still, his fingers kept moving, only stopping for a brief moment to let you ride out your high. The look on his face let you know he was close to orgasm himself, the blush covering his cheeks made your own heat up. Seeing the older blond man so lost in ecstasy, lost in your body, was absolutely pussy clenching. He groaned and held onto you tighter, his face burying into your neck as he moaned your name. The number of times you imagined him calling out your name in pleasure had absolutely nothing on the real thing. You whined into his chest and dug your nails into his shoulder, relishing in the way his cock pounded into your hole, hitting the same spot over and over. Every little thing was mind-blowing when added together and when you heard Inoichi announce he was cumming inside of you, you easily spiraled into another orgasm of your own. You clenched around his twitching cock, milking him for all he was giving you.

After you coaxed a second orgasm from Inoichi you let him pull out, both panting hard and nearly passed out. Yet somehow, he managed to get you into the bathtub and cleaned you up, personally washing you as he whispered constant praises in your ear. You nearly fell asleep like that, if it wouldn't have been for the cold surrounding you once the water was drained. Inoichi sat you down in front of the vanity after he dried your body and affectionately brushed your hair while blow-drying it. Again, the attention and repetitive actions almost put you to sleep, your daddy coaxing you awake with kisses to your jaw. He instructed you to pick out something to wear in the closet while he waited for you in the bed. You assumed he meant to pick something of his to wear for the night, but once you entered the expansive walk-in closet, it all became a bit too clear. The wall opposite of what you assumed was Inoichi's was filled with clothes that fit your exact aesthetic. A few flips through and it confirmed, they were all in your size, some items were exact copies of things you had in your closet, others literal things that you had gone missing. The sight should have disgusted you, creeped you out, something. But looking at the wall of clothes and shoes all you could think of was how thoughtful it was of him to so thoroughly prepare for you moving in.

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[op-peccatori]

per sempre tuo (M) | IkeVamp Leonardo

Fandom: Ikemen Vampire

Pairing: Leonardo da Vinci/Fem!Reader 

Rating: Explicit/18+/NSFW

Word Count: 4400

Summary: Your lover has many different sides, and you adore every single one of them.

per sempre tuo: forever yours

a/n: Finally. This is just some unnecessarily long fluffy smut to cope with finishing his route. Yes, I did listen to Italian music for this and yes, I did cry at some of the lyrics. I recommend the first 2 (A Te and Magnolia) if you wanna give it a listen~ AND, for Thirst Purposes, I’ve installed a reading nook in Leonardo’s room.

I had a tough time with the title, trying to pick which was more appropriate, per sempre tuo or tuo per sempre, but I went with the former...

(warnings/tags under the cut)

Warnings/Tags: explicit sexual content, vaginal sex, no plot, extreme cheesiness, some minor spoilers for Leo’s route

You’re not sure what wakes you–the gentle thrum of the rain outside the windows, or the familiar, sweet scent wafting over to you.

Slipping out from underneath the comforting mantle of slumber, you shiver and curl up sleepily.  

Or maybe it was the cold, the hint of autumn chill brushing warm skin as you turn over with a groan to find your usual bedmate missing. With a quick search of the disorderly room, you blink at the way your head throbs and squint at Leonardo. He’s curled up in his little reading nook, with the window cracked open, and you watch as he–cigarillo held between sanguine smudged fingers–sucks in a mouthful of smoke. It spills from his lips in slow, curling wisps after a few seconds. 

Further inspection reveals a notebook resting on his lap, an unbuttoned shirt, and chestnut strands pulled back into a short, messy ponytail that does unfair things to your libido. You don’t sit up just yet, content to let your eyes run over him as you try to recall the events of last night. 

Dinner had, as always, been a warm, chaotic affair. You remember being unable–and unwilling because it had been a while since you had indulged–to turn down Comte’s offer of wine. You remember the slow buzz creeping through your veins as you laughed at Arthur and Theo’s bickering, the droopy look on Sebastian’s face as it snuck up on him too, and the endearing flush on Isaac’s cheeks, unsure if it was wine-induced or if it was the result of Dazai’s teasing. 

A flush fills your own cheeks as you remember Leonardo’s warm gaze and soft lips, telling you to have fun as he left to have a quick chat with his old friend.

You remember accepting another glassful of the beverage, and you remember Sebas walking you to your room–which doesn’t explain why you’re in Leonardo’s bed instead of your own. It’s a bit like staring into murky water, trying to identify what lurks beneath the surface, and it slipping away just when you’re on the verge of discovery.

You refocus on his still figure.

Leonardo is, at his core, a man of action. With an eager mind, hands that itch to reach for something or the other–a book, drawing tools, things to repair, and ever since you came into his life, you. 

Jack of all trades, master of nearly all. 

Watching him at any time is fascinating; it’s hard to take your eyes off of him, you’re always eager to watch him in motion. And then there are the times where he’s quiet.

You hadn’t realized it at first, but it’s clearer right now as you observe him silently. He’s more subdued when it rains. It had been different when the two of you had been caught out in that sudden shower, but even now, the restlessness seems to have withdrawn, leaving placidity in its wake. 

He loves his naps, but the way he’s curled up next to the window, listless, eyes unfocused–he looks almost lonely. 

“Buongiorno.” Your startled gaze meets his, the cool gold of his eyes heating as they catch you staring. He turns his head to face you, his upturned mouth and the little crinkles in the corner of his eyes sending warmth fluttering through you even from across the room. “Slept well?” 

“Mm, I think so.” A yawn catches you off guard, quickly covered up by the back of your hand. You stretch languidly, feeling your muscles release, before you sit up, reaching for the top of your head to pat down flyaways. Your dress from the previous day is draped over the back of a chair, prompting a quick startled glance down at your body. You’re in one of Leonardo’s shirts; with a grateful sigh, you reach for the glass of water he somehow managed to make space for on his crowded bedside table. “I feel like I did.”

With the way he perks up, you wonder if he’s been waiting for you to wake up and play with him. The thought amuses you for a moment; sometimes, he really does act like a cat. You meet his eyes again, and he looks curious, putting out his cigarillo in a little ashtray on the windowsill. He’s always curious about what’s going through your head. 

“I hope you do. You were out cold,” Leonardo replies after a moment’s pause, before something sly crawls into his tone, the mischief glittering in his eyes putting you on guard. “I’d say you slept like the dead, but your snoring could’ve actually woken them up instead.” 

You barely avoid choking on the cool drink, gulping down a mouthful of it as you glare at him as dangerously as you can. It only serves to widen his smile. 

“Lies.”

“Nope. It was cute, though. I like it when you snore.” 

“When I-how often do I do it?” Your voice is shriller than you would like, and he, being the infuriating man that he is, starts laughing. 

“No need to get so worked up, cara mia,” he soothes, closing his notebook and placing it on a shelf behind him. He reaches for a damp cloth, wiping his hands clean, and closes the window.  “Come here, you look cold over there.” He looks colder. 

“I am cold,” you mumble, embarrassment still hot on your skin, but you can’t resist his beckoning fingers and climb out of bed quickly, the hem of his shirt falling to the middle of your bare thighs. Picking your way across the room as deftly as you can, a low hiss escapes you as you end up stepping on what looks like a puzzle piece. 

He reaches for you with a sheepish smile, gathering you up in his arms before settling back against the wall, reaching down to rub the sole of your foot tenderly. 

“Sorry about that,” he murmurs, his calm voice warm, raspy gravel, reaching down to the very depths of you; wrapped up in his embrace, his heat seeping through the layers of cloth between your skin, you can’t help but melt into him with a soft hum. With your head cradled against his chest, you peer out the window. The skies are a solemn grey, but the flowers are there to make up for it, looking brighter in the light shower as they reach toward the heavy clouds.

You mull over his words for a moment, worry filling your heart, pressing your lips to the side of his neck before tilting your head back to look at him. “Is that why you were awake? You couldn’t sleep because of me?” 

At your words, he looks close to laughter, the corners of his lips quirked, but he fails miserably and presses it to your scrunched up brow. “I’ve slept through a lot worse, so no.” 

You study his expression for a moment longer, gauging the sincerity in his eyes, before you nod. Wondering what kind of stories are behind those soft words. “Oh. Also, did I pass out at the dining table? Because I don’t remember getting back to your room…”

“No, you didn’t. Last I saw you there, you were wide awake, and I don’t think I’ve ever heard you laugh that loudly. But by the time I got back, you’d already gone up to your room. ” Confusion creeps in, and Leonardo chases it away with a swift peck to your scrunched nose. “We should get you drunk more often.”  

You think back to dinner, and while it’s all a bit blurry you do remember having fun.

“So, I didn’t do anything embarrassing?” His fingers skim down your arm to tangle with your fingers, bringing them up so he can press his lips to the back of your hand. 

“Hmm. I think we have different opinions on what makes something ‘embarrassing’.” You stare at him until he grins again, sudden and wicked. “Don’t you remember singing for us?”

You resist the urge to jump out the window. “Oh no.”

“It was lovely,” he insists, chuckling when you swat him. 

“I can barely sing when I’m sober, and my drunken version has been likened to the screeching of a cat.”

“I don’t agree at all. I enjoyed it quite a bit.” 

“Of course you enjoyed it.” Feeling quite faint from the force of your despair, you attempt to escape his hold only for him to tighten it, pressing you back into him. You pull, he pushes. He pulls, you push. Your brief tussle ends with you sitting back against his chest, curled up between his legs, and a shiver running up your spine when you feel his lips on your neck.

“I did. Let’s see–I loved how free you looked, the way your hair escaped your neat little braid, the way you throw your head back when your laughter seizes you. The way you smiled at me, with your flushed cheeks and smiling eyes, reaching for me as if you never wish to be parted from me again. I loved it all.” His breath falls hotly on your skin and you’re frozen in his embrace, your heart holding onto every word that rolls off his silver tongue. “There was just one little problem.”

Your first attempt to speak dies in your throat. You wet your lips and try again, eyes sliding shut as he presses a burning, open-mouthed kiss beneath your jaw. “What was it?” 

Leonardo hums, lips forging a path up to your ear. “I wasn’t the only one to see all of that.” 

Fingers trace the jut of your collarbone, slow and inquisitive, as you work through the implications of his words. “I doubt anyone would see it the way you do.” 

“In this, cuore mio, you’re completely wrong. Not only do they see what I do, they covet. They envy. I don’t blame them for it, you’re a blessing one can only dream to have, but it still…” 

“But still?” 

He nips at the shell of your ear, hand smoothing across your abdomen, and your breath grows heavy. 

“It makes a part of me want to hide you away, away from their longing eyes. I would never do that, but a man still feels the need to stake his claim, yeah?” His hand dips under your shirt, tracing incomprehensible patterns on your skin, the calloused pads of his fingers skimming the skin beneath your breasts. “The entire time I was speaking with ‘Comte’ I was thinking of what beautiful side of you would be revealed next.” 

Your next words are carried on a breathless whisper.

“What did you do?” And you feel the way his lips, pressed to your temple, curl up. “What happened after that?” 

“Heh. Nothing.” He bites at the plump flesh of your cheek, light and playful even as his hand drifts up to cup one breast. Something is lodged in your throat and it feels like it might be your heart. “You did all the work for me.” 

It must’ve been something embarrassing, because you know the way he tugs at a nipple, rolling it between nimble fingers, is more of a distraction. The knowledge doesn’t stop your stomach from clenching with anticipation. “What did I do?”

“Nothing as bad as you’re imagining. I went looking for you, you see,” Leonardo licks up the length of your neck, kissing his way across your skin. Your fingers dig into the firm flesh of his thigh, holding onto the cloth as he sucks red, blooming marks. “But you weren’t in your room. Gave me quite a fright. I found you soon enough, though; stumbling through the halls, trying to find your way to your darling Leo’s room.” 

“I don’t remember that at all…”

His other hand cups your sex, heel pressing in with purpose as your head tips back, lips parting. “Don’t think anybody’s ever been that happy to see me. It was quite a kiss. Did I mention I had a few of the others looking for you too?” 

Leonardo’s palm slips further down, caressing the soft skin of your inner thigh, his cheek brushing yours when you try to look at him. He helps you turn around, leaving you kneeling between his legs, his fingers brushing your cheeks before he cups them and pulls you into a sweet kiss. The taste of his thin cigar spills rich on your tongue, the proof of his arousal brushing against your knee, but he seems content to just kiss you, tongue curling around yours, making a satisfied little sound low in his throat.

Desire burns low in your belly and you pull away with a gasp, forehead dipping to press against his.

With eyes dancing with fervour, he doesn’t look so lonely anymore. You worry, sometimes, that you won’t be able to reach him, that your worlds are too different. He’s a living legend who seems so out of everyone’s league it’s almost funny. 

But he’s also Leo: easygoing and warm, when all he wants is to curl up in your arms, to kiss you, and run his hands all over you, a dragon curling and rubbing itself all over its greatest treasure. When he just soaks up every bit of affection you offer him like a starving sponge.

The flat of his palm meets the soft flesh of your rear with a low smack, pulling you out of your musing. 

“I think that’s really e-embarrassing.” 

Such a demanding old cat, you think. Always wanting to hoard your attention. You should save that one; he gets, quite subtly, but adorably huffy when you say that. You’ve seen his quiet, simmering anger over the big things, but it brings you an odd sort of joy when he gets playfully mad at you over the little things. When instead of shrugging it off, he pouts until you’ve peppered enough kisses all over his face. 

He pinches your stinging flesh.

“Don’t agree. Story’s not over, though. So, then I brought you back here, but you decided to be a bad girl and torture your helpless compagno.” His hands slip up your shirt to cup your breasts, your back arching when his thumbs brush over tightening nipples.

“I’m not sure h-helpless is a word I would ever use to de-describe you.” Desire begins to pool between your legs, your head dropping back when he rolls the peaks between his forefingers and thumbs. You slip the shirt over your head, much to his approval and he doesn’t hesitate before leaning in for a taste, his next words spoken into your skin.

“No, you wouldn’t, would you? But when the love of your life kisses you so sweetly, tasting like rich wine, with her hand on your cock–” He sucks a taut nipple into his mouth, working his mouth roughly as you moan and weave trembling fingers through his hair. “And you have to tuck her into bed because she’s drunk, and spend the rest of the night trying to think of the most disgusting things you’ve seen in your life? One can only wonder what circle of hell invented this.” 

“I-“ your skin burns at the thought of you trying to drunkenly seduce him, and you sit back on your heels with ears burning hotly. “I’m sorry.” 

“Me too. You put up a real tough fight, nearly convinced me…the places my mind went…” Leonardo sighs and slips a leg between your thighs, laughing when you squirm at the firm muscle of his thigh pressing into your sex. “Yeah? You wanna know?” 

“Did I really do that?” It comes to you in one single sentence, and the memory of Leonardo’s body pinned beneath you. 

“I just want to feel you. Please?”

Strong hands grip your hips and pull you forward, the friction robbing you of all coherence for a second. “I very nearly prayed.” 

You can’t help but laugh at that, planting soft kisses on both his cheeks, reaching for the collar of his shirt to pull him closer. “I’m really sorry.”

“Mm.” The pleased possessiveness in his eyes always takes your breath away, and the way he sighs and relaxes at your touch makes your heart thump in delight. It always ends up this way; a quiet moment spent with hands running over warm skin, the muscles of his chest firm under your fingers, your spine stretching as his palm slides along the length of it. “I’ll allow you to make up for it.”

“Yeah?” Your lips brush over his, and you breathe in the sweet scent lingering in his breath. Your hand slides down his solid abdomen, coming to rest on the waistband of his pants. “What do you need me to do?” 

With a small hum, his darkened eyes fixated on yours, clever fingers brush your breasts, your sex, and in a move that makes your breath hitch in your throat, they wander over to your rear, between plump flesh–and you immediately consider if what you’ll need is available or if you’ll have to run down to the kitchen. 

Leonardo kisses his way across your cheek, soft and sweet, lips warming your ear. “Smile for me.”

You blink as he pulls back to grin boyishly at you, feeling your brow twitch as your head drops to his shoulder. “You make me feel like a horny pervert.”

“Aren’t you?”

The sound you make is childish, near whiny in tone as you attempt to jump off his lap and flee to the safety of his bed. An admirable attempt, but one that is foiled right away by his arms wrapping around you. “Hey, don’t run from me.” 

“Leave me to my shame, Leo.” He pulls you close, chest pressing to chest, and your lips quiver at the feeling of your breasts against his muscle, and the way he tries to look stern but his affection just softens it until you want to eat him up. 

“You’re so pretty, Leo. Sometimes I wanna just eat you up.”

Dear Lord. Drunk you is shameless. 

“No shame in wanting your lover, cara mia,” Leonardo coos, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. “I want you just as badly, in every single way, all the time. Il mio cuore è tutto per te,” he murmurs, pulling your hips down to meet his, your mouth watering at the hard ridge of his erection. 

“I don’t see you making a fool of yourself,” you breathe, rolling your hips into his, thrill unfurling within you when he growls throatily. 

“If you saw what goes on in my head, you would run.” His voice is a power unto itself, growing deeper, going straight to your pussy. You reach for the fly of his pants, unbuttoning it swiftly and tugging at them until he lifts his hips with a thick chuckle. 

“Never. I’m far braver than that, and much too in love,” you declare, yanking the fabric down his thighs, taking a moment to admire the thick muscle defining them. 

“And you say I’m the smooth talker.” You crawl up the length of his long legs, his keen eyes raking over you, swaying breasts calling his hands to them like fleshy magnets. “Come to me, cara mia. I’ve been waiting too long to get my hands on you.” 

The head of his hard cock pokes at your thigh when you settle over his lap, his legs spread out. It begins to leak with a few pumps from you, and your eyes flit between the beads of his precome and the way his lashes flutter with each movement of your hand. 

“I don’t think I can wait too long,” he groans. “I was hard most of the night. Wanted you so bad.” 

“Sorry, baby.” You press your lips to his chastely, again and again until his other hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, keeping you there. Rough fingers reach your entrance, collecting drops of your arousal before pushing in. A wicked grin stretches across your mouth, matching his own. 

“Ah, I don’t think you’re up for waiting either.” Shuffling on your knees, you guide the head of his cock to your entrance, slack-jawed as you sink onto it. 

“...Fuck, Leo.” 

Leonardo draws you into another kiss, teeth sinking into your lip when you clench him tightly. His hands squeeze your thighs and, in a display of strength that honest to god has your pussy fluttering, he lifts onto his knees with ease, your legs coming to wrap around his hips. With his tongue still licking into your mouth, he pulls you half off his cock before jerking you back down and slamming his hips into yours. He swallows every moan, every cry, every wrecked sound that climbs up your throat. 

“You feel so good, cara mia. So perfect. And you’re all mine,” he growls into your skin, his thrusts relentless, intent on taking you apart. He presses you back into the bookshelf, and your heart pounds in your chest when he adjusts his grip on your thighs, pushing them back and hooking your calves over his broad shoulders.

The next, merciless slide of his length into you has your eyes rolling back. It’s only in this, when it comes to sex and your pleasure that Leonardo can push you in different, filthy ways until you’re left shaking. Your voice climbs in pitch with every rough thrust, your hands scrambling for purchase on a shelf behind you. 

“There, oh, there, please, k-keep doing that,” you sob, blinking back tears as you look up at him pleadingly, burning hotter at the sharp, consuming desire you see. He presses what feels like impossibly closer, the burning in your thighs strong but the drag of his skin against your bundle of nerves overwhelming. 

“Come for me, ___,” he groans, a wicked smile ghosting across his lips, allowing you a glimpse of fanged teeth and you see stars. Your back arches, head thumping against wood; your walls clamp down, and a hiss leaves his lips as you break in his arms. He slows his pace, fucking you through it, lips chasing away the tears spilling over. 

Forehead pressed to his shoulder, chest heaving, mind and body more jelly than flesh–his cock is still heavy in you, and an involuntary whimper sounds deep in your throat when you look up at him. He kisses you gently.

And with all his gentle affection, he pulls you off of his length and sets you down in front of the window, back arched and ass out, the glass cool against your sweaty cheek. You hiss softly when he slides in again, your breath fogging up the glass, his front curled over your back. Brushing away damp strands, he plants open-mouthed kisses on the nape of your neck, your shoulders. Twining your hair around his fist, other hand steady on your hip–he angles his hips and thrusts deep. 

You had been sure you didn’t have it in you to make even the slightest noise, but your body disagrees in the form of a low keen, your aching cunt swallowing him greedily. 

“That’s my good girl,” Leonardo exhales, his pace turning swifter and harder, the sound of skin slapping against skin providing an erotic contrast to the soothing rain. “Sorry for being so greedy but…” His fingers find your swollen clit and heat coils in your belly. “...I want one more.”

Denying him, your own pleasure at that, is not something within your capacity.

He muffles a guttural groan in your skin, nearly rutting into you as you wail, loud and wanton, unravelling once more. His pace stutters and liquid heat fills you in thick spurts. You turn your head, weak but wanting, to welcome his lips on yours.

Cracking the window open once more, you curl up against his body, his heat more than enough to shield you from the cold. You brush his hair away from his face, his having slipped free in the frenzy of desire. He rubs your lower back gently, covering you with his still-warm shirt, reclining against the bookshelf; you think you almost hear him purr his contentment. 

“Wait, where’s Lumière?” You’ve seen no sign of him, and the thought relieves you a little.

“Following Sebas around, last I saw him,” he mumbles, nosing at the skin behind your ear. You’re both so sweaty, but you wonder if you can make it to Le Thermae without running into any curious residents. “Also, cara mia, there was something I wanted to ask you.” 

“Mm?”

“I talked to Comte about it, and he’s agreed so you don’t need to worry about that. If you’re okay with it, I wanted to take a little trip.” You look at him and he pokes your cheek, but there’s no missing the hopeful look in those eyes. 

“Just us?”

“Just us. I want you all to myself,” he tells you, smug smirk and cockiness, before it softens into a tiny smile. “I had some work, back in Italy. Thought I could take you, show you around since we’d have the chance. Only if you’d like to, of course.”

“I’d love to.” Your immediate response is, quite embarrassingly, teary eyes and an enthusiastic kiss. Pulling back, you raise a brow. “Only if I’d like to? You mean you wouldn’t have wrapped me up in my sleep and taken me along anyway?”

“As you cute as you look when you’re grumpy,” he laughs at the narrowing of your glittering eyes, “the journey would be far more pleasant if you’re happy, no?”

“But I’m always happy when I’m with you,” you point out, foxy smile in place. The fuzzy feeling in your heart feels close to spilling over when he hugs you closer, but you still catch the way the tips of his ears flush. He holds you close as if wanting to imprint the feeling of your body against his, to sear your love onto his heart, to inhale the scent of you and trap it in his lungs–before the day comes when he will no longer have the chance to.

You turn away from the sadness and bury your face in his chest.

“Y-yeah, well. It’s time you got to eat some of the best food in the world.”

Now is the time for love, and you plan to give him so much, to paint him in the colours of your adoration, devotion and passion–that loneliness will not dare touch him for a long, long time.

Thank you for reading~ 

Translation:

il mio cuore è tutto per te: my heart is all for you

cuore mio: my heart 

per sempre tuo: forever yours (tuo is masculine singular possessive, tua is feminine singular possessive)  

[calpops]

falling facade | c.h.

part six: falling feelings

part one: falling flowers | part two: falling freedom | part three: falling fears | part four: falling failures | part five: falling fame

5k words

Copyright © 2020 calpops. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format (translations included).

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“What’s this?”

Calum’s attention swiftly turned from cleaning his house and getting it ready for his parents arrival to Arden. She stood in the kitchen, facing the fridge with a timid hand outreached to the door. He knew exactly what caught her attention and prompted the question. He bit back a smirk as he left the throw blanket he was folding in favor of sidling up to her, hip pressing into the cabinets and a nonchalant hand finding the cool marble of the countertops. Her fingers lingered on familiar paper and she turned to face him with a raised eyebrow.

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten your own work,” Calum teased and let his smirk come back full force.

She let out a small giggle through her interrogation and shook her head. “Okay wise guy. Why is it on display on your fridge door?”

The paper placemat Arden had quickly drawn Calum in in red crayon and sharp lines laid under a magnet on the face of his fridge. He had fished it out of his wallet the night before, not having forgotten it in the folds but keeping it around in an attempt to remind himself of what was real. Their time at the diner was the first of many escapes. It was a comfort to know something honest and authentic stayed with him when he was forced to lie through his teeth; to fabricate stories during interviews, to pose for social media and paparazzi. It was of him and drawn by her in a moment that no one else got to share. It was theirs and theirs alone.

“Because I’m still waiting for a painting to put on the wall. I thought that’d be a good place holder and reminder,” he said and shot a pointed look at the blank living room wall; the empty space above the fireplace begging for life of lively colors and loose waves created by Arden’s hands. It was front and center. A place Calum would be able to see it from almost any position in the living area of his home. He continued in a teasing tone, “you should really get to it.”

Their conversation on the beach about the Clifford house hallway once being lined with Arden’s art only to be replaced by band accolades hadn’t escaped Calum. His request of a painting reminiscent of sunset on the beach wouldn’t go forgotten or be replaced. Arden nodded, the motion was slow and her gaze was indecisive, fingers abandoning the placemat to curl at her sides. A forced shrug lifted her shoulders.

“You know painting is just a hobby for me, right? They’re nothing special,” she said, her voice became meek and her eyes averted his gaze.

Calum was picking up on subtle queues. Her usual ability to hold eye contact faltered when anything about her life was in question. The strength of her words felt weak and weary as if there was a weight crushing her; taking away her usual eloquent articulation and animation. Calum eyed her for a moment, took a peek at the drawing on the fridge and turned back to her.

“Just a hobby,” he replied to the first half of her statement. “That you enjoy and are really good at.”

She smirked, finally looked directly at him once more and raised an eyebrow in challenge. “I also enjoy dancing while I clean and singing in the shower but I assure you I have no rhythm and am not the Clifford sibling blessed with vocal abilities. Sometimes we just do things; whether we’re good at them or not.”  

Calum didn’t know if he had the ability to challenge her further, to push her and make the strength in her voice falter again. So he changed the subject and took her mind away from replaced paintings and feelings of inadequacy and back to lighthearted teasing tones that lifted weight off the reality they were living. Just like moments in the car where their situation became a joke, Calum changed gears in hopes it would make her smile and quip back at him.

“So you won’t be singing at our wedding then,” he said with an over dramatic sigh and side eye; found that his plan rewarded him with a smile and a laugh.

“No, I’ll save that for you,” she replied and twisted the ring that Calum was becoming accustomed to seeing on her finger. The diamond was still much too gaudy and unlike her but it felt familiar and Calum was unable to picture her without it. “If you’re lucky maybe I’ll show you my dancing on our honeymoon.”

Now Calum’s cheeks were warm and tinting with a blush that spoke of the implications her words held; watched as she skipped away from him with a sarcastic laugh following her to the living room where she finished folding the abandoned throw blanket. Calum didn’t have a comeback or rebuttal though his thoughts were filled and alarm bells tried their best to ring through the haze. He shook himself, tried to blow those thoughts away and nearly jumped at the sudden knock on the door. For a moment he feared it was their parents arriving early, interrupting their plan to work out what details they would and would not share with them during their suspected inquisition. But he rationalized and realized it was Michael, he was to arrive early to be in on the details. He wasn’t sure if Michael’s arrival was better or worse.  

***

Calum’s arm found its way around Arden’s shoulder in an all too natural sense. It fit a little too perfectly, was a little too easy and normal. Eyes were on them, parents and siblings; eyes that questioned and eyes that knew but had inklings of wonder clouding them. Michael had agreed to keep up the charade though he made a point that he wouldn’t like it and they both owed him big time. Calum’s arm around Arden was all part of the act but Calum could tell Michael was pondering why it was so easy for them to pull off. He could also see the doubt in his sister’s frown and hoped the panic wasn’t so clearly written on his face. He knew he wasn’t standing with his usual confidence, posture a bit slumped and weight bearing into the cabinet behind him. But Arden eased into his side and loosely held his hand; helped to settle the nerves that simmered and sparked with their families arrival.

“What’s this?” His sister Mali asked, repeating Arden’s earlier words verbatim, touching the same place mat secured to the fridge in the same exact way.

A small grin captured the corners of Calum’s mouth. There were a lot of things he felt he wasn’t prepared to answer or could have thought out more, but Arden’s art wasn’t among them. He knew exactly what to say.

“Arden drew it. On our first date,” he offered and felt the shift of Arden moving to look up at him.

“First date?” She wondered aloud, eyes meeting and holding gazes as she arched her eyebrow in question and amusement.

“At the diner,” Calum began and blew out a breath, hand gliding down her arm as he got lost in the role; caught up in a new game where control really did land in their own hands. He offered truths veiled with something more and something less. He shifted his gaze back to Mali who was eyeing them both; sizing them and their story up. “She told me to sit still and hid it from me until it was done. I’m keeping it up until she gives me a real painting.”

Mali nodded but her eyes squinted and lips pursed for a moment. She took a few seconds to accept the truth and offer a smile before wandering off in search of Duke; past their parents congregated in the dining area. Calum let out a deep breath, all the nerves that felt on the edge of exploding calmed at his sister’s acceptance. Neither Calum or Arden moved from their position, his arm still held her close and her hand didn’t drop from its hold. If asked by Michael later it would be out of necessity. If Calum was honest with himself it’d be a source of comfort.

“Here I thought our first date was the wedding,” Arden whispered, nose twitching as she blushed a timid pink. She stayed quiet so no one else could hear her words but her eyes were wide and told Calum truths no one else would understand. “Your way we got engaged before we even started dating.”

She let out a small giggle and the sound was enough to collide with Calum’s nerves and make the slight alteration of the truth come to life and feel real. Maybe their first date was the wedding, maybe it was an escape in a run down diner, maybe it was a night under the stars during a dying party where inhibitions roamed free. Maybe they hadn’t been on a date at all. What Calum knew was whether the scenarios were real or fake there was something building within him that he couldn’t control or deny.

“We didn’t need to date before we got engaged,” Calum whispered back, eyes averting to the dining room for a split second to ensure their privacy. Their parents still lingered and made small talk; Michael did his best to act as the host. “It was love at first sight, right?”

Arden shook her head, tendrils of hair fell into her face that Calum felt comfortable enough to push back behind her ear this time. She bit her lip and pushed away from the counter their backs were pressed against; Calum worrying for a moment she was also pushing away from him, but she stayed under his arm and her hand firmly held his.

“I’ve known you most my life. I don’t think we fell in love when we were six.”

“Love at second first sight then,” he amended with a laugh; wondering if there might be some validity to that statement.

During their time in the face of the facade Calum often found himself thinking of the first night he had seen Arden again. The house party was ingrained in his memory and the subtleties of her under moonlight stayed with him in vivid flashes and familiar words. He hadn’t known it upon second first sight, not in that split second when their eyes met across the yard and she offered a recognized head nod, but it started to become apparent with backs pressed to the siding, drinks gone empty and pouty lips begging for a favor.

Calum let Arden lead him into the dining area where they were met with an unexpected outcome. Mali’s slight doubt and questioning was drowned out by the belief of their parents. The stories they fed them seemed to win them over; made them excited at the prospect of their children finding each other and falling in love. Though it was quick and unprecedented—with phone calls and circumstances that felt nothing short of suspicious—their parents were blinded by what they assumed was their children’s happiness. Happy. Proud. Excited. All of those words floated around them in a barrage of parental chatter. Calum felt the shift in Arden before he saw it; the way she stiffened against his side, her hold loosening on his hand and the shift of weight from one foot to the other and back again in a rhythmic sway of uncertainty. He wondered if it was anxiety, if the situation wasn’t okay, if there was underlying guilt brimming to the surface.

They made it through dinner, most of the time was spent in a haze that passed over Calum’s thoughts as he drifted from checking the rigid posture that captured Arden and the beaming smiles that their parents graced them with. Every intone of excitement, every near teary eyed admission of pride and pitch of happiness in their voices had Arden lurching. It was minimal and went past the others but Calum caught the subtleties; the slight twitch of her arm or the purse of her lips, the downcast gazes of shiny eyes. His own nerves had calmed but he worried for Arden. It was her want to keep up the charade but he had to wonder if her mind was changing and what that meant for the rest of the visit.

It wasn’t until after dinner when the dishes were done and everyone had split up into smaller groups that Calum sensed something was completely amiss. Arden was in the living room with Mali and her mom—he’d heard her voice just moments ago—but when he rounded the corner she was gone. Before he could ask, before he could even form the thought to ask, Mali was answering for him.

“She took Duke out,” Mali said as she stood and gestured to the sliding glass doors that lead to the backyard. Calum was quick to head over but his sister stopped him short with a low murmur and hand on his wrist. “I know management has a hand in this.”

Calum knew his surprise showed; jaw slackening and an air of disbelief leaving him at the unexpected cornering. Mali could read Calum like a book and they’d never been ones to keep secrets. She was a bit more comfortable reaching and pushing for answers than Calum was but knew when to let up. Her touch fell and she nodded out the door.

“But I know you’re doing what you think is best.”

Calum swallowed down a lump in his throat and exited the house with Mali’s parting words ringing through his mind. The yard was empty, the sun was setting low on the horizon and casting glimmering specks of light against the water in the pool. It reminded him of the sunset dancing along the beach. Of Arden in the water and his towel. Of moments that were too real to be part of the farce. She was nowhere in sight and the usual jingle of the tags on Duke's collar couldn’t be heard. He figured she must have gone to the front yard or up the street to give the old dog a good stretch and walk after dinner. He rounded the side of the house and stopped short. She sat in a familiar position; back pressed to the siding and face turned to the sky. Duke was settled in her lap and nosing his concern into her stomach. Her hands slowly pet him and Calum came to see the glint of a fallen tear tracking down her cheek.

“Arden,” he said her name softly, his own worries etched into his voice. He didn’t want to startle her but she turned to him quickly and wiped at the tear, tried to pretend it wasn’t there or that he hadn’t seen it. She was making to get up but Calum settled down beside her and she stilled. “What’s going on?”

She sighed and he heard the brokenness of her breath. The fracture between the inhale and exhale. “Pretending is just a lot harder than I thought.”

Calum’s chest tightened and his fingers curled into his palms at her response. Her voice was shaky and her hazel eyes were distant. He didn’t understand what she meant. It all seemed to be going well—their parents weren’t as probing as they thought they’d be, they weren’t disappointed in their rash decision or the way they painted the engagement; with glints of the truth and softened edges of drunken escapades.

“Why? They’re all okay with it. Happy even,” Calum offered in an attempt to soothe whatever was bothering her.

Pretending for their parents had been her idea; a request so as not to disappoint her parents with a drunken story and fake relationship. They curated pieces of the truth together and kept to their guns. It was working. But she was cracking and Calum didn’t know why.

“Did you hear them?” She asked and shook her head as Duke nuzzled in even closer, feeling her distress and wanting to offer comfort as well. “They said they’re happy… and proud. The only thing they can be proud of me for is something that’s not even real.”

Calum blanched at that statement. He felt the wind knock out of him and suddenly all the subtleties of Arden at the table began to make sense. It was his turn to shake his head, not able to grasp why she would feel that way. But the shine of her eyes and the bite of her lip spoke volumes of the sorrows she was feeling.

“They didn’t say that’s all they have to be proud of,” Calum reasoned, knowing her parents and the love and pride they had for both of their children and all of their accomplishments.

“I know,” she seemingly agreed and let out another breath. “But they didn’t say they were proud of anything else. Because there’s nothing else.”

“That’s not true,” Calum denied and knew he shouldn’t tell her her feelings were wrong or invalid but they sounded like intrusive thoughts and self doubt; something he’d struggled with himself and would’ve liked to have someone to put them into a new perspective. “You went to university, you travelled, made amazing art—there’s plenty more than us for them to be proud of.”

Arden didn’t say anything for a moment, content to take comfort in the affection Duke was showing her. Calum saw the wavering of her jaw and contemplation cut across her face. She took another few seconds to pull her thoughts together before turning to look him full on, familiar eye contact bringing her fully back to him. He preferred when their gazes didn’t break—liked the strength he could find in hazel even when the subject was delicate and breakable.

“Michael never told you why I really came to visit, did he?” She inquired and Calum realized he hadn’t even asked.

He was too caught up in getting to know her and playing the game that he forgot it all started with a visit. He forgot she had been dodgy in answering that first night at the party. He was sure there was more reasoning than missing Michael for her sudden appearance in a place she so vehemently avoided and seemingly despised.

“No,” Calum answered. “I didn’t ask either. I figured you’d tell me when you were ready.”

Her shoulders slumped as if the weight of the story was bearing down on her at the prospect of telling the truth. Eye contact was steady as she opened up and revealed pieces of her past Calum had only been left to wonder about.

“I was supposed to be figuring things out here. Trying to get my life together and make decisions. Michael was trying to help.”

Calum nodded his understanding. There was a time when he had decisions he needed to make too; two paths unwound at the same time and no right or wrong answer had seemingly been in sight. He’d done the same, sought out his family and then listened to what was inside of him. It took time and then it was sudden, the band was the path he followed and it was a choice he had never regretted. He wanted Arden to follow a path like that too, to wherever she was seeking and find whatever she wanted in life.

“I get it. I know how difficult that can be,” he said and watched as a look of disbelief cut across her features and settled in the way she stared blankly back at him.

“How would you know?” She asked and though the question may have seemed accusatory or like he could never understand, her tone verged on begging to know if he really did and how it was possible. “You had the band. Isn’t that what you always wanted? Didn’t you just… know?”

Calum let out a small and almost sarcastic laugh and quieted when he realized Arden was serious. He realized she didn’t know the choices he faced. They weren’t exactly close during their teenage years; the formation and come up of the band had divided their worlds even more so. It was hard to think of those times, after the weeks Calum had spent with her and all the bits and pieces of their pasts coming back it pained him to think they had been so close yet so very distant from each other for years.

“I had the band and I had football. I had to choose,” he explained and caught her attention as he noted the arch of her eyebrow and the stall of her hand petting Duke.

“But you had options,” she mumbled. “Either would have been something to be proud of.”

“Neither had that certainty, the band might not have succeeded, my football career could have burnt out before it really began. I had to make a choice and then I had to take a chance.”

A breeze passed between them as Arden contemplated his honesty. The situations weren’t carbon copies of each other but they were similar enough Calum felt empathy rattling his ribcage and putting a pang of pain through his heart. The crumple of her face and the stray tear she didn’t bother to brush away left Calum breathless and wanting to reach out. He was hyper aware of everything; their parents in the house, Michael, alarm bells ringing so clearly in his mind, but drowned them out in favor of following his initial instinct. The pad of his thumb was gentle across her cheek, she didn’t say anything, didn’t flinch or question the action. His hand and heart fell as she slightly pulled away and abandoned his gaze to stare up at the night sky. She shifted and settled, sighed once more and geared up to voice her thoughts and struggles by sinking into the comfort Duke provided.

“I wish I had something more solid, something I want. All I have is half a degree and no fucking idea what I want to do with my life. I dropped out of university and travelled to ‘find myself’ but really just ran away. I have nothing that I’m good at.”

Calum was about to interject and remind her of paintings that once hung in the hallway and a place mat posted on the fridge. Her hand finding its way to his knee stopped the words from coming out and he had to wonder if that was her intention. One breath and it was gone.

“At least, nothing that I’m so passionate about that I know it’s what I want,” she said in one fell swoop and surprised Calum. “I don’t have a dream that I'm chasing. If anything I’m only trying to move out of someone’s shadow and doing a bang up job of it. Now I’m caught behind two and stuck in lies that will never end. That’s nothing to be proud of.”

Calum’s throat tightened at the unexpected honesty and turn the night had taken. Only minutes before they were surrounded by family and mindless small talk—or so Calum thought. It was about the engagement and the band and in that moment Calum realized anything to do with Arden outside of their situation hadn’t been brought up. He couldn’t imagine feeling casted into the shadows. His heart ached for her and the struggles she felt she was facing alone.

“I’m sorry for asking you to pretend with our families,” she added, head shaking slightly. “That wasn’t fair. I should just toughen up and tell them the truth. And don’t worry, I’ll tell them it’s my fault and I asked you to go along with it. You shouldn’t have to take the fall for my lies.”

She made to move as if to get up but Calum was quick to stop her; just a light touch and slight shift stalling her intent and bringing them closer. Duke was in her arms but found his way to the ground and stalked off back into the house. A belated moment and skipped heart beat gathered courage for Calum and helped words come out that he had been thinking for weeks. Words that settled in the back of his throat and burned sugary sweet.

“What if it’s not all pretend?”

“What?” Arden was quick to respond and panic—the fear that captured her eyes was unsettling. “Calum, what do you mean?”

She was poised and waiting for his answer as his mind went into chaos. He wasn’t sure he was ready to face everything that came with his own truth but the words came out too soon to stop them. His thoughts were tangled now, fleeting visions of real moments dancing around his mind.

“That we’ve been real… with each other. All those moments away from it all. Those were real. Weren’t they?”

They were real to him—and so were the feelings that followed and defined those moments. The alarm bells rang in full force as she tilted her head and the minimal distance between them felt craterous and minuscule all at once. Peaches invaded his senses and the taste of sugar was just a breath away but it was blown away by approaching footsteps. Arden moved away on instinct and Calum wondered if alarm bells rang in her mind as well. She settled back on the grass just in time for Michael to round the corner and come into view with his arms crossed and a ghost of a smirk disappearing from his face. Calum and Arden both looked up at him in silence and waited for him to speak first.

“Everyone was wondering where you guys wandered off to,” he began and then shot a pointed look at his sister. “Mum and Joy are talking about wedding dresses. Told them I’d find you, they thought you wouldn’t want to miss it.”

“Right, thanks for the heads up,” Arden said around a sigh and began to stand.

She shot Calum a glance as Michael began to lead her back to the house. Calum was quick to get up and follow her into the conversation of possible bridal styles and centerpieces. Duke had found his way to his usual perch on the couch and perked up when Calum and Arden walked in. Calum took up Arden’s side as she broke into the discussion by clearing her throat to announce her presence. The mothers turned to look at her; eyes alight with wedding wonder and idle chit chat being broken.

“I don’t know how to say this,” Arden began and Calum’s stomach sank as he realized the truth was verging on her lips. His hand reached out for hers, in solidarity, to show that he would stand beside her no matter what she decided. They could weather the storm better together than stranded and alone.  “But Calum and I aren’t getting married.”

Instant regret flooded Arden’s eyes as the room fell silent and shock hung thick within the air. She tensed against his side and turned to look at him with a pleading expression that Calum could only interpret as reversing the statement and making the visible disappointment and heartache vanish from the room. He hoped it was what she wanted.

“Not yet, anyway. We rushed the engagement, clearly. We don’t want to rush the wedding too. We want to enjoy some time together without the pressure of planning. We’ll let you guys know when we’re ready for that,” Calum jumped in smoothly as he watched the panic disperse from Arden’s eyes and felt the appreciative squeeze of his hand—a signal and a thank you that reassured him his hope was correct.

Everyone simmered at his explanation; they called Arden’s statement complete theatrics and not a funny joke though they were laughing, Calum guessed it was more so in relief than in good jest. Michael was the only one who didn’t wear a reaction so clearly on his face, just an arch of a questioning eyebrow at the initial honesty of Arden he hadn’t been privy to. Calum knew some explaining to Michael was due—and that Mali wouldn’t be so easily satiated with the on the fly explanation he had come up with.

The rest of the evening went by in a blur of nerves that kept both Calum and Arden on their toes. They tried their bests to remember the odds and ends of what had already been said. Mali pulled Calum aside for a moment as the night was dying down and a bite of fear coursed through him as he knew her suspicions were sharp and came with merit.

“I still don’t know what’s really going on,” she began and offered a sympathetic smile that helped to calm his nerves. “But I can tell there’s something real there. Just be careful, okay? I don’t want to see either of you ending up hurt. Especially not by each other.”

Calum took her words for all they were worth but only slightly nodded to show he had been listening. He still couldn’t manage to give her the answers she was seeking but the nod acted as much more than a method to show he was listening. He understood. He confirmed. He agreed. The last thing he wanted was for this entire situation to end with hurting hearts.

The hole of lies and half truths they were falling into was being dug deeper and deeper; no landing was in sight. He swept the room as everyone prepared to leave or settle in for the night and his stare landed back on Arden who hadn’t peeled her eyes away from him since his saving moment. It took one look to realize that falling was okay, as long as it was with her. As long as it was real. Calum had started to speak his truth to her and now he could only hope that all of the falling feelings that consumed him were somewhere within her as well.

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[feralrosie]

Fairy Lights

Hewwo @damagecontroldumortain happy (late) valentine’s day! I’m sorry it took so long, but here’s your @loveinwayhaven gift ♥ hope you like it!

The Wayhaven Chronicles Adam/Janey (F!Detective) Words: 2600 Rating: G Tags: Fluff, lots of fluff; Valentine’s day Read on AO3

On second thought, maybe she was the one delivering spring to that place.

**

It took them a little over one hour to arrive at the botanical garden just outside Wayhaven, although Detective Kingston insisted that they could have done it in less time, if it was not for Adam’s careful driving. Of course, he was very confident in his own skills, but it was the reckless attitudes of humans on the road that could endanger this trip—mission. That could endanger this mission.

“You know that I’m going to drive on the way back, right?” Janey joked as soon as they parked by the gates of the garden, where vines intertwined along the fences, chipping the white paint to expose the coppery colour of the metal underneath.

“I am far more qualified to drive. I have better reflexes, sight and training.” His tone was as stiff as his muscles, button-down shirt marking every line of his chest as he turned off the Agency’s SUV. “And besides, a vehicle this size is too big for you. You wouldn’t reach the pedals.” 

“How dare—” 

“Let’s get going.” A hint of a smile formed on his lips as he pushed his aviators up the curve of his nose and got out of the car. Was fast enough to walk around it and open the door for the woman, offering a hand for support as she jumped out of it. “Mind your step,” he mumbled, but her attention was already focused on the garden ahead. 

Despite the ancient appearance of its entrance, the place itself was impeccable. A path of cobblestone, with no signs of moss, guided the guests among thousands of trees, contouring an icy lake in the middle of the park. The woods, dark and imposing, also had trails of its own, winding through in irregular shapes. In a bright late afternoon such as this one, the scene was idyllic. The sun leaked through the canopies, trying to deliver life to the garden, but meeting the silent landscape of dormant bushes and leafless trunks covered in glittering snow instead. Only the pine trees tried their best to add some colour with strokes of dark green reaching the clear blue sky.

Must have been a gift for the garden to welcome the deep red of Janey’s hair among them. Adam noticed, as she led the way in front of him, how contrasting she was to the scenery, bursting with life and colour. Even the soft breeze that danced around them and waved her locks seemed to agree that whatever beauty nature had was no match for her.

“Alright,” Janey clapped her hands while turning on her heels to face the Agent, pulling him back from his thoughts in a startle. “What are we looking for, exactly? What do we need for this mission?” 

Ah, yes, the mission. It was more like a simple task, really. Recently, a lesser kingdom of fairies took residence in Wayhaven, attracted by the Detective’s powerful presence, but even a small town like that could overwhelm such tiny creatures, and so the Agency needed to find another place for them. 

“The Firefly Fairies will need a place safe from humans,” Adam stated, wrapping his coat around his torso and crossing his arms. “But it must also be a place safe from this weather. Perhaps somewhere distant from the pathway.” 

She agreed with a simple nod, and in no time they were walking side by side into the woods. If it was just her body heat or something else, Adam could not tell, but the cold was not so harsh next to her. Maybe this was the reason for the fairy kingdom being drawn to her in the first place; she felt comfortable and welcoming to everyone with her charm and friendly personality. It was impossible to not let yourself be engulfed by someone like her, and Adam wasn’t the only one who felt like that… Right?

“I must apologise, Detective.” He broke the silence between them after a few minutes, not because it made him uneasy, but quite the opposite. Janey aimed a puzzled look at him, waiting for him to proceed. “Surely I impeded other plans you must have had for today.” 

“What do you mean?”  

“It is Valentine’s Day, is it not?” The words almost got stuck in the back of his throat, suddenly dry. “I believe many consider this to be a special date.”

“Oh.” The sound escaped from her lips, and Adam couldn’t help but to look at her for just a moment. Her heart was beating a little faster, which explained the rosy colour forming on her cheeks—delicate and unexpected, but not slightly fragile. “Don’t worry, I didn’t have any plans.”

“Hard to believe—” 

“And even if I had,” she bursted, shoving her hands inside the pockets of her jacket. Their gaze met for such a brief moment that he thought he imagined it when those light brown eyes faced the path ahead once more. “I would rather spend the afternoon with you, anyway.”

He came to a halt, as if the words had taken him off balance. The idea of inviting her to spend a couple hours with him, not for a mission but for leisure, was not new, and crossed his mind multiple times (it was, what, the third time that week?), but the implications that Janey might actually have accepted if he asked sent a wave of electricity down this chest. Could it be that she also noticed the date on the calendar and agreed to come along in this foolish mission because of him? 

True that her presence was everything Adam had in mind when preparing for it. He was hoping that she would accompany him to this botanical garden, under the excuse that she, as a Wayhaven citizen, had been there before and could guide them better. But he was an agent and had a job to do. No matter how much she instilled wonderful and alarming new sensations in him, he should focus on the task ahead.

“How about this place?” Janey was a few meters away, and Adam didn’t have to force his feet to reach her. She was pointing at a lonely oak tree, large enough to accommodate a house for humans. A kingdom of fairies would fit there just as well, except… 

“This tree is in a clearing,” he said, resting his hands on his hips and taking a look around the place. “They would prefer a denser area, with more flowers.”

“What about that one?” 

Adam’s gaze followed where she was pointing, taking its time to also notice that she was not wearing any gloves. Felt an urge to hold her hands, take them closer to his lips and blow gently a warm breath to provide her just a glimpse of the comfort she brought him. 

“Adam?” He might have taken too long admiring her fingers, and when Janey called again, the icy green eyes finally landed on their next destination.

A greenhouse on the other side of the park.

“Worth assessing the place. Lead the way.” 

Janey’s subtle frown, followed by an amused smile also did not pass unnoticed. Adam knew she was studying him, from the way he talked to how close he was to her—that’s how Janey was, always attentive to people, always curious—and should probably have figured out he was acting different. His mind was not where it should be, and it was showing. 

So much so that Adam couldn’t even describe the landscape on their way to the greenhouse. As they crossed the garden, only the sound of Janey’s voice asking questions about the fairies would take shape in his memory. Her voice, and the feeling of their elbows touching here and there occasionally, fluttering the rhythm of their breaths.

The last rays of sunlight had sunken down behind the trees by the time they arrived at the greenhouse. The place was enormous, made entirely of glass and decorated with an iron structure painted in white in art nouveau style. The rounded edges and curvaceous geometry felt organic, as if the building was a living part of the garden, housing an astonishing amount of plants like a nursery. Adam had to take off his aviators to take a proper look at the explosion of colours and shapes of every single bloom, realising in a second that Janey didn’t have the same advantage. 

“Well, it’s dark here.” She pointed out, pursing her lips while looking up as if to check for the lightbulbs. “Weird that there’s no one here. I was expecting some couples, or at least the scientists that work here.” 

I’m glad there is no one else here, Adam wished to say, but instead he followed the obvious, most logical response, “It is already late to be so far away from the city. Everyone must have left a few hours ago.” 

He searched for the switch, a small thing hidden behind a bush by the front doors, and turned the lights on. Expected to see the usual fluorescent white from the Facility, but watched as hundreds of tiny yellowish spots popped to life all around them, bathing the greenhouse in warmth. Strings of fairy lights followed a design like the canvas of a tent from the external walls to the central piece: a weeping willow tree, so tall that its canopy filled the space of one of the three glass domes on the roof. 

Upon reaching the tree, the lights seemed to transform into vines, embracing the branches and falling along the dangling leaves like a waterfall. There was no magic in the entire botanical garden, but the look in Janey’s eyes as she admired the images around said otherwise, as if Adam had just brought her spring itself as a gift. He might just have, if such a thing was possible.

“Will this be enough for them?” Janey asked, voice low and smooth, lost in the glittering lights.

“For whom?” Adam returned, lost in the shine of her eyes. 

“The fairies, of course.” And she giggled while approaching him, suddenly locking her gaze on his. “What else do they need?”

“Well, they have enough water and flowers here,” his feet moved by an unconscious desire, “There is shelter from the external weather and…” he swallowed hard, unsure if he should continue but, eventually, he did, "A lot of space for partying." 

“Partying?” 

“They are known for hosting week-long dances. Love to drink and to waltz.” 

“I never really learned how to waltz.” Janey’s voice was only a whisper, eyes drifting away from Adam’s and reflecting the hundreds of lights around. He, however, was not paying attention to anything else but her and the way her lips curled up, almost in slow motion, overflowing with warmth. On second thought, maybe she was the one delivering spring to that place. “Must be wonderful to see.”

“Truly beautiful.” Not even Adam could conceal what he meant. He had no interest in the practices and lifestyle of fairies or of any other creature, and despite being an admirer of arts, it was clear that something else was marvelling him. Someone else. His breath of confession drew her back to him, and disarmed by hypnosis, he bursted, “Would you like to try?”

“What?” She took another step closer, graceful as a ballerina.

“Waltz.” Words seemed to tangle on each other before leaving his lips. “With me.” 

From the moment he suggested going on that mission, Adam had done nothing but improvise. All the control he kept for over nine hundred years was slipping through his fingers, he could not think strategically anymore, and it was infuriating how he could not—simply could not—keep himself away from the detective. She was a fire burning inside of him and he should be turning to ashes by now. And yet there he was, surrounded by light and that warmth that was not coming just from her body heat. 

He waited for an answer, pursing his lips in a thin line, questioning his careless attitudes, feeling like his chest was about to set alight, and—

“Yes. I would love to.” 

A sigh of relief came from both parts, tension crumbling like a sand castle. If Adam was going to be that reckless, then so be it. 

He ventured forth, right hand falling featherlight on Janey’s waist. She held his other hand, resting her palm on his and falling into his arms completely. Not once they took their gazes out of each other, eyes heavy-lidded when Adam began to lead them in circles carefully, slowly, like she was made of crystal. Terrified of breaking her. 

It was nothing close to the waltz of the royal palaces of Vienna during the New Years, and much less to the Russian ballet, but still nothing felt wrong. Janey was tiny compared to him, his large hand spread almost entirely over her upper back, but it was her delicate fingers pressing into his shoulder that made him feel safe. The way she would not shy away from him, how she would spin on her axis every time he stretched out his arms just to pull her back closer and closer, was like magic of its own. Perhaps he was enchanted. She could have bewitched him. Or maybe, just maybe, it was something else. Something he was afraid of saying out loud, of letting it take form, but undeniably something he could not, would not, control. 

Their feet moved together with remarkable precision, as if the spring of the greenhouse itself choreographed their movements, and even the floor felt softer. Janey slipped her fingers up to his neck, brushing his skin and leaving a tingling sensation before resting on his nape. A shiver ran up his spine, sharp enough for her to feel the dark blond hairs rising. 

Their dance concluded slowly when Adam bowed down, holding her firmly in his arms as if laying her gently on a mattress of clouds. Janey held on to him, trusting him entirely, and didn’t let go afterwards. With no one to witness, their world felt silent, existing only in each other’s embrace. Adam saw when her lips parted just enough, hesitant, getting closer, increasing the thundering sound, trying to tear open her chest like a war drum so powerful that it could make him dizzy.

“Do you hear my heartbeat?” she whispered, eyes locked on his.

“Yes.” 

“Can I listen to yours, too?”

“Yes...” 

Janey wrapped both arms around his neck and rested her head on his chest, nose tip carefully fondling his sternum. Only then, with her cheek pressed against his white shirt, Adam realised that the drumming of hearts was a duet. His own perfectly synchronised to hers, still dancing, and he couldn’t help but to wrap his arms around her as well. In a garden of blooms, they formed a bud—secret, beautiful and new. He wished to stay in spring, with her, forever.

Alas, they were both ripped apart from dreaming when a too-loud bzzt bzzt emerged from the agent’s pocket. Distracted by each other, both rushed to untangle themselves quicker than their blood could colour their faces. Adam turned on his heels, reaching for the damn phone and answering the call.

“Commanding Agent du Mortain.” 

“Adam, it's Nate. I’ve been trying to call for a while, is everything ok?” 

A deep sigh left his lungs, “Yes, Nate. Everything is fine.”

“Are you still with Janey? Did you find a good place?”

He looked over his shoulder, gaze meeting Janey’s again. A shy grin on her rosy cheeks invited him to smile too, and so he did.

“Yes, Nate. I believe we found the perfect place.” 

[knuffled]

just practice - chapter eleven

ao3 link

Ambrosia was Annabeth’s favorite coffee shop in the city. It was a quaint affair, tucked behind an alleyway, cozily decorated with clusters of polished cherry wood tables surrounded by plush purple chairs. There weren’t many drinks on the menu, but what the cafe lacked in quantity, it more than made up for with quality. Although she wasn’t a coffee connoisseur or anything, Annabeth could easily tell the coffee at Ambrosia tasted far richer than anything at Starbucks.

Annabeth drummed her fingers on her window-side table and twirled a strand of hair around her index finger, trying not to feel too nervous as she sipped her espresso. Inviting Reyna out for coffee so she could get relationship advice after turning her down a month prior was quite possibly one of the worst ideas she’d ever had. The thing was, she had no other options. All her friends were also friends with Percy, which made confiding in them impossible. She could only imagine the ensuing chaos if she were to come out and say that she had only pretending to go out with Percy.

Still, that didn’t make her feel any better about her current situation. In fact, Annabeth was nearly on the verge of sending her a text to cancel the whole thing under the pretense of not feeling well when Reyna walked into the cafe. She looked around until she spotted Annabeth and made her way over to the table, a dark look on her face.

“You sure picked an absolute bitch of a place to find,” Reyna said, crossing her arms over her chest. “Google Maps had a fucking aneurysm trying to give me directions.”

“Nice to see you again too,” Annabeth said, smiling despite herself.

Reyna rolled her eyes and plopped down in the seat opposite her. “This better be the best goddamn coffee I’ve had in my entire life,” she grumbled.

Annabeth slid her a menu and tried not to laugh at the disgruntled look that spread across Reyna’s face as she surveyed the prices. Annabeth raised her palms up in surrender when Reyna looked at her with an immaculately raised eyebrow.

“It’s worth it, I swear!” Annabeth promised.

Reyna pursed her lips and nodded in a clipped fashion before studying the menu again. After a few seconds, Reyna set the menu aside with a sigh and looked at Annabeth again, a tired look on her face.

“I have no idea what to get,” Reyna muttered. “What’s good here?”

Annabeth shrugged and said, “Pretty much everything. I really like their espressos, but their cappuccinos are great too.”

Reyna pulled a face before mumbling under her breath, “Hazelnut latte it is then.”

“Funny, I would have pegged you for a ‘black coffee’ kind of girl,” Annabeth said, grinning.

For the first since she’d met her, Reyna blushed and twirled a strand of dark hair around her finger, refusing to meet Annabeth’s eyes.

“I’m just bad with bitter stuff,” Reyna muttered.

“I had no idea your tastes were so basic,” Annabeth teased.

Reyna scoffed and crossed her arms over her chest. “I am not basic.”

Hearing Reyna sound genuinely offended by the implication only made delighted Annabeth instead of deterring her.

“Uh huh, sure,” Annabeth drawled.

Reyna narrowed her eyes and said, “You’re on thin fucking ice, Chase.”

Annabeth held her palms up in surrender and tried to suppress the grin threatening to split across her face.

“Ok, sorry, I’ll stop,” Annabeth said. “Go treat yourself to a hazelnut latte.”

The glare Reyna gave her before she made her way to the front counter to order could have withered flowers with its intensity. Annabeth allowed herself to smile once Reyna left the table and noticed she felt significantly calmer than she had before Reyna’s arrival. Thankfully, it seemed that things weren’t awkward between them, despite the fact that she had rejected Reyna last time they’d spoken.

When Reyna returned with her drink, Annabeth watched with avid interest as she blew into the lid of the cup and took her hesitant sip. Her eyes widened in surprise momentarily before returning to normal, but it only made Annabeth’s smirk grow larger.

“So how’s your drink?” Annabeth asked innocently.

Reyna cleared her throat and said, “It’s passable.”

Annabeth raised an eyebrow. “That’s high praise.”

Reyna’s lips quirked upwards in a smile. “Don’t be such an ass. It’s good, okay?”

“Worth the drive?”

“Hardly,” Reyna said, snorting.

“That’s a win in my book,” Annabeth said, shrugging.

Reyna scoffed and took another sip before saying, “So why did you call me out here today? I assume it wasn’t just to make fun of my choice of beverages.”

“Tempting but unfortunately not the case,” Annabeth said. “I wanted your advice on something.”

“About tall, dark, and handsome, you mean?”

Annabeth blinked. “What?”

Reyna rolled her eyes. “I’m talking about your ‘friend’, Percy.”

“Oh,” Annabeth said stupidly. “I uh- I just wasn’t expecting you to refer to him that way.”

“I may be gay, but I have eyes,” Reyna said, giving her a significant look.

Annabeth laughed despite herself. “Yeah, you’re right. I wanted to ask about Percy.”

“It’s kind of a dick move to ask someone you turned down for romantic advice,” Reyna noted.

“Sorry,” Annabeth said, looking down at her lap. “It’s just not something I can talk about with my other friends.”

“It’s whatever,” Reyna said, shrugging. “Besides, I can’t help respecting that you had the audacity to ask me anyways, so kudos to you. Now tell me what’s going on.”

Annabeth began telling Reyna everything that had happened since the school year began, starting with Clarisse’s comment and the fake dating proposal to Percy’s sudden penchant for speaking in riddles to the Kara incident to what Percy had said as they descended Aspen Peak and finally her conversation with Sally after Thanksgiving. It took her a little over a half hour to explain everything, which was longer than Annabeth had been expecting, but Reyna listened intently the entire time. On occasion, she would ask a clarifying question, but for the most part she was content to listen silently.

When Annabeth was done, Reyna said, “Well, I think I get the gist of the situation now. I’m just not sure what you need advice about.”

“I want to figure out what’s going on with Percy. I’ve given him enough time and space to come forward and talk to me on his own, but it’s clear that he’s not going to do that. Usually, I’d be fine with that, but I can’t help feeling like there’s something going on here, something I can’t just ignore,” Annabeth said.

Reyna snorted. “I mean, it’s pretty obvious that he’s just being emotionally constipated about his feelings like men always are when it comes to displaying anything more than the emotional range of a teaspoon.”

Annabeth shook her head. “Percy isn’t like that.”

Reyna raised an eyebrow and said, “No offense, but I find that hard to believe. Judging from your story just now, he is exactly like that.”

“Percy has no problem talking about emotions,” Annabeth argued. “Trust me, I’d know.”

“Talking about other people’s emotions maybe, sure, but not when it comes to himself.”

Reyna’s statement gave Annabeth momentary pause. Although her immediate instinct was to argue with her, the more she thought about it, the more Annabeth found herself wondering how she had never picked up on that. Even though so many of their conversations strayed into their personal feelings, it had only just dawned on Annabeth how the overwhelming majority of those conversations tended to be about her own feelings, not Percy’s.

Of course, that wasn’t to say Percy never shared how he was feeling. Their conversation atop Aspen Peak and the conversation where he told her that he had gotten recruited by USC were examples of that. However, there were still clearly some things that Percy just never really talked to her about. An obvious example being how she knew practically nothing about any of his previous relationships.

It was difficult to tell but she could detect that there was a pattern of Percy deliberately hiding things from her if they were painful for him to talk about. Yet, Annabeth had never gotten the impression that those repressed feelings would someday inevitably explode out of him, demanding to be released. Whenever she bottled her own feelings, despite her best efforts, they were destined to burst at some point, only ever prolonging the inevitable, but in Percy’s case, it was like they were swallowed by a black hole, leaving no evidence of their existence.

“I can’t believe I never noticed,” Annabeth whispered.

Reyna shrugged and said, “Don’t blame yourself. Men are just like that.”

Annabeth shook her head. “Percy’s different. It’s not like he’s so out of touch with his own feelings that he can’t talk about them. I don’t know how to explain it, but it’s not like what you’re thinking.”

“Maybe you’re just giving him too much credit,” Reyna said lightly.

Annabeth bristled despite herself. “What’s your deal with him? You haven’t liked him since you met him and you don’t even know a single thing about him.”

Reyna was quiet for a while before she said, “I don’t know. It’s hard to explain, but when I look at him, all I see is a fake.”

“A fake?”

“He reeks of lies. Lies about how he feels, what he thinks, what he wants. I’ll take your word about him being a good person or whatever, but that doesn’t change anything in my eyes. I can’t trust someone who is constantly pretending to be someone else,” Reyna said.

Annabeth crossed her arms over her chest. “That seems like a huge stretch to me. Like I said, you barely know-”

Reyna held up a hand, stopping her. “I can tell. I can’t explain why, but I just know. I’ve been able to since I was a kid, and I have never been wrong.”

Annabeth paused and considered her words for a moment. It was certainly believable that Reyna could be someone with incredibly good instincts, but at the same time, Annabeth couldn’t accept that she was making judgments about her best friend without knowing a single thing about him. Yet, for whatever reason, Annabeth couldn’t bring herself to immediately reject what Reyna had said. There was something about the conviction in her voice and eyes that gave her pause.

“Was there something you noticed? Something you saw him do that made you think about him like this?” Annabeth asked.

Reyna thought for a moment before sighing. “It’s not like there was a specific thing about him that made me realize. It’s like his overall vibe.”

“His vibe?” Annabeth said, trying not to sound skeptical.

“Let’s just say, I’ve met men like that before. Men who look kind on the outside, but are monsters on the inside. It’s hard for me to not feel hostile towards them,” Reyna said tersely.

Annabeth couldn’t help immediately repeating: “Percy’s not like that.”

“I hope he isn’t,” Reyna said simply.

A silence filled the space around them, charging the air with a vague sense of unease, until Reyna sighed and spoke again.

“I’ll just say this: he might not be a monster, but he is still pretending to be someone he’s not. If I were you, I would do well not to forget that.”

:::

It was Piper’s fault. She had made it sound so wonderful when she had pitched the idea to Annabeth: ice skating on the night of New Year’s Eve. Even a cynic like Annabeth couldn’t deny that there was an inherent romantic appeal to that. Unfortunately, it just so happened that New Year’s Eve was the coldest day of the year. And, of course, the rink that Piper had chosen happened to be outdoors. That obviously went without saying.

Annabeth tried not to wallow in too much self-pity on the walk from her car to the chalet, but she couldn’t help indulging herself. After all, it was freezing outside. She buried her hands in her coat pockets and hid her nose behind her scarf to keep it from turning red, but the horrible faux-wool material felt like sandpaper against her skin. She fantasized about turning around and leaving before anyone noticed her and spending the night buried beneath a mound of blankets, but she arrived at the chalet before she could decide.

Unfortunately, the chalet would offer no reprieve. The first thing that assailed her was the heat - a dry, stuffy heat, the kind that made it hard to breathe. The second was the smell. The stench of sweat clung to the linoleum peeling off the walls, and the slight give of the vomit-colored carpet underfoot made it feel like it had seeped into the fabric too.

It was time to leave, Annabeth decided brightly, but Piper noticed her and waved her over before she could make her escape. Annabeth sighed and headed towards the benches where Piper was sitting and hoped she wouldn’t contract hepatitis from sitting down.

On her way there, she was somewhat late to arrive. Frank and Leo were at the front desk, renting their skates, and Piper and Jason had already finished lacing their skates. Jason offered her a small smile when she sat down across from them, but her lips were so chapped that they would probably start bleeding if she tried to smile so she settled for a nod.

“Someone looks grumpy.”

“Bite me.”

“Don’t antagonize her, Piper.”

Annabeth nodded and pointed to Jason. “Listen to your boyfriend. He seems to be the smart one.”

Piper rolled her eyes. “Rude.”

“I think I’m entitled to a little rudeness,” Annabeth said, sitting back. “I could be in bed right now, covered in blankets.”

“This might be our last New Year’s Eve together,” Piper said. “You really sure you want to spend it hiding in your bedroom?”

Annabeth hummed. “Remind me again how you chose this wonderful establishment?”

Piper had the decency to look sheepish. “It was the only place open on New Year’s Eve.”

“Gee, I wonder why,” Annabeth said.

“You should go get your skates, Annabeth,” Jason interrupted tactfully. “It looks like Frank and Leo are done.”

Annabeth stood up and sent an I’m-watching-you gesture in Piper’s direction, but Piper just opted to flick her off. Charming.

Thankfully, there was no one waiting at the front desk when Annabeth made her way there. The balding man behind the counter asked for her shoe size before disappearing behind the shelves, stocked to the brim with skates, and it didn’t take long for him to return with a pair of white skates and set them on the counter. Annabeth was in the process of fishing for spare change when the door to the chalet opened, letting in a gust of cold air.

Rachel stepped inside, her freckled cheeks pink from the cold, and waved to Annabeth enthusiastically with a grin. Percy stood behind her, rubbing his palms together to warm his hands, looking cold for once in his life. They both made their way up to the front desk as Annabeth tucked the skates under her arm.

Percy turned to her smiling while Rachel spoke with the store-owner. “Happy New Year.”

“It’s still New Year’s Eve.”

“Only for four more hours,” Percy said, shrugging.

Annabeth rolled her eyes. “Happy New Year’s Eve to you too.”

“You’re always so grumpy when you’re cold,” Percy said fondly. “Aren’t white people supposed to be good with the cold?”

“Oh my God, Karen, you can't just ask people why they're white.”

Not a beat passed before Percy answered: “Boo, you whore.”

Annabeth bit back a laugh and pushed him towards the counter. “Alright, alright, you can terrorize me after you get your skates, you dork.”

Percy did his best seal-eyes impression, but Annabeth stuck out her tongue at him and followed Rachel back to the benches. Once they sat down, Rachel finished lacing her skates with practiced ease and watched Annabeth struggle with hers with avid interest. Annabeth wondered how long it would take for her to swallow her pride and ask Rachel for help, but Rachel volunteered before she could, crouching in front of her and deftly tying her skates in seconds.

“You’re good at that,” Annabeth said.

Rachel stood up and shrugged. “My parents forced me take figure skating lessons for like six years, so I have a lot of practice.”

“I think the last time I went skating was in like second grade,” Annabeth mused.

“Do you even remember how to skate?” Rachel asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I guess we’ll both find out very soon.”

“I could teach you, if you’d like,” Rachel offered.

Annabeth rolled her bottom lip between her teeth. “Thank you, but I think I can figure it out. I mean, how hard could it be?”

:::

It turned out to be plenty hard.

Annabeth managed all of three steps on the ice before falling backwards, arms flailing. Percy caught her before she hit the ground thankfully, his hand curled around her hip. Annabeth felt her face heat up when he raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips, but he helped her upright without commenting on it. Unfortunately, it only took two more steps for her to slip again. He caught her by the arm before she fell any further and shook with barely suppressed laughter.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, asshole,” Annabeth grumbled.

“Weren’t you just telling Rachel something about how skating didn’t seem all that hard?” Percy asked innocently.

Annabeth bit the inside of her cheek. “I think you just have an overactive imagination.”

“First the cold, and now this,” Percy said solemnly. “Looks like your Scandinavian roots have failed you in more ways than one.”

“This is reverse-racism.”

That tore a laugh out him, but he quickly held his palms in surrender. “Sorry, sorry, just give me a minute.”

Annabeth flicked him off and retreated to the wall circling the rink to steady herself. She looked at the rink, hoping she wasn’t alone in her embarrassment, but it seemed like everyone else seemed to be faring much better than her. Frank was her only comrade in arms, arms stretched and teetering, a mortified look on his face, while Leo stood next to him, not even trying to hide his laughter. Hazel scowled and swatted him before going to help Frank maintain his balance. Rachel breezed around the rink with an effortless grace and fluidity, seemingly in her own world, while Piper and Jason held hands and made slow, leisurely circuits around the rink.

Percy moved towards her and said, “C’mon, I’ll help you.”

“Can’t I just go home?” Annabeth whined.

Percy’s lips quirked upwards. “It’s not that hard, trust me. It’s just like riding a bike.”

“Something tells me I’m just going to spend the next few hours falling on my ass and making a fool of myself.”

“I’ll catch you before you do,” Percy promised.

Annabeth crossed her arms over her chest. “And if I take you down with me?”

“I’m willing to risk it,” Percy said, shrugging.

Annabeth was silent for a while before she shut her eyes and sighed. “God, I hate you. Fine, let’s get this over with.”

Percy took her by the hands and helped her away from the wall. “That’s the spirit.”

Annabeth glared at him before lacing her fingers between his. She couldn’t help noticing how warm his hands were, but she didn’t have long to dwell on it because being back on the ice put the fear of god back in her real fast. Percy tried to help her make a lap around the rink, but it was a grueling journey. She spent most of it crushing his hands and teetering on the brink of embarrassment: legs outstretched, knees turned inwards, feeling like an absolute idiot. The concentration needed to maintain her footing was exhausting and demanded every ounce of focus she could muster. But, with Percy’s help, Annabeth managed three laps around the rink over the span of ninety minutes without falling a single time.

At the start of the fourth lap, Percy untangled his fingers from hers, striking a bolt of fear through her. Annabeth reached for him desperately, eyes wide with panic, but he caught her by the wrists and gave her a stern look.

“I’m going to let go of you now, okay?” Percy said. “I promise, I won’t let you fall.”

“I need more time,” Annabeth said frantically. “I-I’m not ready yet.”

“You can do this,” Percy said, firmly not unkindly. “Trust me.”

Annabeth licked her horribly chapped lips and nodded uneasily. The conviction in his words made her want to believe him, but it did nothing to dispel the terror inside her.

“Okay, here goes,” Percy said.

Annabeth bit the inside of her cheek and watched Percy slowly release her and step away. She stood there for a few seconds before Percy skated backwards, still facing towards her, and beckoned for her to follow him.

Her heart thundered in her chest. It was the moment of truth.

She took one step. Then another. Then another.

With her eyes locked on Percy, she used every atom in her body to keep herself steady. She kept waiting to fall as they slowly made their way around the rink, but she managed to somehow make it the halfway around without falling.

Annabeth looked up at him with an incredulous laugh. “Holy shit! I-I’m doing it! I’m actually doing it!”

A smile crossed Percy’s face, equal parts proud and fond, but Annabeth couldn’t help thinking it looked a bit sad too.

“You are,” Percy said softly. “I knew you could.”

“You have way too much faith in me,” Annabeth said, shaking her head. “It’s a miracle that I didn’t fall.”

“It’s not faith,” Percy said. “I just know you.”

Annabeth stilled for a moment and locked eyes with him. His words were light, like he had spoken them without thinking, but it made a lump form in her throat all the same.

“Yeah, yeah you do,” she said softly.

Before the moment had a chance to establish itself, Annabeth’s legs both decided it was an excellent time to give out. She only had time to emit a short yelp before she fell on her ass and Percy rushed in.

He helped her up with a laugh. “Okay, looks like someone needs a break.”

Annabeth’s face was beet red and it had nothing to do with the cold. “Uh, yeah, I think I’ll go to the chalet and sit down a bit.”

Percy nodded and moved to help her, but she shook her head. “I’ll be fine. You’ve been babysitting me this whole time, so go enjoy yourself.”

He paused for a moment before reluctantly nodding and skating away. Annabeth watched him go before making a beeline for the chalet. After nearly two hours of constant terror, even the stuffy, pungent air in the chalet was a welcome change. She took off her hat to let her hair loose, but some sweat-soaked strands lay matted against her forehead.

An overwhelming need to take a nap washed through her, and she was so tired that she didn’t bother resisting it.

It was hard to say how long she was asleep but she started when Jason sat down beside her, holding two styrofoam cups of hot chocolate. Annabeth accepted a cup from him and took a sip. It was so watery that she could hardly taste the chocolate, but at least it was hot going down her throat.

Annabeth wiped her lips with the back of her hand. “Where did you get this?”

“There’s a machine by the bathroom,” Jason said.

“Ah, that certainly explains things.”

Jason nudged her with his elbow. “I know you’re not thrilled to be here, but Piper really tried her best to get this whole thing together.”

Annabeth sighed and said, “Yeah, sorry, I’m just indulging in a little pettiness.”

“I know,” Jason said, smiling. “Just be aware of your limits.”

“I feel like you’re one step away from going full Dad and being like, ‘I’m not angry, I’m just disappointed’.”

Jason laughed and said, “I suppose I deserve that.”

There was a pause before Annabeth gave him a tentative look. “Is she mad at me?”

Jason shook his head. “Nah, she knows you well enough to know you don’t mean it.”

Annabeth cleared her throat and nodded before staring at her cup pensively. “How are you both doing?”

“We’re good,” he said, sighing. “Just trying to make the most out of the rest of the year. Piper’s really worried about leaving behind regrets, so she’s going a little overboard, but her heart is in the right place.”

“That’s a mood,” Annabeth said. “I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately.”

“It’s hard not to,” Jason admitted. “I mean our lives are going to change pretty drastically in a few months, after all.”

There was a pause before Annabeth said, “That doesn’t ever scare you or anything, that things might not be the same?”

“I know they won’t be the same,” Jason said. “But the way I see it, if it’s inevitable anyways, there’s no point worrying about it. The only thing you can do is to enjoy things while they last.”

“That’s a very lonely way of looking at things,” Annabeth said quietly.

“You might be right, but I don’t want to waste the time I have left with Piper and you and everyone else being stressed and miserable,” Jason said, shrugging. “If the time we have left is limited, I want to choose to spend it being happy.”

She paused for a moment to stare at him. “Honestly, sometimes I can’t help feeling like you’re an eighty year old stuck in the body of an eighteen year old.”

“I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or not, but thanks.”

Annabeth leaned back and stared up at the ceiling. “The idea that nothing lasts terrifies me.”

“I don’t know, there’s something strangely beautiful about it too,” Jason mused.

She gave him a sidelong glance. “In what way?”

Jason shrugged. “Things are precious to us because we can’t take them for granted. You have to pay attention and appreciate them while you can, or you’ll miss it and never have it back. I’m sure you’ve felt it too: those moments that you wish you could live in forever, even though you know it’s impossible, so you try your best to savor them and burn them into your memory so you don’t ever forget. There’s just a special kind of beauty about that. At least, that’s how I feel.”

Memories flashed in her mind with an almost desperate urgency, so quickly that she couldn’t register their contents, only the lingering impressions they left in their wake. The cold touch of steel beneath her palms lying on Percy’s car, staring up at the night sky, and the warmth of the sweatshirt he’d draped across her shoulders. Dappled sunlight filtered through half-drawn blinds, flour stuck in her hair, the smell of cookies baking in the oven, and the sound of laughter. The untraversable distance between his hand in hers, his heat searing through her skin ever so gently, and the lazy circuit of his thumb brushing her knuckles with a tenderness she didn’t deserve.

Annabeth couldn’t help thinking that “beautiful” was too small a word. The feeling was beautiful, yes, but the word alone could not capture the fact that it was also deep and gentle and tinged with melancholy, but all the more exquisite for it.

A lump formed in her throat. “I-I think I get what you mean.”

Jason offered her a soft smile and squeezed her hand. “There’s a phrase for that in Japanese, you know? They call it mono no aware: the bittersweet, wistful appreciation of the impermanence of things.”

There was a pause before Annabeth said tightly, “I’m glad there’s a word for it.”

“Yeah, me too,” Jason said, still smiling.

They sat there for a while in silence before Jason stood up and stretched. “We should probably back. They must be wondering where we are.”

Annabeth nodded but made no move to stand up. Jason looked at her for a while before sighing and showing her his wristwatch.

“It’s almost midnight,” he said. “C’mon, everyone’s waiting for us.”

That was enough to get her out of her seat, but she still couldn’t help sighing. She followed him back to the rink and noticed that they had it to themselves. Earlier, there had been a few other couples and families, but they must have left while she’d been asleep.

The light of the full moon reflected off the ice, casting a milky-silver glow. She stepped onto the ice with Jason and skated towards their friends. They were sitting down at the center of the rink and talking amongst themselves until they noticed her arrival.

“She’s alive!” Jason announced. “She was just sleeping.”

“Percy was worried sick about you,” Leo said, smirking.

Percy scowled and said, “I wasn’t that worried.”

“You kind of were,” Rachel said. “You should’ve seen him fretting like a mother hen.”

“I would apologize, but I can take care of myself,” Annabeth said, rolling her eyes.

“You were gone for like two hours, Annabeth,” Hazel said. “I don’t think it was that weird for him to worry.”

“Again, you guys are all exaggerating way too much,” Percy protested.

“You guys should sit down,” Frank said. “We can spread out a bit to make extra space.”

Once the circle expanded, Annabeth sat down between Percy and Rachel, and Jason sat close to Piper and wrapped an arm around her, tucking her into his side. Rachel continued a story that she must have been telling prior to Annabeth’s arrival, so she couldn’t follow it at all. She tried to listen for a few minutes before getting bored and turning to Percy.

“I know you’re protective of me and all, but don’t worry so much,” Annabeth whispered firmly.

Percy lowered his head and rubbed the back of his neck. “I know, but sometimes, I just can’t help it.

“You have to try,” Annabeth said. “What are you going to do when we leave for college?”

“I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

Annabeth sighed and said, “I’m not trying to be mean or anything. I’m just scared you’ll burn yourself out for no reason. We both know that I can handle things on my own.”

“That’s not the point,” Percy muttered.

“Then what is the point?” Annabeth asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I don’t doubt your ability to take care of yourself,” Percy said slowly. “It’s just that I care about you, so I can’t help worrying.”

“I care about you too, but I can worry about you without feeling the need to step in and get involved.”

At this, Percy was silent, so Annabeth continued. “When you get involved, it kind of feels like you’re babying me.”

“I’m not trying to baby you,” Percy said, frowning.

“Then trust me to come to you when I need your help, okay?”

Percy paused for a moment before nodding hesitantly. “Okay.”

Annabeth offered a small smile. “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

The look on his face was inscrutable, but he nodded again all the same. Annabeth tapped a finger on the ice and rolled her bottom lip between her teeth. She’d said her piece. The rest was up to Percy now.

She had another reason for wanting him to understand this, although she hadn’t said so aloud. Percy’s worry and need to help her made it all too easy for her to rely on him too much. Sometimes, she had to catch herself before immediately going to him anytime she had even a trivial problem. It hadn’t always been that way, but over the years, she had come to depend on him far too much. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that, apart from Percy, she didn’t have any experience relying on anyone else but herself, so she had no concept of moderation when it came to depending on him.

She didn’t know how to let someone in halfway. It had always been all or nothing.

“There’s only two minutes left till midnight,” Frank said, looking at his watch.

“We should try to find a stream of the ball drop,” Hazel suggested.

“Already on it,” Leo said, typing furiously on his phone.

Once he found a stream, Leo turned the volume up on his phone and slid it to the center of the ring. His phone was old, so the volume was feeble but it was still audible for the most part. Anderson Cooper was talking to some celebrity or other about how excited the crowd was in Times Square and pointed out how there seemed to be more couples in attendance this year compared to other ones.

“Aw man, that’s right,” Leo complained. “Now, there’s another couple I gotta see kiss on New Year’s Eve.”

Hazel pulled a face. “Don’t ruin things for Annabeth and Percy, Leo.”

“Yeah, Leo, fuck off,” Piper said, flipping him off.

At first, Annabeth didn’t know what they were talking about, but then she immediately looked down at her lap, her face burning.

That was right, the New Year’s kiss was a thing. She’d totally forgotten about that.

Discreetly, she looked at Percy out of the corner of her eye, wondering if he was going to kiss her or not. After all, it would look kind of strange if they didn’t, considering they were supposed to be a couple now. Annabeth was certain their friends would notice and comment about it.

He was staring off in the distance with a clenched jaw, shifting uneasily beside her, which only made her growing anxiety worsen. She picked at the fraying wool on her peacoat and wished they had some time to at least discuss a plan of action, but there was only thirty seconds before the ball drop.

For the last ten seconds, they all chanted along with the crowd, but Annabeth could barely make a sound.

 10.

 9.

 8.

Percy shifted again.

 7.

 6.

Annabeth could feel his eyes on her, so she looked up at him.

 5.

 4.

Percy moved closer to her, blocking out the full moon. It cast a silver halo around his head, reflecting off his obsidian hair and bathing him in an ethereal glow.

 3.

Her throat was bone dry.

 2.

She barely registered the conflicted gleam in his eyes as he leaned in to her or the featherlike touch of his fingers, tilting her chin upwards.

 1.

Annabeth felt his breath on her face and the scent of his cologne. She closed her eyes and tried to ignore the thundering of her heart pounding in her chest, parting her lips.

 0.

Distantly, she could hear her friends yelling “Happy New Year” but her entire world was reduced down to a singularity. She waited, her heart stuck in her throat.

Christ, her lips were so chapped.

Then she felt the brush of his lips, but not against her own like she’d expected. By the time she noticed the lingering warmth on her cheek, Percy was already pulling away. She opened her eyes and caught the look in his eyes. The emotion shining in them was too complicated for her to describe in words, but she couldn’t help thinking that he looked almost tortured.

“Happy New Year,” Percy whispered, voice raw.

Annabeth blinked and cleared her throat. “Um, yeah, Happy New Year.”

The conflicted look on his face didn’t disappear until Hazel gave him a one-armed hug and wished him a happy new year. Annabeth couldn’t dwell on it for long either before Rachel tackled her in a hug and wished her as well. The carousel of wishing each of her friends was oddly annoying even though it shouldn’t have been. A single emotion burned in the pit of her stomach, predominating her field of awareness, but it only served to bewilder her. She tried stealing looks at Percy in the hope that it would offer some insight, but the more she looked to him, the more intensely it gnawed at her.

Moonlit snowflakes fell through the dark as Annabeth struggled to make sense of the overwhelmingly empty feeling in the hollow of her chest and why it felt so much like disappointment.