#bites people but looks so elegant that nobody ever expects it

[whatareyoudoingwithamaserati]

Thinking about my guys :((((((( (Syrah and Reave)

[persephoneyss]

Fool.

Pairing: jeon jungkook x f!reader.

Genre: Yandere, dark themes, heartbreak, office au.

Summary: ❝The fool is one who rests dreaming of doing things beyond his reach, instead of making it come true, pathetic.❞

Warnings: Yandere behavior, obsession, stalking / harassment, quite a bit of voyeurism, implicit murder, naming of non-consensual sex, forced pregnancy, somnophilia, jk drug a reader, extremely complicated relationships, sexual tension between mxm characters, naming of homosexual relations mxm.

Number of words: 5000+

︙ Author's note: My second fic here, thank you very much for all the support you gave to the first one. Enjoy!

(Sorry for any mistakes, my first language is not English and I am not fluent either.)

Puedes leer este fic y más aquí en español.

They say, out there, that monotony is boring.

What everyone vaguely forgot, is that we live in it. It is an endless loop between what we do, and what we want.

So, nobody wanted to change it.

Jungkook lived in a routine. He liked his personal independence and, likewise, he never changed anything in his life. He was a man of habit, worthy of admiration and imitation. But he never considered himself capable of guiding someone as his own person, he just seemed boring to him.

Perhaps his complexity of seeing things in different ways was what made him such a genius.

People who break with the custom or the conventional can be called differently in the eyes of everyone, crazy or genius. Jungkook considered himself to be in the middle of both terms. He was madly in love with his genius.

But nobody said that love was for everyone, Jungkook was also in love with another person that he considered that he was worthy of his love, the obsessive and sick, misunderstood love of him.

Jungkook was a genius, but he never wanted money wasting his time on useless things like building an empire and being a millionaire. He looked at other directions in life. His salary was minimal, he worked hard under Kim Taehyung's whip. His boss was successful, just as he has imagined since he saw him go by one fall day.

He couldn't remember the date, but he knew it was fall. The cool breeze was a seal of love.

The clumsy little Jungkook, always with his head down looking for a chance at life. When he could have anything he wanted with his inner genius. The porcelain cup swayed in his hand, watching people rush past, just as he thought it would, everyone had their own business in this time of change. Taehyung really fell from the sky like an angel, or that's what he wanted to remember the day he watched him pass a coffee shop with his phone in hand ordering a cold American coffee even though the wind was blowing strongly in the streets. Jungkook watched him fervently, he was enigmatic and undoubtedly managed to get his attention almost immediately. His tall, firm figure made her want to clench her thighs.

His father always told her that pleasure was fun on unfortunate occasions.

Perhaps because of that, he took enormous pleasure in seeing Taehyung walking close to him.

He felt, in a disgusting way, good about himself. It was as if just by looking at his face and his dark eyes, he would manage to make her cum on his pants. Jungkook searched for him for days, until in an insignificant magazine, which he found by chance, he read about one of the most sought-after businessmen in the nation. Much money, and above all an elegant demeanor. They were the perfect combination to create someone like Kim Taehyung, however, Jungkook missed everything when he saw a photo of his beloved unknown to him.

It was a matter of time. He now named himself to be an excellent worker, always by Taehyung's side wherever he went, he felt euphoric just hearing him say his name with his voice so silent. His personal secretary was jealous of him, she even insulted him for a simple smile that young Jeon showed her. She obviously was fired from her, she being replaced by Mrs. Jang who was an older woman, married with two children.

However, no one ever noticed or simply turned a deaf ear to Jungkook's constant provocations towards the former secretary, just as her mocking smiles seemed to be ignored by conveniently blind eyes.

Jungkook was a man who knew how to play. He loved being the mouse for Taehyung, getting caught up in his whims. But he loved even more being the cat marrying the prey.

And just when he could already feel himself on top of the iceberg, almost close to touching his beloved boss. You arrived. You were an intern, nothing special considering that thousands came every year and you didn't have a permanent position unless you did your job well. Jungkook didn't even notice your presence, not for a year. Mrs. Jang sick from one day to the next, Taehyung had a considerable appreciation for her so she did not take away his job. Only covered it with a temporary vacation.

Jungkook was used to walking into his boss's office being greeted by the harsh but sweet voice of the older woman. But his steps seemed to stop in automatic mode when he heard your voice, it was sweet after sweet. His gaze fell quickly on your figure, you were ethereal, with a hint of mischief that he noticed, questioning if your perfect form was normal to see in a person.

And ironically, he proclaimed you a beautiful and heavenly Angel.

His heart pounded when you seemed to notice his presence, your eyes fell on his face in confusion. Jungkook bit his lip, his breath caught and unconsciously, he clenched his thighs to cover his growing erection. He thought he looked ridiculous standing in front of you without saying anything.

He felt strangely pathetic next to you.

"Who are you? Where is Mrs. Jang?" He asked defensively, surprising your innocent figure. But you never let your guard down.

"I'm sorry, but I'm only a substitute until Mrs. Jang manages to recover. Can I help you with something?"

Jungkook frowned, but only managed to nod with no idea what to do. He took a few steps back, realizing that he had invaded your personal space and cornered you between him and your desk. Anyone who saw them would think that they were close and even that they were having a lovers' quarrel.

I didn't want that. Taehyung was close to being his.

Jungkook looked at you with disdain, you were like a viper trying to tempt his masculine weakness.

But I am not unaware of the fact that I could smell your perfume of roses and vanilla. He was offended that Taehyung will not tell him that he is against someone young again. For a moment he feared that you would steal his position as his boss's right hand man, but that would be ridiculous. Thought. Taehyung was happy by his side, he appreciates him like a ... Little brother. He was trusted.

Nobody said Lucifer couldn't be a woman ...

The next few days weren't any better. Jungkook had his eyes glued to you at all times, counting the minutes when Taehyung called you at his office. How long will it take to leave from your entrance. And when it seemed like too long, he knocked on the door pretending to bring some important documents to sign. I could see you, when you were near your boss you had your head lowered. You were a submissive to him.

Jungkook felt envious, and far beyond, in a reprehensible jealousy of Taehyung. You never lowered your head when he came to greet you every day, nor when he ordered you to bring him a coffee and even less when he tried to embarrass you in front of the other people in the office.

But without a doubt, Jungkook came to hate you more than anyone in his monotonous life. You were a thief to him, you did your job so flawlessly that Taehyung had no choice but to give you the job of secretary. Your secretary. A smile was what adorned your lips every day, Jungkook cursed you a million different times.

You were a competition on their way to the heart of your beloved and perfect boss.

Nothing really changed after your acceptance as a secretary. Jungkook was cruelly trying to ignore you, but you never said anything to him or gave him a sign that he will affect you. Maybe deep down, I expected to see you destroyed by her rejection. Possibly, he thought ironically that he would seek him out asking forgiveness for any mistake you have made for such contempt, seeking to be to his liking again. However, nothing changed for you, you greet him politely, always with that charming look and smile of yours. Just like every day.

Then Jungkook did what seemed the least complicated to him.

He slowly gave up, walking straight to your table to start a conversation every morning, this time, ignoring calls from his boss needing him.

Taehyung was perfect. He put it on a pedestal, admiring its beauty every day as if it were a God.

But with you it was different. You weren't a Goddess to him, that would be stupid. For Jungkook to have you by his side, it was like giving him the privilege of being born again. You were more than his love, you were his life.

Jungkook lived for you. I existed to watch you, love you, make you happy. In its twisted and sick reality, everything you did revolved around his discretion. For he should always have been like that. Taehyung was nothing more than a cruel and beautiful distraction that fate put on him, proving his loyalty to you. Unfortunately he fell into it. His heart felt heavy in his chest, thinking of how long you must have been waiting for him. You must have been alone all that time.

Jungkook cried for you.

"Good morning, Jungkook-ah" Your voice, again.

His gaze was lost on your face. You were the most beautiful thing he had seen in his miserable years of life. He wondered if you, too, could feel his appreciation for you, or could you hear his rampant heartbeat.

Almost unconsciously, like the first time he clenched his thighs biting his lips to avoid being tempted to look past your fragile face. He had never been able to look at your body in a dirty way, but he did not deny wanting to do so. So he did it. His eyes inspected all of you, drinking in your sensuality as if you were a glass of water in front of him. Under your neck that was proud, you had a small necklace with your name written on it hanging and shining beautifully. Your collarbones rose beautifully, Jungkook felt an unreadable desire to want to bite the soft flesh of your neck leaving its marks on it as a sign that you were his. Only from him. Your white shirt was buttoned making a pout to form on her face, I wanted to see what color bra you were wearing that day. Maybe you were wearing something sexier under that stupid uniform, I guess you were ready for him, with some hidden lingerie, tempting him to take you to a bathroom in the building and fuck you foolishly while saying you were his over and over again.

"Are you feeling okay Jungkook-ah?" His gaze followed your body, which rose from your seat to approach him. For a moment he thought he could see your thighs protrude from the black fabric of your skirt that clung exquisitely to your body. His mind created thousands of scenarios where he would remove that garment to make you feel good, hitting you with his cock mercilessly.

Maybe I would let you touch it under the table at employee meetings that were held every week, if you let it mark your entire body with bites and bruises.

"You seem distressed, let me see if you have a fever." You say, without even realizing how his eyes are resting solely on your lips that he was dying to kiss and bite at will.

Jungkook knew that if he touched it, it would be the end. His cock stood up proudly creating a tent in his pants, he was grateful that you were so clueless that you never noticed that small but big problem. His eyes squeezed shut and his hand squeezed his crotch, he hunched over so you wouldn't notice he was coming into his pants with your gentle, harmless touch.

"I'm so sorry! Did I hurt you?" You asked again, even more concerned than before.

Jungkook smiled, trying to breathe normally again. Really naive.

He made fun of you, he liked to play pretend to be the mouse just like with Taehyung. In front of you, he was a sweet and gentle man.

It was fun trying to keep his intentions true, but clearly this was starting to get tedious.

A week had passed since the incident, that day he had to ask permission pretending to be sick in order to go home.

You had been worried about his condition, thinking that you could have helped him. That same night, you called his phone wishing him well soon and apologizing once again.

You were never smart enough to notice that Jungkook had his hand inside his pants touching hard just hearing your soft voice saying how sorry you were, you sounded so weak and vulnerable to him. He dreamed of hearing you again, this time begging for him to make you cum on him a thousand times, he knew you would be perfect for his big cock. Taking him like a big girl, like her perfect little one.

Jungkook was a greedy person. Below being a caring and kind man, he was selfish with his desires. He got bored seeing you for so little time during the day, it seemed as if you ran away from him when you left the large company building. Perhaps it was his greed that led him and condemned you to follow you every day, treading closely in your footsteps.

You lived in a small apartment complex, your house had one bedroom and one bathroom. Jungkook thought it was essential for you, you earned almost the same as him and you were certainly a practical person. Making him fall in love with you even more, he felt identified in a funny way. Ironic. When your figure was lost inside your apartment he felt furious, he could not help feeling angry for not being able to see more of you.

But his eyes noticed almost immediately that your apartment had a window, one that just faced another in front of the neighboring building. An enormous satisfaction invaded him. He collected as much money as he could, managing to raise two months of rent for the apartment in front of yours. That would be enough until he would bring you to his feet, and then he would move in with you living together as a normal couple. The man who owns the building was surprised by the persistent attitude of the young man in renting a specific apartment. But he quickly forgot about it when he saw the money in his hand.

"I hope you are not bothered by the noises, the walls are thin and there could be problems with that." The owner babbled, explaining and talking about things that honestly didn't matter to him as long as he could be around you.

Jungkook watched your apartment from the window, the window looked directly into your room. He felt a smile grow on his face, he could see your perfectly arranged bed and the products on your dressing table. Mentally he wrote down all the marks, he had become obsessed with your smell. Wanting to imitate everything about you as much as possible, he even followed you to the mall to see where you always bought your clothes. He began to wear the same brand of clothing, the same style and in the same way, your personal things. Like your skincare products, even your lipstick.

Their love had now turned into a sinister game of catching the helpless mouse. He followed you day and night, it was only a matter of time before you were at his feet begging not to be eaten by the evil cat.

You never liked the night blanket, you felt that the worst things could happen in the dark of one night. Your steps were hurried, you constantly felt a presence following your weak form knowing that you would do nothing to stop it. You were not capable. You only got to feel calm and let out a sigh when you got to your little house, it was cozy for just one person. You liked it, it had a unique charm. Your shoes fell to the ground, as did your coat and bag. You were exhausted, Taehyung was not the best boss. He seemed to have an obsession with making you run around for coffee or a simple napkin.

Secretly, it was obnoxious.

"You're here, little one ..." a voice whispered, watching you from a camera lens.

I had bought a whole spy gear, between cameras, lenses and more just to see you, possibly to take some photos as a souvenir as well. Jungkook smiled, biting his lip impatiently. He had arrived at his department at the same time as you, but his work was not finished yet, not until you lay on your bed turning off the light and preventing him from seeing you any longer. "Good girl." His eyes never left your figure, the first garment fell to the ground.

You had a habit of going straight to the bathroom to relax for a few minutes after a tiring day. You were not yet aware that dark brown eyes were watching you from afar. Jungkook had adorable eyes according to many, they were like those of a defenseless and tender deer, but they would surely change their opinion if they knew what he does and sees with them.

"_____..." Your name left his lips in a moan, his face heated feeling his cock grow slowly at the sight of your naked body so exciting, you walked to the bathroom, losing his sight. But his imagination did the rest.

He sat in front of his camera, pulling down his pants along with his boxer shorts releasing his cock that rose proudly, crashing against his stomach. The presemen came out of his reddened tip, he moved his hand using it as a lubricant to be able to touch himself, imagining that you were looking at him too, calling him and begging him to come to your house to be able to fuck you in your bed. Your neighbors probably wouldn't like the noise. But I would still screw you so they can hear who made you feel good. Who you belonged to.

Just those thoughts was enough for him to come all over his hand, staining his stomach and part of the ground. His chest rose and fell with a laugh. It sure was pathetic.

But now I felt like I had some kind of power over you. Maybe it was always like that, you were his from the day you greeted him for the first time. He refused to think that you could see him cheated on with his boss. It was ridiculous, you clearly loved him.

So, for Jungkook you were his lovers in body and soul.

He could and had the power to do whatever he wanted with you. Taehyung walked in front of him, but for the first time in two years he didn't feel happy or euphoric to see him, and less excited.

He also didn't feel different when he called him into his office.

"Sit down Mr. Jeon, I have some business to attend to with you."

He obeyed immediately, realizing that even he had a power over his weak form. No one was superior to the great Taehyung.

Ironically. He likes irony.

"Lately I was going through the files of my employees and noticed something very unique." He spoke fully focused on his speech, Jungkook felt uncomfortable under his dark and empty gaze. "You have been working here for more than two years without taking a vacation or leaving your position something very exceptional and admirable. Thank you very much for your commitment to us, Mr. Jeon."

A sigh left his lips, he wondered vaguely why his breathing seemed to fail thinking that they could fire him. That would be terribly chaotic, it could not be close to you if it were to be roofed by the company.

It was a relief for him and a condemnation for you.

"It really isn't important, Chief Kim. I will continue to do my job fervently and do my best." He responded with a smile and a bow, trying to get out as soon as possible. He wanted to see you and Taehyung was starting to make him more nervous than usual, he felt that characteristic feeling of having damn butterflies fluttering in his stomach.

He felt like vomiting.

"That seems incredible to me, I would like to celebrate your great achievements. You think if after work, I can buy you a... a drink." He offered remarkably animated.

Funny, he had never been interested in doing that even when Jungkook followed him around like a puppy seeking approval. Did change something now? "I think it would be fair."

Everyone fully says that Lucifer is a man, Eve was very tempted by the apple of sin ...

"I would be delighted, only if I can bring one more person. He is someone important to me, and I would like him to celebrate in the same way." Jungkook smiled, he was delighted.

Taehyung looked surprised, genuinely surprised. But still, he managed to maintain his composure. "Of course, it would be a pleasure to meet that special person to you. You can go now."

Jungkook nodded, giving another bow and walking patiently to the door.

Taehyung watched his figure get lost, he felt strangely curious. He had never seen Jungkook interested in anything other than his job. However, now he spoke of someone special in his life. He frowned, searching his desk for the keys to his drawer hidden from anyone.

It was a bit personal.

He opened it, taking out the only thing inside. A red letter, the envelope was charming and eye-catching. He remembered it just like that day, Jungkook kneeling on the floor of his office where silence reigned. I knew that little Jeon waited for everyone to leave so he could confess, he said nothing at all, his gaze on the ground and his hands held the letter in the air hoping that he would take it.

He never read it.

But he knew it was a confession of his unforgivable love, that Jungkook would think he could fire him for something so heinous. But it was never necessary, he never read the letter so there was never a mistake on anyone's part. But now he was curious.

Maybe jealousy, he wanted to have power over everyone within his company and if a puppet left his strings, it would be like losing power over everyone.

He was lost so much in his misery that he did not notice that you had entered without permission, you were in a hurry because he answered a call from an investor from China that you could not wait for him to answer.

"Mr. Kim, you have a call ..."

Business dinners were boring for you, you knew it was just a stupid look covering up a night in a restaurant where they met to drink as much alcohol as they could. Especially men, according to your criteria. You didn't feel comfortable being the third person on a date between a boss and an important employee. However, I politely accept Mr. Jeon's invitation.

You looked for the table, where dinner and a toast to all the achievements of the aforementioned was supposed to take place. It was one number in particular, table 69.

"Miss _____..." Jungkook was the first to get up from his place to say hello. Taehyung stayed still in his seat, not even looking up from his wine glass. "Have a seat please welcome."

You felt uncomfortable, again. You were the third wheel on a date of two, to say you were a hindrance was to be a joker. Your chair was closer to Jungkook, as if your boss wanted not to be near you by mistake.

"Do you want to order something? Some wine?" Jungkook seemed strangely nervous, as well as attentive to any of your movements.

As if he were afraid of something certainly improbable.

"A-water is fine, thanks." You whisper overwhelmed by so much attention from one person. His hands seemed to shake as he got up from his seat running to bring your precious order.

Taehyung looked at everything with skeptical eyes. He was an observer. His gaze fell on your clothes, you weren't necessarily wearing something revealing or provocative to have so much attention from his former platonic lovers. You were dressed in a black skirt, a honey colored blouse and a white scarf along with some black shoes. You looked comfortable with your clothes, but quite the opposite with the situation and the environment.

Jungkook was dumb. Very silly, he thought, reading your thoughts. You clearly weren't interested in him and still, he was struggling to get your approval as if you were better than Taehyung.

Did you even think about what you were so valuable?

Your name left his lips, drawing your attention right away. "Bored?" His question surprised you, perhaps he was more than observant.

"No, no ..." You reply nervously, waving your hands in the air to give yourself more credibility. "I just think I'm not the most appropriate person to take this place at this dinner. It's weird."

"I get it. You are nobody, just an employee trying to do your job ... not impressive, by the way." Your face was distorted, you were not the most correct person in a matter of manners but you were sure that that was completely offensive and rude. Your inner voice whispered for you to leave, it wasn't worth it. "You are free to go, I will tell Mr. Jeon that you felt bad and had an emergency."

Doubt grew within you. Right now you felt that everything that came out of his mouth was trying to attack you and hurt you in some way. You frowned, refusing to indulge in his game. To say that Taehyung was surprised was an understatement.

"I'm fine, but thank you Mr. Kim."

"Listen damned-..."

Jungkook returned to his place sitting next to you, Taehyung closed his mouth automatically fearing the worst of him. The glass of crystal clear water sat in front of you, it seemed as if it had searched for simple water for days when only a few minutes passed. He looked eager for you to bring him to your lips and drink from something brought by him.

It was terrifying.

Your hand refused to take the glass, your conscience screamed uncontrollably for you to drop it on the floor pretending to have an accident. It was a horribly euphoric feeling. When the water wet your tongue you felt dizzy, your nerves calmed down noticeably.

It was just water.

Jungkook kept smiling the entire dinner, talking about things you honestly didn't understand. It was as if he and Taehyung had a special language to speak to each other, one in which you weren't welcome.

"It feels good?" Your vision became blurry, you had drunk half a glass of wine but your head felt like a whirlpool. Strangely familiar. Your mouth suddenly felt dry, your breath failed and your eyes surrendered.

Jungkook screamed in horror when your body fell to the ground, Taehyung smugly watched as the people around you tried to get up scared by your state. He did not care much about me, nor did it affect him that Jungkook went with you to a hospital. He just sat there, finishing his glass of wine and his special dish. Curious eyes watched them intrigued.

A truly unique man.

Your head rested calmly on his shoulder, he finally smiled away from the pressure of the people in the restaurant. You seemed so peaceful with your steady breathing and calm rhythm, you were so close to him that he was afraid he couldn't wait until he got to his new home. The man who was driving observed in the rear-view mirror, they seemed like a very calm couple and it certainly created a chilling sensation as the young man sitting in his car touched your face as if he feared breaking you by accident. On cold nights like these, he preferred not to ask any questions of his clandestine and unknown clients, but he would always take that doubt about who he helped to escape his own problems.

The room specially chosen by him was decorated, every detail seemed to reflect your darkest tastes and those that everyone knew. It was beautifully scary like the books and pillow was a replica of what you always wanted. Jungkook was proud to have been able to get everything, his bank account was now just zeroes. He learned how useful money was if you saved enough, he hated people who used it without knowing or measuring what it might be worth later.

Your body fell on the giant bed, the sheets were soft and honey color like your blouse. Jungkook knew that you liked colors that will make you relax but you had no preference for one in particular. His curious eyes glowed in the dark, his hands daringly touched your body without fear of being rejected because you simply couldn't do it.

"You are mine, now." He whispered, his voice mingling with the silent screams of the night. The moon was shining hungrily illuminating the room, but not enough to impede what was impossible to stop. "Sleep, sleep a lot. I could wait for you forever."

His promises remained in the air and on deaf ears. With selfishness in his heart, he rose above you positioning himself above you allowing his face to fall on your neck where he sipped from your charming scent that tempted him to follow. Your legs were side by side on his hips, he brought his body closer to yours. He couldn't bear to go on pretending to be the good guy, he was the only one.

"Please do not leave me..."

His sobs were trapped between the four walls, he was sick. He begged for forgiveness. Mercy he did not deserve. I was hoping that you could see him again directly as always, with a smile and your soft voice wishing him a good morning.

His calm, gentle kisses turned desperate, angry, and somewhat cruel. Leaving exaggerated marks all over your body, I wish it long ago. However, he was never heard.

Now he had what he wanted.

He felt complete by your side. His parents loved him as if they depended on their love, but they were certainly false in his head. Jungkook happily recalled how they prevented him from using his own money, how they seemed to put walls in front of him to prevent him from going to live alone, and how they rejected that he was in love with someone of the same gender.

His father called it disgusting and a shame, his mother was silent crying in his hands covering her grief.

Their bodies were never discovered. The police felt useless in front of their eyes, they apologized for their incompetence. They had fallen off a bridge where they always went to pray, where Jungkook knew they were asking for forgiveness and then committing the same sins again.

He planned his move cunningly, moving his pieces one by one.

He amused himself like a child killing a pawn of his competition.

He made an account of his crimes, his parents, Taehyung's best friend who was the harmless Park Jimin, his boss's former secretary who after being fired was strangely run over by a car that was never discovered, also remembers your insolent neighbor who seemed to enjoy stalking you, Jungkook remembers how I completely hate him. His hands on her neck made it clear when she hated him, he was disgusting.

He applauded happily, he felt very good about himself seeing that he made up his mind about so many people who for him were a plague in this world. It was like a child receiving a gift, his hands took the pen on his desk writing the last name on his list for now. Red ink stained the paper, a smile invaded his face.

𝓚𝓲𝓶 𝓣𝓪𝓮𝓱𝔂𝓾𝓷𝓰.

A gasp left his lips watching your figure move on the bed, he got up from his seat to watch you wake up. You looked so innocent, but now you were stained.

You carried her future child within you, he tried very hard to get you pregnant. You never noticed how he always managed to put powdered sleeping pills in your food every night since he got tired of just looking at you. Then he only had to enter your house like a ghost, his moans of pleasure were silent as he collided with you, fucking you hard with the thought and idea that you would carry his son in your womb.

So, you would never want to leave.

You will learn to love the monotony of being the wife and mother of Jeon Jungkook's son.

After all, he was never a fool.

[justasimptm]

The Bride C3

“My children, thank you all for coming. Lady Dimitrescu, you have my thanks for agreeing to host me, visiting your home is always such a pleasure,” Mother Miranda starts, all attention snapping to her immediately. The praise makes Mother smile, she dips her read in reverence. Miranda sweeps her eyes around at all of us, pausing on each of our forms in acknowledgement, I can nearly feel Moroe shaking when she glances at him. How pathetic. “I’ve asked you all here so we can review our progress, and make changes as necessary. Monroe, why don’t you start for us. How have the Cadou been taking?”

And so it goes around, everyone trying to earn Miranda’s love by saying how well we’re doing, despite no real progress being made. When her gaze finally settles on me I feel uneasy, unsure what she’ll ask me. Mother had been very clear that I was not going to be doing any real work in terms of changing anyone.

“Y/N, my youngest, I have a very important question to ask you. An honor, really. Please come here,” she calls, extending her hand forward. After a glance at my mother and a near microscopic nod of her head in permission, I draw forwards slowly, bowing my head in respect as I stand before her. “Please, daughter, look at me.” Monroe gasps audibly, he’s not allowed to look at her, not this close. Most of us tend to divert our eyes, only looking at her briefly. None of us have ever been specifically instructed to hold our contact.

Shakily my eyes skim up to her face, where a soft but chilling smile rests. She dips down ever so slightly, pulling my hand into hers, sending another shockwave of surprise from our company. Mother Miranda typically prefers not to be touched, so the fact she is initiating this contact makes me uneasy. What could she want from me that she feels she needs to do all of these theatrics to get it? Why does she think I need to feel special?

“Y/N. You’ve grown so much. I remember seeing you, still human, near death. The metamycite allows me to see such things, and my oh my, how you’ve blossomed. Of all my children, how it changed you really is the most amazing.” I can feel the chilled stares, clearly off put by the favoritism. “You’ve all become so much more than you ever expected, but Y/N? She’s still able to retain her form, identical to how she was before, even her newer form is still beautiful. It doesn’t fight to escape her, it helps her shine. She isn’t in danger from things that the other girls are, the cold does nothing to her.” Now I’m starting to get more nervous, all these compliments are certainly leading up to something big, something I don’t know if I’ll be able to give. “And so, as the one I’ve seen bond so well with the change, I have a wonderful question for you.” And here it comes. “I would never wish to take you from your true mother, but with your permission I would like to use your DNA, try to combine it with my beloved Eva’s. I truly feel as though we will have some great success if we do so.”

This even tears a shocked sound from myself and I have to steel every nerve in my body to keep from jerking back and out of her hold. She wants to use me to bring her daughter back? I didn’t even want this. Behind me a loud clap startles me from my frozen state. I can hear my mother thanking Miranda for her generosity, Moroe and Donna chittering between themselves, but Heisenberg is surprisingly quiet.

“Silence!” The room mutes instantly at Miranda’s words. “This choice is for Y/N, and Y/N alone.” She tips my head back up, staring through her mask into my eyes. “What do you think, my child? May I try?”

‘NO NO NO’ I want to scream, ‘no you can’t use me to try to bring your daughter back from the dead. You should just let me die!’ Instead I force a smile, pushing as much faux excitement into it as possible and nodding my head so fast I swear I can feel my brain slamming around. “Yes of course you can, Mother Miranda! I would be so honored to help you! Please, let me do what I can for you!” A smile spreads across her face at my external eagerness. Her hand strokes my cheek, before stepping back.

“Thank you, Y/N.” With that she essentially shoves her hand into my stomach, causing me to gasp and stumble slightly. And then just as quick as she did it, she pulls back, a handful of something in her grasp. Something inside me feels slightly out of place, shifting until it rests back where it thinks it belongs. “I must go now, bring this to my laboratory so I can begin trials.” With that she’s gone in a flurry of crows, leaving the five of us in silence.

Silence which is broken with a crash, and lots of yelling. My mother sighs, growling out my sister's names.

“Daughter, would you mind going and telling your sisters to knock it off.” She says to me, turning to face our company, “It’s time for me to show them out.” I dip my head in acknowledgement, turning and allowing my form to change. Much like my sisters I can essentially hold my full body form, but also shift into insects to move quicker. However, unlike them where they’re flies, I actually can become moths. Much more elegant, if you ask me, which is the only reason I ever even allow myself to do it.

For the first month after my change I had no control, phasing in and out of each form sporadically. I’ve grown since then, now able to focus it into certain areas if I wanted. It takes less than a minute to find where the racket was coming from. The three of them had taken to terrorizing our newest servant, the poor girl was backed into a corner in the study, brandishing a candelabra as if it would protect her. Judging from the state of her clothes and the blood stains they had already gotten a bite of her.

“What on earth do the three of you think you’re doing?” I seethe, their collective attention snaps to me in an instant. The girl lets out a pathetic whimper as I reform and stalk forwards. Bela laughs, twirling her blade around her fingers as she eyes me up and down.

“We were hungry, sister, what do you think we were doing?” She snarks, turning her gaze back to the shaking child, who curls deeper into herself. Cassandra and Daniela let out small confirmations, unable to keep their eyes on me longer than a moment before turning back towards the girl, eyeing her up like a lion would a gazelle.

“I think you’re all acting like imbeciles.” I snap, crossing the room in an instant and throwing them against the wall before latching onto the girl's shoulder and shoving her from the room. “Go get that bandaged, report to my  Mother immediately.” I demand, slamming the door behind her as she stumbles into the hall before rounding back to my sisters. “You three know better. Mother Miranda had barely left before your little stunt. Can you imagine how displeased our mother would have been if you had embarrassed her?”

Daniela rolls her eyes at my dull threat, Cassandra has the decency to look slightly wounded, but Bela? Of course she isn’t done fighting me yet. She takes half a step forwards, cocking her head to the side and smiling at me. “What? Afraid we’ll ruin your chances at being Mother Miranda's special little guinea pig? As if you deserve that. She should have asked us. We’re far stronger than you anyways.” She states, motioning to herself and the other two.

“Yeah,” Daniela says, crossing her arms and stepping up beside her, “You aren’t as special as she thinks. Anything you do, you know that we do it better.” Cassandra joins them, creating a wall of envy.

“You didn’t even want this, remember? Mother should have just let you die. She could have had us, we’re all she needs.” She tells me. Part of me wants to laugh, another part to scream. I wanted to die, I want to tell them, I wish she had let me. But if they thought they could be so much better, then I might as well show them why they’re weak. In an instant I’ve flown across the room, throwing open the window I had once escaped from, letting a harsh breeze of cold air flush the room. They screech at me indignantly to close it as they scramble for the door. I just smile, moving to stand directly in front of the billowing curtains.

“Next time you three start thinking you’re better than me because you were so prepared for this, I want you to remember one thing. You may have asked for this, but you are not stronger than me. I take more than some wind to hurt. Be careful who you try to play with girls, because unlike the maids, I’m not an ant for you to burn with a magnifying glass. You are, and no matter how much my Mother loves you, I am her real daughter, and out of the four of us? Take a guess who she would save.” With that I allow myself to drop backwards out the window, vaguely noting that they managed to get the door open and get out to safety. A feeling of serenity rushes through my veins as I drop. Finally being able to snap at them felt so good, even if later I end up regretting it. After the day I’ve had, there isn’t an ounce of regret in my body. It felt so good to be so cold, to say what I had been craving to say since they came into my life. They had all but imposed upon a life I didn’t want, tried to shoved me into a corner, tried to take what was mine. I am sick of letting people take from me.

God had dictated to take my life. My mother took my death. They tried to take my mother. Miranda wants to take my body. Take, take, take. No more. If this is the life I have to live, then nobody is taking it from me. Never again.

[silhouetteofacedar]

Fox Mulder, Closet Romantic Ch. 15: Silk and Salt

Previous Chapter - AO3 - MSR, rated E

A real date.

Mulder hasn’t been on a blatant, show-up-with-roses, ‘I’m into you and would like to get laid maybe’ date in a good five years. Possibly longer; he really doesn’t remember at this point. His life before Scully seems strangely two-dimensional in memory these days.

Part of him thinks that fancy dinners or elegant nights out don’t really seem like their style, but he figures they can decide together after the fact. They have to try it at least once, right? God knows she deserves it.

They’re busy with Mulder’s Gettysburg ghost case for the next few days (he was right, which Scully would not accept), but by Wednesday things have settled down, and he’s able to plan.

“Saturday, May sixteenth, at five,” he announces without preamble on Thursday morning. “I’ll pick you up. And don’t be alarmed, but I’ll be wearing a tuxedo.”

“Okay,” she says, surprised. “I take it this is the date I requested?”

“Yes it is,” he replies. “But that’s all I’m going to reveal. The details are a surprise, and if I recall correctly, somebody wanted to keep personal discussions outside of working hours, so by that metric I’ve already said too much.”

Scully presses her lips together, nodding. “Say no more,” she says. “Now where’s your report?”

He’s not nervous. He’s a grown man; a federal agent, for fuck’s sake. This is nothing compared to some of the tense situations he’s been in throughout his career. Knocking on his partner’s door with a bouquet of red roses under his arm doesn’t even make the list.

Regardless… he’s a little nervous.

Scully opens the door in a flurry of dark blue silk and delicate perfume. “Wow, hi,” she breathes, stepping back and opening the door wider. “Nice tux.”

“Thanks,” he says faintly, drinking in the sight of her.

She’s wearing a silky floor length slip dress with teeny little straps, and he has the fleeting image of snapping them with his teeth, leaving bite marks on her smooth shoulders. She sees him staring and smiles.

“Navy blue; exciting, isn’t it,” she says, gesturing sheepishly to the dress. “I can only handle one fashion adventure at a time.”

His eyes travel her body, appreciating the way the fabric skims her hips. “You look incredible, Scully,” he says, voice oddly hoarse. He clears his throat. “These are for you,” he adds unnecessarily, holding out the bouquet.

“Thank you,” she says, taking the roses. “These are gorgeous, Mulder. Let me put them in water.” She steps into the kitchen and sets the bouquet on the counter. “You know, the last time somebody gave me flowers, I was dying of cancer,” she says conversationally, bending to retrieve a vase from the cupboard under the sink. “Needless to say, this is a preferable occasion.”

“Mark didn’t…?”

“No,” Scully replies, filling the vase under the tap. “I think flowers happen less in real life than they do in movies, at least in my experience. I can count on one hand the number of times a date brought me a bouquet.”

“Nobody’s ever gotten me flowers, so I think I have you beat,” Mulder says.

“I’ll get you some sometime,” Scully says, and it doesn’t seem like she’s joking. She unwraps the stems and places them in the vase. “I’ll give them food and a fresh cut later,” she says, and Mulder nods as though he understands flower care. So water’s not enough…?

“So where are we going?” Scully asks, taking her wrap off the back of the couch and draping it over her shoulders. “I’m assuming - actually, hoping - there’s food involved.”

“I would never neglect to feed a lady,” Mulder assures her. “We have reservations somewhere, but that’s after this.” He withdraws an envelope from his jacket and hands it to her.

Scully peeks into the envelope and pulls out two tickets, scanning the tiny print. “The Kennedy Center?” she says in surprise.

He nods. “The National Symphony Orchestra is playing a selection of Vaughan Williams,” he replies. “Thought you might like it.”

“Mulder, this is amazing,” she says. “I haven’t heard live music in ages. It’s one of those things that’s hard to prioritize.” She slips the tickets back into the envelope and hands it back to him. “So, are you ready to go?” she asks, picking up her little evening bag, gathering the long chain in one hand. She loops the other around his elbow.

He tucks the tickets back into his jacket pocket. “Let’s go paint the town.”

In Mulder’s estimation, one of the best things about going to the symphony is that there’s not much to watch aside from the waving arms of the conductor. Therefore he feels free to close his eyes, absorb the music, daydream a little without risking missing anything important.

The most important thing, after all, is sitting right next to him.

He glances at Scully often, taking in her beautiful face, the rapturous look in her eyes, the elegant curve of her nose, her tender mouth. He loves the way she wore her hair tonight; it’s shiny and wavy, pulled back on one side with a little comb. He fantasizes about slipping the comb out of her hair, sifting his fingers through crimson strands as he draws her in for a kiss. Feeling tendrils brush his face as his lips travel to her earlobe, her neck…

She’s looking at him now, an eyebrow arched. He shrugs, heat in his cheeks as he faces forward again.

He feels something brushing his finger and glances down to see her small, manicured hand creep on top of his, their little fingers intertwining.

The music soars, and he floats away with it.

“That was wonderful,” she says as they walk out of the theatre. “The last piece especially, The Lark Ascending,” she notes, glancing at the program. “It was magical. I’m so glad we did this.”

“Not bad for our first real date?” Mulder asks, hand on the small of her back. He secretly relishes the slip the fabric beneath his palm.

“Not bad at all,” she replies, smiling up at him. God, what did he ever do to deserve that smile? He’s grossly inadequate.

Mulder glances at his watch when they reach his car. “I expected the concert to be longer,” he admits, wincing. “Our reservation isn’t until eight, at that French place on northwest M Street.”

At that exact moment, Mulder hears Scully’s stomach growl.

She looks up at him apologetically. “You can ignore that, can’t you?”

“How hungry are you, Scully?” he asks, leaning against the car. She grabs his elbow and pulls him forward. “Mulder, you’re going to get dusty,” she warns. “And I’ll admit I haven’t eaten much today… I’ll admit I was a little nervous.”

“You were nervous? Why?” he asks, concerned.

“Well, nervous and excited. Because this… this is new. It’s a good thing,” she explains, “But it’s going to take some time to get used to.”

He nods. “Adjusting.”

“Exactly.”

Her stomach lets out another rumble.

“Scully, we should eat now. We can save the restaurant for another time,” he says. “I can’t have you passing out on me; you’re the doctor in this partnership. What’re you in the mood for?”

She licks her lips. “Don’t laugh,” she warns. “Actually, let’s just start walking,” she says, looping an arm with his. “There’s a spot not far from here that I really like. It’ll be a surprise.”

This is incredible.

Mulder wasn’t aware that it was possible to fall this hard for a person, but Scully never ceases to amaze him. Of all the places she could have picked, she chose an ancient, cramped little fish and chips shop down by the Potomac. So here they are, dressed to the nines at a tiny table with two heaping baskets of fish and chips between them. Their ten minute walk had made them both a little warm; his jacket is off, shirt sleeves rolled up, bow-tie undone and hanging loosely around his neck. Scully’s shawl is draped over the back of her chair, her arms enticingly bare as she cuts tender sections off of a slab of crispy battered cod.

“People are staring at us,” she says in a low tone, dipping a bite of fish into the saggy paper cup of tartar sauce. “You think maybe we’re overdressed?”

He grins at her. “Might be. They’re all looking at you,” he insists. “A gorgeous redhead in a silk gown, chowing down on greasy seafood? It’s like spotting Halley’s Comet,”

She locks eyes with him as she chews, a smile quirking her lips. “You think I’m gorgeous?” she teases.

“Of course,” he replies easily, pouring ketchup over his chips. “And brilliant, and compassionate, and adorable, and-”

“Stop,” she implores, holding up a hand. “I can only handle one compliment at a time.”

“Then we gotta increase your stamina, Scully, because I could easily go on.”

“Oh could you?” she says, raising a brow. “I’d like to see that sometime.”

“I’m ready when you are,” he replies.

“Mm,” she hums, busying herself with her fork. “I’ll keep you posted.”

He leans forward, knees bumping hers beneath the postage stamp-sized table. “Can I confess something?”

“Sure,” she replies, popping a chip into her mouth and brushing salt off her fingertips.

“I can’t stop thinking about kissing you again. I would have earlier but your lipstick looked really nice and I didn’t want to smudge it.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Wow,” she says softly. She drops her hand to the table, runs a fingertip over his knuckles. “Well, when we get out of here…” she trails off suggestively.

He hopes she doesn’t notice him start to chew faster.

[stanzoeywade]

Tiptoe - Poppy x MC

Taglist: @somewillwin @uhh-the-green-thing @jmojellybae @simp-pony @made-me-deep-blue @uselesslesbianfr @it-lives-in-braidwood-manor @belvoiresqueenbee @alexlabhont @samanthadalton @crazzyplays @sparring-hyena @baexpoppy @cloakanddaggerthings

Summary: Poppy and MC meet in summer and they were dating but broke it off, not related to free falling dhaisja don't ask about ch3 idk either.

A/N: uhm hi I've been a ghost for like months lol but I heard from a little birdie that queen b is coming back in September and I'm so ready to clown for my wife Poppy again. Based on song below which is a bop. I also did not check my spelling or grammar I die like a dumbass. My one braincell would like to thank u all and Gabi for this fic 💗

There's hardly anything in this world that captivates you, until you see her. Her flawless skin, her blonde hair and those deep chocolate orbs that you just want to stare at and drown in forever. Who knew such a beauty existed? It boggles you to know that the Min-Sinclair heiress is perfect. One might say that you're jealous but deep down you know that's not the case. Jealousy? No, it's not jealousy, you're enthralled by her. It's not even because of how fucking gorgeous she looks, it runs deeper than that. There's just this weird sense of kinship that you feel when you look at her. She's more than the ranking, she's vulnerable and actually cares, something you saw when you went to the animal shelter.

The way her eyes sparkled when she saw the rescue animals, the way her mouth curved into that gentle smile. Who knew the queen bee of Belvoire had a heart? Her vulnerability is further shown when you realise that the golden girl of Belvoire has her own scars, her pride a by-product of the hurt caused by family and so called friends.

Having seen the forefront of it all, Belvoire is cutthroat. Everything matters, the clothes you wear, your family name. It's a free for all, no one cares who gets burned, low blows exchanged, it's all a big mind game and those who fall under pressure lose not just their reputation but everything they have worked for. But apart from all of that, she's still the first thing that makes you smile.

It's damning, the way your mind and heart races at the thought of Poppy. The way her eyes light up when she flashes that gentle smile, where one look is all it takes to make your knees weak and the blood rushing up your cheeks. You've never seen such a beauty, her smile is like a soft ray of sunshine, warming you up. However, she's also as mysterious as the moon, especially since she acts so sweet and the next minute she's as cold as ever. It's enough to give you whiplash.

Such gentle and delicate features, yet her personality is as fiery as the sun, I guess it's true what they say, the sun is beautiful yet staring at it can become painful.

It's confusing as to why Rosie's fallen so hard for Poppy, they've been rivals from the start, with each other's goal to come out on top. Things have definitely changed after the night they slept together, Poppy's words have no actual bite to them. If she were brave enough Rosie would've called Poppy out on it, but she's so confused on where they stand that she doesn't want to risk this newfound "friendship" if one can even call it that.

It suddenly hits Rosie like a brick. 'Wait, has Poppy been courting me in her own weird way or am I imagining shit?' She becomes more confused as Poppy seems to stare at her longer than she ever did, sometimes Rosie would meet eyes with Poppy who seems to have a longing stare as if she has so much to convey yet has no courage to do so. Sometimes it gets to the point where Poppy blushes after she realises that both of them have been staring at each other for too long. Both of them being a flustered and blushing mess, looking away as if they've been burned from getting too close to a fire.

Most people in Belvoire would argue that its not longing and wistful glances that the two are exchanging, they'd say that those were intense glares formed from the ongoing rivalry that the two have established in public, but anyone who personally knows Poppy and Rosie would say differently. There's also an ongoing bet between the students of the school. Some argue that Poppy and Rosie are secretly dating whilst the rest argue that they absolutely loathe each other and the ongoing stares are to intimidate each other to give in and leave Belvoire.

Zoey and Veronica are secretly in cahoots in which they bet that the two are definitely dating or in Veronica's words "those two are definitely fucking" which earns her a fond smile as well as a roll of the eyes from Zoey. Chloe suspects something between Poppy and Rosie, considering they genuinely don't seem to put energy behind the insults they throw at each other. She doesn't think that the two are lovers but she definitely thinks that they're secretly friends.

It's not until Veronica sees Rosie wink at Poppy when she thought nobody was looking, and she was certain that the blonde would glare at Rosie but imagine her surprise when Poppy flirts back by winking back. In which she's all too excited to text Zoey about. "Omfg bitch, you won't believe what I saw today, like holy fuck the two gays were flirting when they thought no one was looking." All she gets in response from Zoey was "show receipts pls."

Rosie can feel herself falling for Poppy, both of them know that things have changed. Neither seem too interested in fighting and when they do argue, it's all for show, after all no one knows that they're secretly pining after each other. She suddenly remembers how they met.

-Flashback-

Being relatively new to New York, Rosie was eager to meet new people and what better way to start off than hooking up with strangers from a random bar? After all, the city was big and it's been a while. As soon as she arrived someone immediately caught her attention. One Poppy Min-Sinclair, dressed to the nines, she was definitely Rosie's type. Not really expecting anything Rosie struts towards her, in hopes of beginning a conversation.

At first Poppy seemed uninterested, scoffing and she felt a presence near her. She didn't really want to deal with anyone considering they're usually just random guys who wanted to hook up in the bathrooms or worse they're drunk as fuck trying to flirt with her. However, imagine her surprise when she looks at the person that dared to sit by her. Poppy would be lying if she said that the girl in front of her wasn't her type. She seemed sweet, and had a gentle smile. It was also a bonus that the girl seemed to know how to dress herself.

When their eyes met, there was this lightning spark that just fit into place, the two had chemistry. It was undeniable, the two just knew how to push and pull. The banter was there, so was the attraction.

Poppy wasn't shy about showing her attraction, obviously checking Rosie out, which earns her a low chuckle from the other girl. "At least buy me dinner first before you undress me with you eyes?" said Rosie with mirth dancing around her eyes, whilst Poppy just laughs, soft and languidly slow. At which point Rosie knew she was screwed, the blonde in front of her looked like she just walked out of the runway, and her laugh was definitely something Rosie wanted to hear more of.

She's pulled out of her epiphany once Poppy speaks, voice sultry and pulling Rosie in like a siren. "My name is Poppy Min-Sinclair, and I do what I want sweetheart." The confidence she exudes is shown in her voices. It's addicting the way the blonde presents herself, every move calculated and poised. Every word that leaves her lips is deliberate and elegant in her own unique way. If she was in her right mind, Rosie would've been terrified by how enraptured she was by this girl in front of her.

Rosie wasn't one to back down from a challenge therefore she decides to tease the girl in front of her. "Is your name supposed to be important? I've never heard of it. Anyways, since you've introduced yourself so nicely, my name's Rosie." Poppy just raises an eyebrow at her semi-surprised that the other girl hasn't heard of her. "Sorry babe, the whole world doesn't revolve around you." said Rosie with a cheeky smile and wink and before Poppy can retort Rosie finishes off by saying "but it definitely should revolve around you, I mean look at you, you're mesmerising."

If it were any other person, Poppy would have definitely rolled her eyes and walked away, but Rosie seemed to mean it. The other girl definitely looked like she wore her heart on her sleeve, and it was just so damn endearing that Poppy, against her usual M.O., she decides to stay and talk to the other girl. 'She looks cute enough, but if she's gonna be annoying then I'll just ditch her later.' thought Poppy.

Both women were intrigued by each other, and one thing led to another. Before they knew it they were together in a hotel room. Neither of them cared about who made the move first, all they knew was that they had to have each other one way or the other.

Despite her pent up desire and lust, Poppy still cared about her reputation, after all even if she was on break it didn't mean she can be careless, plus she didn't exactly want to expose Rosie to Belvoire's dirty laundry, the girl seemed nice enough and Poppy wasn't about to mess with this girl. Sure she's a fucking bitch but that doesn't mean she wants people to suffer because of her unless they've wronged her or any of her friends in some way. She's petty but she's not that petty.

God knows Belvoire is a shithole.

They're definitely closer than what should be conceived as acceptable, considering Rosie is literally one step away from kissing Poppy. Not like either of then cared considering they were too focused on each other to pay attention to their surroundings. It's only when the bartender coughs that the two pull away from each other as if taken out of their seemingly lulled state.

Rosie's about to say goodbye, considering the blonde seems like she's torn between leaving or staying, but she's caught by surprise when Poppy yanks her arm back. "Where do you think you're going, little lamb? I didn't say I was done with you yet." The way it was said was enough to make Rosie shiver. The way the Min-Sinclair heiress said it so confidently, it didn't help that she looked to be the epitome of lust and desire at that moment, but from then on Rosie knew she was fucked, both literally and figuratively.

Before she knew it she was pulled into a car headed to the nearest luxury hotel, which just so happens to be a presidential suite at The Ritz. Rosie didn't show but she was shocked. She knew the girl was rich, I mean come on her clothes are fresh off the runway and the blonde exuded power and wealth. But this was like a bucket of ice water being dropped on Rosie's head, this was definitely something she wasn't expecting.

NSFW AHEAD

She's taken aback by the inside of the hotel suite, she expected it to be fancy, but nothing could prepare her for the plush king sized bed, as well as the overall layout of the room. It looks like something straight out of an IKEA magazine, Rosie can't help but think.

"Well, are you just going to stand there or are we actually going to fuck?" says Poppy. Rosie is taken aback from how bluntly Poppy put it. Speaking of which, the blonde girl is already half way through removing her clothes. She couldn't help the gasp that escapes her as she gawks at Poppy and the way her body looks so perfect, unblemished milky white skin that looks so soft, all Rosie could think of is leaving marks in her wake. She licks her lips in anticipation as Poppy gives her the come hither gesture, and Rosie is immediately lured in, like a moth drawn to a flame.

Her hands immediately raise up, helping Poppy out of her clothes, until all that remains is Poppy's underwear. Her eyes scan Poppy's body and out of the corner of her eye she can see Poppy's satisfied smile. Rosie is pulled in, her body pulled in flush against Poppy. Her eyes dart over to Poppy's lips as she leans in to kiss Poppy. A hand covers her mouth as she hears "Not yet Hughes, it's unfair if I'm the only one in my underwear."

Rosie's ears are definitely bright red at this point and she's pretty sure that her whole body is flushed, but she gives Poppy a show as she takes each article of clothing slowly, piece by piece as if testing Poppy's already short patience. As she takes her blouse off, Poppy's staring at her so intensely she can feel her legs wobble. The look conveying an unspoken promise. It's enough to make her a little self conscious, but her confidence is regained as soon as she sees how flushed Poppy is. It also helped that she saw Poppy gulp, looking at her like she's the only thing in the world. "See something you like, Min-Sinclair?" she can't help but tease and the blonde rolls her eyes.

"You were doing so well until you started speaking. Just get your ass over here. I'm not used to waiting for things I want." said Poppy. Rosie struts over to Poppy.

She's immediately back at Poppy's side, the Min-Sinclair heiress looking her up and down which makes Rosie nervous as the way Poppy stares is intense. Her doubts are quickly quelled as she's soon tugged harshly the collar. Poppy pulls her in roughly for a kiss, as their tongues dance and weave against each other, battling for dominance. They both step forwards towards the bed, and the noises that come out of Poppy is irresistible and music to her ears. She sounds incredible and Rosie can't get enough and with a flick of her tongue Poppy is putty in her hands.

They both fall towards the bed, Poppy ending up under Rosie. They pull away quickly to catch their breath, and Poppy's eyes are blown so much so, her pupils are dilated like a cat ready to catch its prey. Her lips parted and bruised, taking in oxygen as if all of her breath has been taken away. If Rosie thought she was in charge, she's got another thing coming. Their position is switched, as Poppy expertly flips them over, landing her on top of the other girl. Rosie ending up with her back against the bed as Poppy straddles her. "You're a good kisser, Hughes." she says and Rosie smiles mischievously "I try." she replies.

Poppy's quick to kiss Rosie again, as if she's her only lifeline teetering her to the world. Every kiss shared feels like sparks flying, the intensity and passion leaving them both breathless. It's not like Rosie's gonna give in and let Poppy top her, she quickly pull Poppy by the waist, bodies completely flushed against each other before rolling over so that their position is once again switched. This time Rosie comes out on top.

Before the other girl can complain, Rosie's quick to shut her up but trailing kisses from lips to her neck. Poppy smells like fresh cherries and vanilla, which for some reason is very fitting. After all cherries are sweet but the fruit itself can be dangerous, however there's a hint of danger. After all cherries do have cyanide in the seed. The whimpers and moans that come from Poppy's mouth are sensual and spurs Rosie on even more. She can't get enough of the blonde.

She can feel Poppy's nails taking across her back, and she's sure that those are definitely going to leave marks, not like she minds considering she's too far gone from the sound of Poppy's moans and whimpers.

Rosie looks at Poppy and she can't help but admire how beautiful Poppy looks under her, eyes half lidded and chest heaving. "You look better when you're quiet, Princess." said Rosie, but instead of reporting Poppy just pulls her back in and their lips are clashing against except this time its rough. Poppy pulling and tugging at her hair, while leaving small nibbles on her lips. Rosie knows that her lips are going to be all sorts of red and bruised the next morning.

Rosie's hand finds their way to the waistband of Poppy underwear, and she can feel the wet patch. She slides her hand inside and moves her fingers to find Poppy's clit, where she rubs small circles, and she feels the blonde jolt from the sudden contact and Rosie is about to apologise until she hears Poppy's breathy moans. "I swear to god, if you stop I'm going to fucking kill you." whimpered Poppy.

Rosie just smiles against Poppy's skin as she continues teasing Poppy until the other girl is a panting and whimpering mess. "I need your fingers inside me Hughes, stop fucking around and actually start fucking me." It's said so desperately Rosie finally grants the blonde her wish and starts pumping her fingers in and out until the blonde cums, back arched away from bed and a loud and filthy moan is all the can be heard. Rosie helps the other ride out her orgasm by cooing gentle words and leaving kisses that are definitely going to leave marks on the Poppy's unblemished skin.

-NSFW END-

-FLASHBACK END-

The casuak hook up turns into dates and outings, and both of them start to catch feelings for each other. As much as it surprises Poppy she genuinely enjoys the time that she spends with Rosie. The other girl always making sure to make Poppy smile. It doesn't help that Rosie had this weird way of knowing when Poppy was upset or stressed in which she'd always do something to help the blonde feel better. Rosie's become a constant, a home away from home in a sort. Always there even on Poppy's worse days, not giving in even when Poppy's relentlessly cruel and bitchy. If she weren't so fucking smitten Poppy would have thought that Rosie was a Saint considering how patient she is. However, she refuses to confess her feelings to the other girl first, after all she's a Min-Sinclair and they don't confess ever. People confess to her.

They're both stubborn, therefore they both refuse to even acknowledge their budding feelings for the other. Though there have been too many times where Poppy has gotten jealous when people stare too much at Rosie, though it's reserved and usually subtle. Poppy quietly stakes her claim by always having some sort of physical contact with Rosie. It could be something as simple as a hand on Rosie's forearm or wrist. But the real warning comes from her passive aggressiveness when others get too close to Rosie or the glares that are given if anyone is dumb enough to try and flirt with the other girl.

It's not like Rosie is any better. Whilst Poppy is subtle with her jealousy, Rosie is not. She's always quick hold Poppy's hand as if to signify that the blonde is hers and it's even worse if anyone ignores that. She becomes more physically affectionate. She hugs Poppy as if her life depends on it. There's also been a few times where if Rosie's patience was tested she'd get really jealous and the next time they're intimate she always leaves marks where no one but her or Poppy knows. It's also when she becomes quite dominant in the bedroom and it genuinely entertains Poppy so much so it's become her second favourite past time. The first definitely being their intimate moments.

It gets to the point where both of then get so frustrated they confess how they feel that the same time, which becomes one of their inside jokes considering they both felt like idiots for not confessing their feelings sooner.

However, it's not like summer lasts forever and both of them end up breaking it off, since Poppy actually likes Rosie and she refuses to put her through the shit that goes on in Belvoire. "It was fun while it lasted, Hughes, but I'm sorry. I have to go back and I'm not sure I'll ever see you again." said Poppy, voice cold as ice as if the whole thing didn't matter. Poppy would be lying if she said that it meant nothing, considering she's never been happier. The other girl definitely had a special place in her heart but as they say if you really live someone you have to let them go. She might be cruel but she's not about to fuck Rosie's life up by involving her in the stupidity of Belvoire, she deserves better. Maybe after unibersity she can find Rosie and they can try again.

Rosie's quite sure that she's never going to find anyone that makes her feel the way Poppy does, but she's not one to make things more complicated. "I'm glad I met you Poppy Min-Sinclair, it's been fun while it lasted. Maybe someday we can meet each other again."

Imagine her surprise when it turns out that Poppy attends Belvoire, both of them shocked to see each other again. The only difference being that Poppy seems much colder than the one she met before. Her eyes didn't have that shine or hint of mischief. It looked too detached. "What are you staring at?" said one of the girls following Poppy. Her eyes widened in surprise as the person her roommate Zoey warned her about was Poppy. She's barely acknowledged by Poppy as she just walks away without a word.

Things start to get more complicated as both of them are put against each other, as they compete for the top spot. It's not like Rosie really cared about the fucking thing, in all honesty she didn't even want to compete with Poppy but it's not like she had a choice considering no one cared that she didn't want to compete with Poppy. It gets to the point Rosie avoids Poppy altogether, not really wanting the unsolicited drama with the other girl.

It becomes even worse when rumours start that th reason why the two girls avoided each other like the plague was because Carter was cheating on Poppy with Rosie, and this gets blown out of proportion during the football game in which the screen shows a poorly photoshopped photo of Rosie and Carter kissing.

The way Poppy looked at Rosie broke her heart. Poppy looked tired and upset. She looked like she was betrayed and worse of all the look was directed at her. It's made even worse when Poppy wordlessly looks away, tears on her eyes as she runs to get away from the stadium.

Things change when Rosie chases after Poppy. It's the first time she sees Poppy cry, and it breaks her heart because how can she be so foolish. This was the person she fell for, and it sucked because she was the reason why Poppy was upset.

She approaches Poppy carefully, and as soon as she's noticed. Poppy's eyes narrow into a glare. "What do you want Hughes? Haven't you done enough already?" she yells, her voice full of venom. The words sting, but Rosie marches on, as she apologises. "I know I'm the last person you want to see, but I wanted to say I'm sorry. You didn't deserve all of that." She reaches out to try and comfort Poppy but she stops as remembers that she's the reason Poppy was crying in the first place. They both stand there in a tense silence, both not wanting to speak until they both say something at the same time. "Why didn't you tell me that you go to Belvoire?" they both say in sync.

Rosie lets Poppy speak first. "If you said that you were going to be attending Belvoire, maybe things would have been different." she says and this catches Rosie's attention. "Different how?" she asks and Poppy looks at her eyes softening as she says "I would have admitted that I was falling for you."

That's how they got back together.

[qqueenofhades]

For the spooky prompts, "Violent Thunderstorms" for Fivan perhaps? 😳

Anonymous asked: Heyyy 2 Vampire for fivan (how to ask for the chapter 2 witout asking for chap 2)

Anonymous asked: Fivan and #2 🧛‍♂️🧛‍♂️

Very well, I see what the people want, and that is a sequel to this one-shot. I have thus combined these prompts for reasons.

Fedyor spends the next fortnight attempting – with notably indifferent success – not to think about Ivan Sakharov. The Conclave was less than pleased to hear that Fedyor came back empty-handed, having not even secured a promise for Ivan and the rest of the Black Hand to leave off their mischief-making, and in fact has empowered them in their belief that there is nothing the law can do to them. Considering the earful that Fedyor got on that accord, he saw nothing to be gained from mentioning that not only did Ivan blow him off completely, he did it after he had fed on him. It’s entirely possible that Ivan accessed sensitive thoughts, memories, or plans, any scrap of useful intelligence that Fedyor did not carefully hide away in his mind before that too-distracting bite. In short, he has comprehensively botched the entire situation, the Conclave is well within their rights to be very angry with him, and to demonstrate the extent of their displeasure, they have temporarily revoked Fedyor’s right to enter their territory and feed on their drones – willing humans kept for the purpose, who are hoping to be selected for the transformation in exchange for their service. That means if Fedyor wants to eat, he has to go out and hunt an animal, or bamboozle and beguile an unwitting passerby to let him chomp on their neck. Truly, being a vampire can be such a terrible drag.

Fedyor figures that if he keeps his head down, meekly accepts his punishment, and doesn’t make any trouble, the Conclave will get over their anger and reinstate him sooner rather than later. It’s not like he has many other options. If he wants to stay in Belgrade, he will remain in their good graces, and he has no desire to get mixed up with the Black Hand. The rumor is that they were founded by the Black Heretic himself, who has remained out of sight for many decades but is now said to be active again, and the Black Heretic is the scion of the Conclave’s greatest enemy, the vampire that all other vampires fear. Absolutely no good can come of throwing one’s lot in with that crowd, and Fedyor wonders if he is going to have to find a new home. If a stupid supernatural war blows up this city, he’s out.

Most of the fortnight passes without incident, but the flaw in the plan is the unfortunate fact that Fedyor is very hungry. He’s still a young enough vampire that he can’t go two weeks without feeding, and he really hates the messy business of corralling an unwitting human. Besides, the Conclave’s headquarters and chief place of business are on Knez Mihailova Ulica, the most fashionable downtown district right in the middle of Belgrade, and what with Fedyor’s current banishment from the premises, he can’t go there anyway. Hunting it has to be.

Fedyor waits until it is dark, a soft summer rain pattering on the steep-roofed eaves and glowing streetlamps, and then, having changed into clothing more suitable for getting a lot of bloodstains, he slips out. He moves silently in the shadows, past the well-dressed gentlemen and evening-gowned ladies out at the ball or the opera or the latest society supper-party, and escapes the precincts of Belgrade proper for the low green hills that surround it. This is on the Sava side of the river confluence, to the west, and once Fedyor is out of the city, the trees close in thickly. They are only broken by the occasional tiny village: small churches with square steeples and double-branched Orthodox crosses, red-tiled cottages crowded together along narrow dirt lanes, a lantern burning here and there to keep the monsters away. Fedyor can hear human voices, sense the shadows of people moving around behind the shutters, and it gives him a pang. No wonder he is clinging so closely to the prospect of timely reinstatement to the Conclave. Without them, he would truly be entirely alone.

The rain starts to come down harder as Fedyor climbs through the thick green underbrush, and by the time he reaches the top of the hill, it is slicing into his face with a vehemence that even a vampire finds intensely disagreeable. Squinting and swearing under his breath, Fedyor shields his eyes and takes a deep whiff, searching for the scent of a prey animal. He could always hop a fence and grab a cow, but cows can kick surprisingly hard, a poor farmer doesn’t need the hassle of his one beast of burden keeling over, and maybe it is just the city-boy aesthete in Fedyor, but crouching in a muddy farmyard, doing your damndest not to get murdered by a large and angry bovine while you valiantly attempt to suck its blood, is just fucking terrible. There’s nothing to recommend it. Now that he’s out of the fledgling bloodlust, Fedyor has no intention of ever going back.

Thunder booms overhead, making him jump, and a jagged spear of lightning sears the horizon from sky to ground. A tree not that far away lights up in blinding white, and a scorched scent of ozone drifts through the pounding rain. Fedyor flinches, as he has no desire to be set on fire, and decides that either he raids a farm or he heads back home and waits for better weather. But he can catch another scent just ahead, and he’s hungry enough to risk it. He breaks into a run, almost loses his footing, dodges around an enormous dripping tree, and spots a thin crescent of lights high on the bluff ahead. Wait, is that a house? Some Serbian royal bureaucrat’s elegant country retreat, or – something else? Fedyor doesn’t recall that he has seen it before, although he has not spent much time out here alone. That, or –

He has only a split second of warning, his supernatural senses screaming at him to get the fuck out of here right now, before he realizes two things at once: first, that the scent is very definitely hostile, and second, that something is dive-bombing directly toward him, on the strength of a ferocious leap that is remarkable even for a vampire. The next second, it – he – hits Fedyor like a ton of bricks, and they go crashing down the slope, kicking and thrashing and biting at each other in a flurry of blows too fast for a human eye to see. Another enormous clap of thunder rattles Fedyor’s fangs in his head, he slams down on his back hard enough to break his bones if he was human, and then, in the flash of the succeeding lightning bolt, his eyes confirm what his nose has already told him. Of all the stupid, stupid things, he appears to have unwittingly trespassed onto Black Hand territory and tried to hunt their game, and the angry supernatural soldier determined to beat the unholy tarnation out of him is therefore none other than the one and only –

“Stop!” Fedyor wheezes, although he has no idea why he expects it to make any difference. “It’s me! Fedyor Kaminsky! From Terazije!”

The rain stings his eyes hard enough to make him grimace, just as a third incandescent bolt of lightning rattles across the sky. From what Fedyor can see, which is not very much, Ivan looks almost as startled as he feels. They remain staring at each other, their faces barely an inch apart, Ivan’s fangs bared in a way that it is really not the time to find disturbingly attractive. Then Ivan springs off and barks, “What the fuck are you doing out here, Conclave whore?”

“Sorry.” Fedyor sits up. His dark hair is plastered to his head and getting in his eyes, there is mud all over his clothes, and even for an immortal who technically does not need to breathe, he is winded. Ivan, to nobody’s surprise, really packs a punch. “I was just… hungry.”

“You have your own arrangements.” Ivan eyes him suspiciously, arms folded, rainwater running down that magnificently disdainful Slavic nose as if from a statue in the public square. “If anyone besides me had caught you out here, you would be dead.”

Well, that is (not) encouraging. It does, however, point out the fact that Ivan has already had the chance to murder him and held back, and Fedyor is not about to speculate on why exactly that might be. It’s not a good idea, but he’s wet, hungry, has just had to unexpectedly fight like the dickens, and irritated at Ivan for being the one who got him into this mess in the first place. “The Conclave demanded that I return their visiting card,” he says shortly. “I’m not allowed to feed on their drones for some unspecified length of time – which is, I might add, entirely thanks to you.”

“What? Why is that my fault?”

“In case you’ve forgotten our last meeting,” Fedyor snaps, “it was at the Golden Cross, on the Lumière brothers’ film night. I relayed the Conclave’s warning to stop your illegal behavior and associations, and you completely ignored it. As a result – ”

“What, they cut off your feeding access?” Ivan interrupts. He looks utterly incredulous. “That’s charitable of them. A good way to build loyalty among your people. Besides, what the fuck did they expect? That you would walk up and ask me nicely, and that would solve it?”

He does, Fedyor has to loathingly admit, have a point. The best he can muster is, “The Conclave is accustomed to being obeyed.”

Ivan eyes him up, with an expression on his face as if that riposte is so pathetic, he isn’t going to dignify it with the effort of a reply. He is poised on edge, as if he doesn’t consider this matter to be entirely settled by the previous bout of violence, and Fedyor is equally tense. He very much does not want to scuffle with a Black Hand hardman who looks like that and fights like that, especially in the throes of encroaching frenzy, and the attendant loss of control. His fangs dig into his lower lip, seeking out the nearest blood – his own – and Fedyor clenches his fists. “Do you have an animal I can borrow?” he asks, as politely as he can. “I’ll – pay for it.”

Ivan surveys him up and down, dripping like an undead drowned rat and otherwise looking as miserable as Fedyor generally tries not to look (after all, presentation is everything). Then he jerks up an impatient fist. “Follow me.”

Fedyor is unsure what this might entail, but shamefully – whether it is due to his increasingly desperate hunger, or something else – he is not altogether opposed to it. He trails after Ivan, trying not to slip in the wet grass or fixate on Ivan’s scent; he will just get another smackdown for his trouble, like a horse flicking aside a fly, and he is not in the mood for it. After a climb of a few minutes, they reach the top of the hill and cross a deserted lawn to a manor house, scattered lights flickering in steep gables and pointed turrets. It is otherwise entirely dark, even to Fedyor’s vampire senses, as Ivan unlatches the heavy front door and drags it open with a screech. “In.”

Well aware that this is an even stupider idea than the polite request to knock it off – he is putting himself voluntarily in the power of a Black Hand operative, on enemy territory, where nobody knows where he is or what Ivan intends to do with him. If Fedyor’s drained corpse turns up floating in the Danube tomorrow, a warning to the Conclave never to interfere in their business again, he can’t say that he didn’t expect it. He hesitates at the threshold a moment longer, and then, given permission – it’s not essential, but it does help – steps inside.

The hall looks almost exactly as you would expect a secret vampire mansion to look: dusty suits of armor, glowering paintings, a sweeping grand staircase with a gothic balcony, and a chandelier which struggles to illuminate the cracked black-and-white chessboard flagstones. Still dripping, the thunder dulling to a muted rumble, Fedyor looks warily from side to side. There doesn’t seem to be anyone here except the two of them – or at least, he certainly hopes that there are no unwitting humans asleep upstairs. In the state that he’s in right now, he isn’t sure that he could control himself. Unless Ivan is trying to make some tiresome point about the inherent monstrosity of vampires, the sort that certain factions like to use in order to argue against the Conclave’s attempts to civilize them and make them follow human-like rules and laws. Fedyor hopes not, because that would be deeply irritating, but he’s so hungry that he’s about to bite his own wrist, and it would not be his finest hour.

However, Ivan does not lead them upstairs, but through a dim warren of corridors to a small, curtained study in the back of the house. Sullen embers glimmer in the hearth; vampires don’t need fires for heat, or to see by, but the human habit is hard to break, even if it’s one of the few things that can hurt them. Then Ivan shuts the door behind them and says crisply, “I’ll make you a deal. Give me useful information on the Conclave, and I will let you feed.”

“What?” Fedyor gapes at him. That was clearly a starvation-induced hallucination. “On – on you?”

“No,” Ivan snaps. “On the davenport, you idiot. Yes, obviously on me. Or I can throw you out and send you to try your luck in the nearest village. Yes or no?”

Fedyor continues to gape at him. Obviously he does not want to go and rip some screaming innocent villager out of their bed, like the very worst of the strigoi horror stories, but he is not in a hurry to jeopardize his ticket back to the Conclave’s good graces by informing on them to Ivan bloody Sakharov. (Indeed, literally.) Did Ivan make that offer because he knows that Fedyor wants it, and remembers how much of a reaction Fedyor had to Ivan feeding on him back at the Golden Cross? It was impossible to hide it entirely, blast him, and Ivan is too canny not to take advantage of an adversary’s weakness. He’s caught Fedyor dead to rights, trespassing on Black Hand territory, and as he himself said, Fedyor is lucky to escape with his skin. It’s Ivan’s right to exploit that fact, nothing more. If Fedyor refuses, what in the hell is he going to do?

“I don’t know,” he stalls. “I’m not sure that I can – ”

Ivan shrugs, then lifts his own wrist to his mouth and bites the back of it. Slow, rich, dark blood beads up, and he wafts it temptingly in Fedyor’s direction. “So, you don’t want this, then?”

Yes, Fedyor wants it. Fedyor, in fact, wants a few other things while he’s at it, and there is no way that Ivan, with hearing and senses and smell as acute as his own, doesn’t know it. He takes a step forward, but Ivan dances aside. “Information first,” he orders. “Then you may have your reward. Come now, Conclave whore. Why is it any different from last time?”

“Don’t call me that.” Fedyor is seeing red – which, at this point, could be due to just about anything. “I have a name, remember? Fedyor – Mikhailovich – Kaminsky.”

He stumbles a little over the patronymic, as it is an ongoing debate whether proper etiquette for Slavic vampires entails the use of the birth father’s name, or that of the vampire sire. Opinion generally comes down on the side of the latter, since it represents proper respect for one’s new immortal status and supernatural bloodline; you’re supposed to let go of your human family, since pining to go back complicates the already-difficult adjustment period and is impossible anyway. But since Fedyor isn’t entirely reconciled to it, and tries to hold onto his humanity, he tends to introduce himself as Fedyor Mikhailovich, not Fedyor Dmitrievich, and the flicker in Ivan’s eyes means that he has taken note of that struggle. Then he shrugs, crooking a taunting finger at him. “Fine then, Fedyor Mikhailovich. It is your choice.”

“What do you – ” Fedyor is having trouble seeing straight. “Want to know?”

“Anything that might be useful.” If he is worried about being shut in a small room with another vampire on the verge of total frenzy, Ivan doesn’t show it. Indeed, in this paramount confidence and command, Fedyor realizes that Ivan is much older than he initially thought. He took him for one of Catherine the Great’s courtiers, from the late eighteenth century or so, but the well-worn shadow of violence that sits on Ivan’s shoulders is of considerably longer use than that. It’s something else to puzzle out when Fedyor regains the use of his higher critical faculties, which is definitely not the case at the moment. “That is, if you can bring yourself to actually – ”

At that moment, he is cut off as Fedyor, deciding that two can play this game and he is tired of being jerked around by this arrogant bastard, lunges at him. Ivan jumps six feet straight up, hissing, and they end up somewhere in the vicinity of the ceiling, only to crash back down to the floor. Even vampires are not immune to the laws of gravity, and they roll around in a second deeply undignified flurry of kicking and biting, as Fedyor finally gets hold of Ivan’s wrists and tries to get his mouth as close as possible to that maddeningly enticing trickle. Then, for a crucial instant, he hesitates. He is very far gone, but there’s enough of his brain left to remember that feeding without permission is regarded quite dimly, and he is trying to prove that he is not a total savage. He gulps and gasps, fangs cutting into his lip, struggling and thrashing, not even able to properly articulate his request, as Ivan still looks – bafflingly – as if he is rather enjoying this. Then he smirks and says, “Very well, Fedyor Mikhailovich. Take it if you can.”

Now that is a challenge, and while it would be very enjoyable to throw it back in Ivan’s face in another fashion, Fedyor has only one concern at the moment. He presses his mouth to Ivan’s wrist, sinks his fangs, and sucks and licks like a man dying of thirst in the desert. Ivan utters a contented purring sound, his head falling back on the carpet, and certainly does not bother to keep struggling while Fedyor is otherwise occupied. Silence falls across the drawing room, except for the soft sounds of Fedyor feeding. He is half on top of Ivan, between his legs, and Ivan does not appear to be objecting in the least. Well. That was… unexpected.

When Fedyor has drunk enough to feel sane again, he pulls back with a jerk, remembers where he is, and fights the wash of embarrassment that floods through him. He wipes his mouth with the cuff of his shirt, then bends down and licks the bite wound closed, which is common vampire practice even if Ivan failed to do it with him. (After all, some supernaturals have manners.) Then they look at each other, and Fedyor doesn’t think it’s his imagination that Ivan’s breath is coming short, a flush visible in his pale cheeks, an enjoyment bearing a remarkable resemblance to Fedyor’s own. The silence persists a moment longer. Then Ivan groans, his legs sprawl further apart, and he orders, doing his utmost to sound gruff and commanding, “You will give me information on the Conclave now, yes?”

It is extremely tempting to tell him to take a long walk off a short pier, to pay him back for that underhanded trick at the Golden Cross, but that requires more command of his verbal processes than Fedyor currently possesses – or indeed, expects to possess in the near-to-medium future. He leans down instead, his nose brushing the hollow of Ivan’s cheek and his mouth ghosting against Ivan’s neck, his fangs tracing the line of the vein as if he might bite there too. Ivan’s hips buck, and his big hands settle heavily on the small of Fedyor’s back. “You know,” he murmurs, his voice a low, rough rasp in his throat. “You are wasted on those idiots.”

“Mmm.” Fedyor nips Ivan’s lower lip, with just a hint of fang. Then – although it’s the most difficult thing he has had to do in his life or his afterlife – he rolls off and gets to his feet, leaving the fearsome Black Hand anarchist vampire flat on his back on the drawing room floor. “It has,” he says, “been a lovely evening. But I will be taking my leave now. Good night.”

And with that, in the somewhat shameful epitome of quitting while he is ahead, but wanting to make absolutely sure that the point has been felt, Fedyor turns around and books it. He doesn’t dare to look back as he bursts out of the dark house, pelts across the lawn, and skids down the hill, in the thick and slippery knots of mud and moss. He doesn’t slow down until he spies the lights of Belgrade, and in a few minutes more, he’s thundering into his flat, clothes disheveled and hair a mess and mouth and head and heart still full of the taste and smell and feel of Ivan Sakharov. It’s intoxicating. It’s unbearable. But it can only be once. It will be only once.

The Conclave, Fedyor reminds himself. You’re doing this to get back to them, and you managed to get out of there without saying anything. They’ll appreciate it. They will. And it’s what you want. Keep your head down and don’t do anything else stupid, and it will work.

It’s what he wants.

It’s what he wants.

It’s what he –

Ah, fuck.

[artmunstudios]

What's 2 similarities & 2 differences U have noticed between Ozpin & Oscar?

Aaahh I was wondering if you were going to ask me! I’ve been seeing you around asking this question and the answers have all been interesting! So I’ll take on a response that people aren’t taking on then, yes? This will be a long post, so if anyone is interested in reading past the first analysis just click the ‘read more’!

Their Origins

Ozpin is at the core based off of two characters. One of those characters, Oscar is also connected to. There are obviously more characters and whatnot they reference, but for the sake of simplicity, I will only be addressing their clear initial inspiration. Ozpin is based off of The Wizard of Oz, also known as Professor Oz primarily in the Oz Book Series; but his full name is Oscar Zoroaster Phadrig Isaac Norman Henkle Emmannuel Ambroise Diggs, which he abbreviated to Ozpin Head. (Thank you @immortal-green-snom for this tidbit!!!) In the book series, after he had left in the air balloon in an attempt to help Dorothy get home, Professor Oz was revealed to have done a lot of slimy and heinous things to keep the throne of the Emerald City, and by extension, the Land of Oz itself. While he does get better in the latter books he reappears in, he was portrayed as being manipulative, a bit pathetic, but extremely intelligent and a master of illusions. I wouldn't be surprised if the writers of RWBY were trying to get that across in Ozpin's traits, but to be quite honest, they kinda failed at making him even a morally grey character, as a lot (not all, he isn't guitless, but again, a lot) of the arguments used in-show, and the FNDM itself, are all about things that were either not in his control, or something that was painted as being his fault/harmful, but was actually the opposite of the situation. The biggest example of this is Raven trying to trick Yang and Weiss into believing Ozpin had forced her and Qrow to become birds/have the ability to do so. In a lot of ways, Ozpin and Professor Oz are actually opposites of one another in terms of personalities, which may have in actuality been the overall intention CRWBY had, but we can only speculate. Professor Oz is extremely selfish, while Ozpin is selfless, even to a point where it actually becomes harmful to others. Professor Oz would have done anything to be in power, while Ozpin has done everything to relinquish himself of a position of power, which I find very interesting. This may be due to him even trying to somehow relinquish the burden the God of Light has placed on Oz as a whole, but is ultimately unable to give up that specific task. Even though, truthfully, he needed to relinquish that particular stronghold all along. Professor Oz is clearly a leader, and despite his negative traits, is actually a very good one. Ozpin...as much as I love him as a character, is not the greatest leader. He is, however, an excellent advisor/second-in-command. Professor Oz is only a mere mortal man pretending to be something more, while Ozpin is something bigger than a mortal man, but is pretending to be nothing but a man. Expanding upon this, they also are desperate to be the opposite of what they are. Professor Oz wants to be what he portrayed himself as, and for Ozpin, it's very much the same situation. There is a lot more I could say, but let's move on to Oscar!

Oscar Pine, like Ozpin, is based off of two characters at the core. Again, it is likely that he represents more than two, but for the sake of simplicity, let's discuss only the two. From the moment I saw Oscar, I knew right away that he was based off of my favorite character from the Oz Book Series...Tip. Tip, short for Tippetarius, was too a farmboy who longed for much more, who knew that there was more out there, despite being notably content in their lifestyle. The only difference was that Tip was a slave to an evil witch, but he escapes her in the second chapter with a companion. He is described as being just like any boy; rugged, mischievous, playful, and a lover of all things fun while still being quite shrewd. Unlike Ozpin and Professor Oz, Tip and Oscar are, in fact, extremely alike. Even down to their colors and appearance. Despite how Tip is colored, he actually has light brown skin (though considering the time period, we all know why this fact was dismissed), and black hair. And his treasured beanie cap was green and orange. His clothes also had a primary color scheme of brown, and were dirty due to the work he had done on the farm. Oscar and Tip have the exact same personalities, which was what affirmed to me that Oscar was meant to be his primary parallel. What got me the most was their sarcasm. Tip is still the most sarcastic and genuinely street-smart protagonists in the Oz Books. Not to say there were no other protags like that, but there was something to be said about how Tip was one of the few protagonists to actually act as a leader in the traveling group. Just like Oscar, Tip is also quite emotional, and they both have a sharp temper that they express not in loud outbursts, but by quips that you know could be quite hurtful if they wanted them to be. However, between the two, Tip is the loudest, should you put them in the same room. However, I suspect that as time goes on, Oscar might start becoming quite vocal when he doesn't like something, as I've noticed that the more he develops, the more he acts like Tip. Their behaviors are similar as well; when something personal is going on between two parties who clearly knew each other before him, both Oscar and Tip have a tendency to hang back and simply let the moment play out. They both start out as being sort of bystanders, just going with the flow while occassionally giving very good advice/strategies, but they start to become more of a leader as time goes on. In fact, leadership seems to be in their blood. There is actually a reason for this.

Ozma of Oz

There is a single thread that connects both Oscar and Ozpin, and that is the second primary character they represent. That character is the infamous Princess/Queen Ozma of Oz. Ozma, in many ways, is a lot like both Ozpin and Oscar; and may be the kind of person they become once the merging is complete. She is shrewd, but gentle. Sarcastic and blunt, but very elegant and fun-loving. They have a particular grace in how they handle their politics, but she admittedly gets into more trouble than rulers of kingdoms should. She is, ultimately, the perfect archetype of a ruler. And had completely reformed The Emerald City to be an environment that is very much like Vale's open-mindedness, with the advanced technology and efficiency of Atlas. Ozma, in the books, was actually revealed to be Tip; or rather, Tip was Ozma. After being transformed into a boy as a baby by a witch under Professor Oz's command, they were whisked away by said witch, and had been working under that witch until they had escaped as a young boy. Many speculate that Ozma was meant to represent the transgender community, and I know many transgenders see Ozma as an icon. Frank Baum was the type of guy that wrote things that were ahead of his time, and seen as very controversial by the few who could actually read the metaphors planned out. It was even implied in the later books that Ozma and Dorothy get married, and there were many illustrations made from the original novel illustrators of Ozma and Dorothy looking like a couple. What's even greater is that despite the change of gender from Tip to Ozma, she still very much contains her boyish traits despite the frills and queenly garb. As stated in one of the last lines in the second Oz Book;

"I hope none of you will care for me less than you did before. I am still the same Tip you know..."

When I realized Oscar was Tip, I knew Ozma was going to be put into the equation. I just,,,, wasn't expecting..... t h a t.

Oscar and Ozpin

Time to actually answer the question I was asked JSDJFDKDFKFK--

Oscar and Ozpin are different in one particular way: Trust. Ozpin trusts nobody. Truthfully, he doesn't even trust himself, I don't think, and that is likely why he didn't have much of a plan these days. He doesn't trust himself to be competent enough to complete the task assigned to him, he doesn't trust humanity to pass, hell, I don't think he even trusts the Gods to be capable of taking care of humanity considering the shit job they did in the past, and how poorly they have handled Ozma and Salem. In simple terms, Ozpin trusts too little. Oscar, on the other hand, trusts...a little too much. There, I said it. And I'm willing to say it again. Oscar trusts too much. Whether or not that will change after the end of V7 and what happened in V8 is left for debate. Oscar seems almost incapable of seeing the downside in some situations, like, for example, confronting a General who has completely gone off the deep end, unarmed and alone. And he trusted a man who needlessly beat the shit out of him for something that nobody, not even Salem, were truly at fault for. And while that trust paid off, unlike how it did in the past, it is a bit of an alarming trait that I genuinely think will simmer down either after all that happened in V8, or it will eventually when that trust truly bites him in the ass.

Another polarization between Oscar and Ozpin: faith. This ties in a little bit with the trust theme, but there is enough to talk about on its own. While Ozpin does believe that humanity is overall good, I think he has lost faith in their capability to work together long enough for there to be any sort of permanent peace. And, admittedly, he isn't wrong to think that. I think you would have to be very foolish if you genuinely think there will ever be a point where humanity will stop fighting amongst themselves; in other words, Ozpin is fully aware that the God of Light's task is genuinely impossible. And honestly? I think the GoL knows it is, too. Oscar has faith as well, but he views the dire circumstance in a different way that may be the key to solve the seemingly unending puzzle of Salem and their task. He gets faith in humanity not through the overall picture, but in the smallest things. Oscar likely believes that it doesn't matter if all of humanity is united, because he too knows that will never happen. But, he is certain that there is a lot more power in the smallest of unions and actions; a racist woman reforming and helping to comfort a faunaus child. A woman who helped a group of people tear down a kingdom realize the fault of their actions, and try to save another kingdom's people. A man who, while being genuinely wise, was so blinded by rage that he could not see past his own nose, change in order to save what little good has sprouted from something so terrible that he helped sow. The little things matter so much more, and unlike Ozpin, he doesn't think that they need to grow any further than that.

So, what makes them similar? Two distinct things. They both are very personal. Even if it is in different forms of expressing, Oscar and Ozpin are quite personal, especially when it comes to their advice. But they also really feel for the person they are talking to. And while Ozpin felt Hazel was too far gone, he felt for him and understood and even agreed with his anger. Their empathy is truly something else; and it is also their weakest point. Not to say that having empathy is bad, but their empathy leads into another trait that they have in common... They let people walk all over them. All. The. Time. To a point where it is actually very frustrating, and it even hinders their development as characters. Ozpin let Ironwood walk all over him, and never spoke in defense for himself. Ozpin let the council walk all over him, and never defended himself. Ozpin allowed for so much of the blame to be placed on his own shoulders, that it is extremely unhealthy, and something I wish the show would address, but have come to accept that it won't. Especially when this trait is reflected in Oscar as well. He blamed himself for failing to convince Ironwood, he allowed for Jaune to verbally and physically attack him, and outright refused to let Jaune apologize. They both brush off their wellbeing so often, that watching Oscar do the same only confirms to me the suspicions I had as to why everyone was genuinely so blind to figure out what was going on in their heads and when they were struggling. Because both Oscar and Ozpin refuse to acknowledge their own struggles and shortcomings.

But, to be frank, that is more of a writing issue than a character reflection, in my personal opinion. And I'll continue to see it that way until the show actively acknowledges that unhealthy behavior.

There ya go! My very very long analysis of Oscar and Ozpin; I hope I brought something unique among the batch of this question!

[infinitum-imaginaerum]

Secrets | Joshua

Joshua | Secrets

Words | 9,180

Notes | Bodyguard!Joshua, mentions of alcohol, mild cursing. Angst/Fluff; 

I’m back-ish with a very rough (I think) piece, mildly edited. I’m excited but nervous to be posting here again and I don’t know how often it will be that I will be posting but.... here’s this; my first svt piece in 8 months. This is a repost since... the tagging system on this site... yeah... 

The fake smiles and peach Bellinis, the overdone cologne and extravagant attire, the crystal chandeliers and table decorations all brought a sneer to your face when you assumed nobody was paying close enough attention. The solitude didn’t bother you so much, it was nice to not feel like you were being suffocated for at least ten minutes; ten minutes of breathing to yourself was all you ever asked for. Always being tugged this way and that for photo ops got exhausting. The photo ops weren’t even the most taxing part, it was the fake relationship you had to keep up with one of the most prominent up and coming jewelry designer’s son, who you had happily dated at one point.

Big chunky bracelets, rings that looked too heavy for fingers, necklaces layered to the hills, and earrings that may have ripped anyone’s earlobes open was the type of gaudy jewelry you always had to put on display with a disgusting fake smile while your now-ex-boyfriend dripped with confidence, somehow, that made your skin crawl. Being in his direct vicinity all the time to keep up the image of this perfect shining couple for the sake of jewelry promotions quite frankly made your stomach turn, but the perks may have made it worth it—occasionally.

Some of the more elegant jewelry picks, a lump sum of money, some days wiping that egotistical smirk off his face were a few things that made it all worthwhile since you were frequently the one being interviewed at events about the jewelry line while still not being the heir. That boiled his blood in a way that genuinely turned your lips up in an almost unnoticeable smile. The couth you had to sit there in front of him and take all the questions with such grace—you could feel the way his fingers dug into your hip when he sat with you a bit friendly, but it was all for show. The two of you were business partners now, and that’s really all it boiled down to.

But you’d had your run-in with his less than stellar attitudes, at galas and showcases when he lost his temper with you being a show-stealer, and often forcefully kept you around to keep the cameras on him. That’s when you found Joshua. You’d found him and his specific skillset in a newspaper ad—it was unlike you to read the newspaper but you perused the ad section for job listings, animal adoptions, and all kinds of other things when you came across his blurb:

Full or Part Time Bodyguard. Trained in hand to hand and weapons combat, CPR certified, available for any/all events. To Inquire, call Joshua Hong.

While you had entertained the idea of a bodyguard for a while, it never really became a necessity until the business partnership you had was getting a bit more aggressive. There was little you could do to complain, because leaving was always a viable option, albeit they begged you to stay for publicity purposes—they being the family after hearing of your falling out. But Joshua became a harsher reality as the partnership became most hostile.  

When you first saw Joshua at a consultation, he was the last type you’d ever suspect. You wouldn’t say he was far from intimidating looking, but he didn’t radiate a whole ass-kicking like you had expected. He was quieter with soft eyes but very professional. He spoke to you matter-of-factly, laying out all your options and drafting contract ideas in case you wanted to go through with hiring him. You figured it couldn’t hurt to have him around, particularly at events where anything could have gone unnoticed in such a large crowd, especially with the way you were treated.

Bringing Joshua to the table for a showcase rocked the boat a bit. It turned into an escalation by your ‘business partner’ about how it was unnecessary to have a bodyguard and that it would only bring suspicions about your relationship, to which you retaliated, “As if you harshly pulling me around isn’t enough.”  His parents could do little to object. You had Joshua there with you, or you were out of the deal, which would bring their publicity and the whole story of a budding couple getting into jewelry design together to a screeching halt and they would undoubtedly lose the following and media support they’d gained because of it.

Joshua became even less favorable by the end of the first confrontation between him and the egomaniac. He was demanding you around at a photo-op, even sternly in front of the photographers—most of which by now were suspicious of the condition of your relationship because really how dare he talk to you like that much less in public—and often grabbed you by the arm and placed you exactly where he wanted you when he wanted you to be there. It was in Joshua’s contract to tolerate minor things like that, but he ground his teeth at just the sight but kept his mouth shut for the duration of the shoot. But when it was finally time to go home, he sure gave a piece of his unsolicited mind.

“Next time, how about you try keeping your hands off,” Joshua commented a bit harshly in the direction of the man who quickly became an enemy.

“Joshua,” you pleaded with him as you were packing your things, but your ex had already turned face to chest Joshua up. He ignored you for a moment, knowing you weren’t in any danger because the only danger to you was currently right in his face.

“I’ll put her where I want, when I want,” was the confident reply.

“Actually, you won’t,” Joshua spat back, eye to eye with the slightly shorter male in front of him. “You will keep your hands to yourself.”

“Mister Hong,” you almost barked, his full name flowing from your lips like a command to a soldier, which was in essence what he was. He choked off the growl in his throat as he turned face to return to you while you finished gathering your things, but not without giving the other man—who looked as if that was a battle he’d won instead of a battle he’d just been saved from—a glare that would make his mother pale. You picked up your bag after Joshua helped your jacket on and you left the building.

He did his best to bite his tongue in situations he knew he should just be quiet and wait for your cue or follow the contract to a T. The first gala was an absolute trip—there were hundreds of people, too many asking too many questions, flashing cameras in your face, people crowding left and right and that same smile on your face even he could tell was fake. But he played the part well—he donned a pressed black suit with a lovely fuchsia carnation pinned on his lapel. The only thing that made him out of place was the clear earpiece he had tapped to the microphone in the clip of your hair. If he was too far to see you, he could at least hear you if there was a problem.

It was obvious enough that it deterred people from asking him questions, or even talking to him really, but he wasn’t the only guard on duty so he spent most of his time playing wallflower, lined up with the others as they observed the gala. It was clear that it was strictly forbidden to interact with you under circumstances not outlined in the contract, by direct request of the family of honor. You figured it was fair, as the whole reason you were there was to portray an image and Joshua wasn’t part of it.

Most gala’s he spent gritting his teeth as he stood tall against the wall, watching the way your partner manhandled you just within the boundaries of the contract until it was finally over when he would follow you close out of the venue and take your hand to step you off the curb to let you fall into the passenger’s seat of his car brought around by valet just to get in and grip the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grasp and silently take you home, and be paid out on your doorstep—what soon became the routine.

But the routine changed when you grew a little fonder of Joshua when you lingered to leave when you were no longer in need of his services, when sometimes you sat in the passenger’s seat of his car to just sit and process, or to vent, or to just enjoy being in the company of another without the stress of a business agenda. When you finally talked freely about interests outside of this partnership you had with him.  When he walked you to your door and had a little more to say, irrelevant to being paid—things as simple as sleep well, or stay safe, or until next time, things other than thank you for your business. When it seemed as though he was growing fonder of you, too.

And then, the door once cracked opened a bit more when a late conversation turned into a disagreement turned into something else.

You knew he’d been disgruntled with the inability to do anything about the situation, with the way the boundaries were teased and tested and Joshua’s investment in you continued to grow beyond the confines of said contract. It brought on a lot of tension between the two of you, as if there hadn’t been tension on car rides home after parties or showcases or reveals or fundraisers—it didn’t really matter, he took you to and from almost every event.

He was quieter than usual, something you tried to ignore as you tended the bruise against your arm from where you’d been grabbed multiple times throughout the night, mostly minding your own business and exchanged your attention between that and the passing of the city outside the car window. The air conditioning was cool on your skin, soothing on your feet from being pressed in heels all night that you’d slightly kicked off in a bit of relief before he finally broke the silence.

“When are you going to let me give him what’s coming?” Joshua asked you, his tone a little urgent, and startled you a little bit in the deep leather bucket seat of his car. “It’s been five months and time and time again you let him tug you around like a rag-doll and only half the time can I see the discomfort on your face, but a hundred percent of the time I can hear it when you grunt or wince or yelp.”  

You sighed heavily—this wasn’t particularly a conversation you wanted to have.

“He’s within the contract,” you replied.

“Any malicious touch should be outside the contract,” he growled.

“Well then it’s a good thing you didn’t write it,” you replied as he pulled up to your place, shutting the car off after throwing it into park to walk you up to your door like he always did. You had a bottom floor apartment, which made slipping your heels back on and stepping out of the car less of a battle since you wouldn’t have to climb any stairs.  Even though he was a bit put off with you, he still rounded the car to gently take your hand to pull you up from the seat, double-checking to make sure you had everything, and walked you up to your door.

“I wish I had,” he finally replied as you turned the key in the handle to tumble the look to unlock your door. “I wish I had because he would have stopped testing the both of us months ago.”

“That’s not your call to make,” you replied, grabbing the envelope that sat on the table just inside your doorway which already had a predetermined amount enclosed with his name written in fine script across it the same way that it always did. “I hired you to do a specific job, you agreed to adhere to the contract; if you don’t like the contract, we can discontinue this partnership at any time,” you finished.

Part of you couldn’t decide if he hadn’t heard anything you said, or if he was just taking his time to reply, because his gaze was effectively all over your face, refusing to reach up for the envelope. You could see the look in his eyes that generally meant he was thinking, but what came next you almost couldn’t prepare for.

Both his warm hands cupped your cheeks, tilting your head up towards his just enough for him to gracefully take your lips with his. Your back softly hit the frame of your door as his envelope crumpled in your hand, and you found yourself instinctively leaning up into his mouth while your free hand momentarily cupped the back of his neck before you came to and nudged him away.

“Joshua…” you muttered a tad breathlessly, breaking the kiss. There were a million things that should have been going through your mind at that point, starting with how unprofessional all of this was, continuing with the image you had to maintain and how this whole thing would interfere with that, and finishing with grappling with your feelings that were turning your stomach over like a fish on deck.

One of his hands had slipped away from your face to hold you steady, warm and wide on your hip, but the other continued to tenderly stroke against your cheek while you looked at each other. His envelope was still clutched in your hand against his side, your other hand sliding away from the back of his neck and down his lapel—you could push him away, you should push him away. You wanted to tell him how many problems this would cause, how complicated this just made everything, but somehow all you could think about was the glitter in his eyes, the mint tones of his breath, and the taste of his pomegranate chapstick.

He must have known it wasn’t a good move because he collected the envelope from your hand without much more delay for thought—your door was already open so he didn’t have to wait any longer as he bid you goodnight, reminded you to sleep well, and turned to be on his way. You found his name stuck in the back of your throat, dying to come out, but also dying to stay in. The implications of the situation swirled in your head, and you gave a rickety exhale before finding your feet enough to retreat through your door.

Business continued as usual, Joshua attended with you as usual, but the only difference was that you were getting progressively more infuriated with the way you were being treated as another month passed. The jig had to have been up, the publicity you were gaining from keeping up the relationship lie had to have faded by now, but the numbers didn’t lie.  Joshua was still at your side, in the background, observing, wherever he needed to be to ensure his job was done correctly.  

You had taken a nasty fall on one of the sets of a photo-op because of an impatient and tugging hand of the typical problem male. Joshua lurched from against the wall as you cursed, the floor hard against your knees, and you stayed on the ground for a moment while your nails clawed against the tile, pushing away the sting.  A sweet voice whispered your name, and you knew who it belonged to, along with the hand that was extended in front of you. You stared at it for a moment before sitting up enough to dust your hands against each other, and daintily place one in Joshua’s large and warm one. He slowly lifted you to your feet, wanting to check your knees which were hidden behind a floral maxi-dress.

“Pathetic, can’t even get up on your own,” your ex-boyfriend spat in your direction, and the sigh that left your lips could have been a call from hell itself.

Your gaze turned up slowly, away from the ground, and up to his face like the inferno was ready to take him through the earth’s crust.  There was a snarl turning at the corners of your nose, and it was clear as day you’d had it up to your eyeballs. Your hand gripped Joshua’s with all the strength you had, and he could only look at you, waiting for your cue, waiting for you to cut him loose before you brought your free hand up and clapped it against the side of the face of your unruly business partner. It was a sound that rang through the room, and by the sound of the cry that exited just a moment after, you caught him upwards on the jaw and probably snapped his teeth together.

He yelled profanities at you, but the exhaustion of his antics were clear in your eyes. Joshua snarled at him when he attempted to approach, but you almost begged for it.

“Do you want another?” you asked him, a tinge in your voice that startled even Joshua. The blood from your split knee was trickling down your leg at this point, you could feel it go, but your one hand clutched the hand it held unwaveringly.  

The way your voice softened when you turned your head to speak to Joshua was like night and day. “My knees are bleeding,” you informed him, feeling them quiver as you continued to stand, bruising imminent. He didn’t hesitate to place your hand against his shoulder to slide around his neck and lift your legs out from under you. Your wicked ex-boyfriend took a step, but Joshua was quick and turned to check.

“Try me,” he growled and waited for an advance that never came before he turned to take you out of the room. One of the photography hands followed the two of you out with a first aid kit but stood aside to let Joshua take care of you. You pulled the dress up past your knees—it was worse than you thought. He requested some water to begin to clean your leg before cleaning the split that was already black and purple and swollen to the hills.

“You must have gone down pretty hard,” he commented, gingerly tending to said wound, but diligently nonetheless to get it cleared away enough to assess. At that point, all you cared about was the bloodstain on the knee of your pretty white dress. The pain was ignorable, your ex was ignorable, Joshua was mostly ignorable, but the pain you felt in your pride from letting him treat you like that which manifested in the stain on your dress was not. You looked at the stain with such disdain as you held it in your hands.

“I’ll get you a new dress,” he muttered after noting the look on your face.

“That’s not the point!” you yelled back harshly. He looked at you calmly, knowing your outburst wasn’t directed at him.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied quietly and turned his gaze back down to bandage your knee, at least well enough to complete the shoot because he knew you weren’t going to leave without finishing it.

And so you did; the blood on your dress could be edited out, so that posed little concern. What did concern you, however, was the attitudes in the room and how they would shift. From then on, every move was checked with Joshua, both your eyes and your ex-boyfriend’s eyes meeting him if he ever even reached for you. Something in the way you’d whole-hand clapped him and the look on Joshua’s face after the fact—he had to have known at that point that he wasn’t ‘safe’ anymore. It was as if he could see that Joshua had been unclipped from the figurative leash.  

You finished the shoot with no further altercations but definitely needed help with some of the positions as your knee was unable to bend certain ways anymore, for the time being. When the shoot was finally over, you stayed on the set couch for a lingering moment as Joshua gathered your things and brought them over to you, but not without clipping shoulders with the trouble-maker himself.  

He had your duffel over his shoulder, creasing the jacket of his suit but refused to let you take it when he was able to get you on your feet again. You looked up at him with a scowl, almost as if to say that you could carry it yourself, but he gave you a skeptical look, not skeptical that you could carry it but that you were injured and he would just as well carry it for you.

You paid the photography crew your respects before beginning to hobble out of the set and eventually out of the building. Joshua offered you his arm as a crutch multiple times that you refused, stubbornly, until he’d finally had enough.

“Please take my arm, or I’ll carry you out of here,” he almost threatened as a gave a smile to the man at the security desk while you passed him, who gave you a curious look as you limped. You wanted to growl, but begrudgingly took his arm anyway; admittedly, it relieved some pain. He put your duffel in the back seat once finally arriving at the car and then opened the passenger’s door for you. Gingerly you lifted your damaged leg into the car first before all but falling in after it and let him close the door behind you.

As usual, he turned on the air conditioner a bit high—you needed to cool off after every interaction you had with your ex on any business excursion you needed to attend. You kept your rage entirely inside which boiled your blood and made your face hot and the cool air was quite helpful to bring it all back. Joshua delayed in starting the car for a moment as he looked over to you to make sure you were okay, but you ignored the pain in your knee and looked out the window, waiting for the car to start moving.  He sighed, noting the bloodstains on the knee of your dress before finally bringing the car to life to take you home.  It was already late into the afternoon, and he knew you’d want time to prepare dinner and shower and other things to relax for the evening, so he didn’t waste any more time.

He took you and your bag up to your front door the way he normally did, only this time with one of your hands wrapped around his arm to steady yourself as you hobbled slowly with your heels in your other hand before you were digging for your keys. Once your door opened, you threw your shoes in and took the duffel bag from him to toss that inside the doorway as well and reached for his envelope on the table, and turned back to him.

Joshua stood tall and respectfully the way he always did, alert with his shoulders square, hands clasps behind his back. Somehow his hair was always immaculate, his suit always pressed with zero hints of wrinkles, too professional; but his eyes looked at you softly, eyes you were looking into deeper and deeper every time you got the chance, eyes that captivated you like nothing else. You clutched the envelope in both your hands, a thought stirring in the back of your throat as you looked up at him.

“Joshua…” you started, trying to get the thought out as the envelope crumpled in your fingers.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied respectfully, only for you to remind him of your name even though you knew he hadn’t forgotten.

“I don’t pay you for this…” you started, crumpling the envelope a little more as you looked down at it, “but I would, if you wanted; I just don’t have any near family and I don’t want to be alone after all that and—”

“I’ll stay, for a bit, if that’s what you need. I’m here to serve you,” he replied, the tenseness in his shoulders dropping a little bit as his hands came forward to cup over yours, stopping you from nervously crinkling his envelope, “And don’t worry about compensating me.”

You weren’t sure how to reply as he finessed the envelope from your hands, setting it back down on the table you always retrieved it from as he walked you slowly back through the doorway of your apartment and kicked his shoes by the door. “Do you mind if I take my coat off?” he asked you, and you were a bit taken aback by the question—he was always dressed professionally, and this was the first time he would be taking his jacket off in front of you. All you could do was nod as you peeled yours off, too, a sweet dark washed cropped jean jacket.  

At some point you remember getting him a glass of water, you remember excusing yourself to change so that you could spot treat your dress and assess the damage on your knee yourself as Joshua made himself at home on your couch. It was the first time Joshua would see you in more casual clothes instead of dolled up for some event, but it was fair because you were seeing him cut a little loose too.  You remember flipping on the TV to drown out the somewhat awkward silence that loomed between the two of you for a bit, before agreeing on what to order for food. It was still a bit early for dinner, so some mindless TV was in order for a little bit. A part of Joshua had expected something else; maybe some feelings dumping or something similar, but he didn’t mind the fact that you just wanted to relish his company.  

That didn’t stop him from consistently looking at you, consistently noting the way your eyes would get a bit glassy before being controlled—you refused to cry in front of him.  He wasn’t there to comfort you, that wasn’t his job, and you didn’t want to make it seem like it was.   But when you could feel him looking at the side of your face a little too hard, you turned to look at him with the intention of asking if he wanted to order food, but ended up getting trapped in his eyes again.  

You could feel your breath hitch in your throat, meeting his gaze, but he didn’t seem surprised. His eyebrows rose for a split second, hardly even noticed as he looked back at you—your eyes were still a bit glassy from the forced back tears. He wouldn’t dare ask you to speak, much less speak about what was on your mind; he had unclear instructions of what he was there for, but it took everything in him to just sit there and say nothing, do nothing.  

He took a leap, and reached over to retrieve your hand closest to him, which happened to be your left hand, and cupped it in both of his.

“I can’t even begin to imagine what you’re going through; I can’t even begin to imagine how hard and taxing it is, how unbreakable your resolve has been, how strong you have been, but I know that you are.  I know that you are gracious and kind and patient. I know that you are so much than I get to see, so much more than anything he’d ever deserve.”

It was meant to be comforting, to be encouraging, and it was. Somehow, your fingers threaded between his and squeezed, trying to stave the tears that he had inadvertently pushed up to your waterline, and to avoid having him see them fall, you finally turned your face away from his.

“I’m going to order dinner, what would you like?” you asked, voice cracking a little as you quickly stood from the couch to the dismay of your injured knee as your hand left his. You quickly made your way to the kitchen, grabbing a paper towel to dab under your eyes, trying to save the makeup you had left. Vaguely, you heard him say something about getting whatever—he would eat whatever you ordered for him—and pulled out the small book of menus from nearby places.

Joshua sat on the couch, the lack of your hand between his somehow more intense when he knew you needed some comfort as he listened to you flip through some pages and eventually dial a number to place an order. He didn’t expect you to return immediately, or even within a reasonable amount of time, which was good because you didn’t.  You continued to stand in the kitchen and grip the counter, pushing your tears back and back and back while trying not to agitate your leg too much; the burn was real from your rush to get up, so you stood on the leg that was still good and bent the other to give it a rest.

Eventually, he was going to have to check on you. He spent plenty of time glancing over to the kitchen to see if you were emerging yet, but it didn’t happen to be the case, so before too long he pushed himself up from the couch as he quietly cooed your name. You had just been rounding the corner out of the kitchen and he’d caught you by surprise, causing you to stumble over your own feet and crash right into him. His anticipatory hands were able to catch you, for the most part, one able to catch your elbow while the other controlled your fall into his body. Your hands were a little more unceremonious, one furling in the fabric of his white dress shirt and the other grabbing onto his bicep while you crash-landed into his chest, staggering him a bit.

It was the first time you were really getting a lungful of his fragrance, swirling around you like phantom chains. The first time you were really feeling the solidity of his body and how protective it was capable of being. The first time you were really feeling the largeness of his hands as he steadied your balance by hulling you up against him to set you fully back on your own feet, the second time his wide palm was placed against your hip, which brought back many memories of the first time just outside your front door. He could have been able to hear the way you swallowed, looking right at his throat, adorned with a perfectly knotted tie and a finely pressed shirt collar.

And for a moment, you stood there with complete silence looming between the two of you while your hands found a more comfortable place to rest which happened to be right on the curve of his chest while the other continued to hold his bicep. It was always hard to see under his immaculate jackets, but now that it was just his dress shirt and an undershirt, you could see the way your hands curved against him.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he finally spoke, throat shifting particularly with how low he was trying to keep his voice, his bicep flexing under your hand as his hands slid a little further around you.

“Thank you for catching me,” you replied, “so I didn’t have to fall in front of you, again.”

For some reason, that hit him painfully. He couldn’t decide if it was because he felt guilty for making you feel embarrassed about what had happened in front of him, or because he felt guilty for not being able to prevent it in the first place. Although it felt like a sting, he was fully aware that you were making no effort to move from his grasp which was still settled somewhat around your waist until you had decided it was long enough and shuffled out of his grasp.

Joshua never dared pry about what was on your mind, even as he continued to watch you push tears away. At one point, you did close the gap between the two of you on the couch and sat with him, hip to hip, at least until your food arrived. You ate quietly, really just relishing each other’s presence outside of business hours, and sometimes caught him looking at you a little too long which he would dismiss with a soft smile. But dinner was quick, and you were cleaning up almost as soon as you sat down, it felt. And the sooner you were done with dinner, you feared, the sooner he would leave and that just wasn’t a thought you were ready to deal with yet. You had been grappling with saying something, giving him anything about what was going on with you—he already had a pretty good idea and made that very apparent, but you got nervous and pulled away.

You cleaned up in the kitchen quickly and grabbed Joshua’s empty glass to refresh it after he insisted the water was perfectly fine, before joining him on the couch again. This time you’d switched over the TV to just play music which was also perfectly fine because it seemed to ease the tension that was bubbling between the two of you.

“You know, I know we’re not that close, and I know you hired me, but if there’s anything you want to say, or if there’s anything you want me to do—”

“Does that anything include hauling a body away?” you joked, trying to lighten the mood since it had been a little dark since you first invited him in. He seemed to find amusement in your joke because he chuckled.

“I just want you to feel comfortable with me, like you don’t have to tiptoe around me or like you can’t experience emotions in front of me—I couldn’t even detect a semblance of pain on your face earlier although I know it hurt,” he reminded you.

“I do feel comfortable with you,” you replied, driving the point home by subconsciously leaning over to cozy up to him, resting your head against his shoulder as you were already sitting hip to him. He seemed a bit shocked, jarring for only a moment before relaxing into the way you pressed against him. “If I didn’t, I would have gotten rid of you a long time ago.”

“Ouch, so expendable,” he jested, resisting settling an arm around your shoulder. He knew from the last time that there were lines that shouldn’t be crossed, even if you were crossing one right now. It was on you what to do, but he couldn’t just take a moment of physical contact as the go-ahead, especially as you pulled away.

“You’re off the clock; you don’t have to be so alert,” you finally added.

“It’s in my nature,” he replied quietly, his gaze casting from your lap and back up to your face. “I can’t help wanting to jump to your defense, even from the threat that’s in your head.”

“At least that tells me that you take your job very seriously,” you replied just as quietly, your voice fading off a bit at the end as his face neared yours a bit more.

“You asked me to come in because you didn’t want to be alone; I think that warrants attention,” he answered. He had a point, but somewhere in the feeling of his warm breath against your cheeks, that point was lost. You knew what was coming, but somehow didn’t have the mind to stop it, or the want to stop it from happening. Your fingers furled into the upholstery of your couch as he came into your space.

“Joshu—” you tried, but the tender way his lips touched against yours cut that off.  There was a familiar touch of his fingertips against the cut of your jaw while his mouth gently slanted against yours. The sigh that exhaled through his nose was exacerbated as one of your somewhat panicked hands took a grip of his tie and tugged, encouraging him to tilt your jaw to his will as he readjusted the kiss.

He broke the kiss for a moment to gauge you, a little too in the moment to remember the first time this happened and what a mistake it was; somewhere in the back of his mind he knew the implications, he knew the conditions of your contract with the jewelry gig, he knew the media was keeping watch on your fake relationship, and he knew how much this was forbidden, but that only made him want it more. And you must have felt somewhat the same, because you leaned in to tease his bottom lip with your teeth, feeling the exhilaration of the fleeting freedom from that fake relationship against Joshua’s lips; the way the stress of all of that melted away at the taste of that familiar pomegranate chapstick.  His breath was warm against your mouth, anticipating your next move but you made it clear you were waiting for him as you hesitated while his lip slipped from the gentle grip of your teeth and, tentatively, he took your bottom lip to swipe his tongue against it to delve into another forbidden lip lock.

Breathless, you gave a deep exhale against his mouth as you’d finally come to your senses. Somewhere in your subconscious, you knew the two of you were dancing around this chemistry because you knew it would have to be a secret. You’d had all the forethought in the world after the last time about any time you could catch him away from the crowd how badly you wanted to take the lapel of his coat in your hands and melt into him. The last thing you needed was for rumors to start going around about you and him, but in this very moment, as your lips trailed away from his to kiss against the line of his jaw, you seemed to care not. And you knew you would have continued to kiss down his neck the way you’d thought about more times than you’d like to admit out loud if you didn’t know better. But the way his breath hit the air and the way his head tilted back just a bit just begged for a little more.

“Joshua,” you whispered against the slender column of his neck, or what you could reach that wasn’t covered by his completely buttoned shirt as your lips slid up to his ear, “If you don’t knock it off, next time I might not stop.”

A shiver shot down his spine at just the implications of your words. He knew it was wrong, he knew it was complicated, but now he knew that you felt the same way he did, that you knew he just couldn’t help it. His breath hit the air in a huff, a semblance of a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips but it faded just as quickly as his head came back down to meet gaze with you.

“Maybe I don’t want you to,” he replied, the glimmer in his eyes like the entire galaxy condensed. You agreed on the conditions of your current situation from a simple look, but you could also tell in each other’s eyes how much that didn’t matter. All that mattered was not getting caught. All that mattered was that it was a secret. Even still, something ate at you about the riskiness.  

You stood from the couch for the sole purpose of creating some distance before you completely lost your resolve, although it was still breaking the more you looked at his eyes, the features of his face, the curves and sharpness of his jaw, and his mouth which you were already so acquainted with.

It would be tough, but you knew already quitting Joshua would be harder already, so you both vowed to keep it as down low as possible, and that meant entirely in the ground in public of any kind.

That meant you attended galas and fundraisers with even more disinterest than you had before, and the tugging persisted but now you were being bombarded with questions about your fake relationship—you did your best to remain quiet and let the star of the show answer. You continued to work on designing pieces in the comfort of your apartment and develop them into fine pieces of jewelry and you were still raking in design rights left and right from a company you wanted to break from entirely. It was slowly becoming apparent that no matter what happened between you and Joshua, that company would owe you royalties for your designs, and undoubtedly would ask you to continue designing since you were the top contributor much to your partner’s dismay.

To do your best to avoid suspicion, Joshua often stayed behind at times he would have typically accompanied you. He spent more time playing wallflower than he was used to, especially as you were being bombarded left and right by people who wanted nothing more than your attention than to pick your brain about your designs, but despite the new dynamic of his investment, he was still your bodyguard.   And the more he got invested, the more he hated seeing you put in that fake smile in the arms of a man he already detested; but he vowed to keep his word, and keep his word he did.

Some galas, you just couldn’t take it. Joshua always had a watchful eye on you when you were seated even while Mr. Self-Important was wandering about and entertaining guests, trying to butter them up for a sale or investment of some kind. Occasionally, you’d meet eyes with him before finding your way to your feet and began to weave through the crowd. It wasn’t unusual for him to follow you, as it was agreed he would be keeping eyes on you at all costs.  You made your way through many hot bodies crammed in a too-small room as he tried to keep track of your head bobbing through the crowd before making it into a back room. Still, he followed the sound of your heels against the ornate tile. He followed you quite some time before leading him onto the balcony of a backroom you doubted anyone would be finding even if they were adventuring on their own.

“What do you think you’re doing, taking off like that?” he asked you a little roughly, trying to figure out exactly what was going through your mind to just get up and storm off as if that wouldn’t gather some attention.

“I can’t take it anymore,” you replied desperately, looking back at him as you exhaled sharply. The look in your eyes was enough, an inextinguishable fire burned in your very soul. He almost melted under that gaze, daring to shuffle towards you. You let the fresh air wash against the skin exposed by your evening gown—it was refreshing, to say the least; but the way Joshua was looking back at you made it hard to distinguish the cool air from the fire in your veins.

You begged to step passed him and return to the gala—being out here with him alone spelled bad news for the secrecy of your intermingling lives because you could tell the more that you looked at him, the more you couldn’t stop the way your gaze flittered down to his lips for only a moment before trying to recompose yourself.  But you went to step anyway, not quick enough for his wide hands which strongly took your hips and backed you up against the railing of the balcony.

“Is that why you lead me out here? You had to have known I would follow you,” he asked, a ghost of a whisper in the slight breeze as he leaned down to capture your gaze again, bringing your eyes up to his and you could feel your breath caught in your throat, hands anticipatorily on his forearms through his suit coat.

You wanted to protest, you wanted to tell him this couldn’t happen—not here, not now. The way he continued to step closer to you made the lump bigger and bigger, making it even more difficult to get words out before he was leaned in too close, and only then were you able to squeak anything out.

“It’s dangerous,” you muttered against his mouth, the familiar taste of his pomegranate chapstick and the plush warmth of his lips against yours broke any semblance of control and your hands ruffled through the hair on the back of his head.  It was feverish at first, as if you’d been deprived of him for so long before the actuality of his lips against yours, of his hands on your body tugging you into him finally set in and you calmed down; as did your hands which combed his hair back into place before sitting daintily across his broad shoulders until he broke the kiss off, hypocritically trying to remind you that you were still in public but it didn’t stop the way he placed gentle kisses against your forehead as you leaned into him.

His scent, which you had grown so accustomed to, seemed to be amplified in the quiet wind as you took a deep breath through your nose while his forehead found yours—your eyes remained closed, and it was the most serene moment you’d experienced at a gala to that day. Everything felt at ease, everything felt simple, everything felt right.

But in the following days, a different kind of panic was settling into you when your boss’s son showed up on your doorstep with the front page of a magazine with a photo of you and Joshua out on that balcony that night.  He was red in the face, demanding an explanation from you about how you could be so careless, essentially informing you that he had already had ideas about you and Joshua but trusted that you wouldn’t blow the work you had going.  The thought of being caught had crossed your mind on so many occasions, but late-night talks after late-night talk when he stayed over to calm your nerves, to rub your shoulders and shower you with kisses, you concluded—what were they going to do? What did you care about that fake relationship? What did you care about the publicity of a company you had no investment in other than design rights? Regardless of popularity, you would continue to get royalties from every sale of your designs.  

“This is simply absurd; this is the last thing I had anticipated waking up to. This ruins so many things, in fact, it ruins everything! All the publicity we had going for this startup, you so selfishly ruined!” he screamed at you while you stood in the doorway of your apartment. For a moment, you didn’t care. He had screamed at you many times in the past, so you looked at him unfazed.

“I’m sorry, I’m the selfish one? I’m the one who demanded we keep up a fake relationship for a publicity stunt to… what… keep the jewelry line directly in the media at all times? I’m the selfish one?”

“You have gotten every last bit out of my family and this business and then you go and blow it, getting caught like a fool!”

Your knuckles were turning white with the way you were gripping them under your crossed arms as you looked at him. Your blood was boiling.

“I worked my ass off to provide your family with very successful designs for their line! Remind me again who’s the selfish one!” you spat back in his face, the burn on your tongue feeling like actual flames with how irate you were at this point. “And remind me, what have you done, at all? Have you made any contributions to this business other than providing the media a pretty face to look at?”

He pushed his hand against the door of your apartment and stepped towards you, enough for you to take a few steps back and unfold your arms in the case you had to defend yourself. And you would have, but the rumble behind you that was deep enough, menacing enough to open a rift in the earth’s crust came from behind you.

“Get out,” Joshua threatened, having been standing just behind the door to listen to the exchange. He wanted you to give you your space to deal with it on your own—you deserved to deal with it on your own; it was your position, your designs, your royalties, your contributions to defend. He was there, however, to defend your being.

“You! You are at least half the—”

“Get out!” Joshua repeated, taking a step forward before ripping the magazine from shaking fingers. “I don’t think I have to tell you again. Your little charade is done, and the only one who will suffer is you and you alone. Now get out, or I’ll escort you out.”

“You’ll be hearing from my lawyer about this—”

“I don’t think that’s the route you want to go,” you interjected. “I own those designs; I am owed royalties on every sale of those designs; whether you like it or not, I have a legal cut of this company which is not contingent on how successful our media façade is. So, if I’ll be hearing from your lawyer about Joshua who has a legal and contracted right to remove you from my property, then you’ll be hearing from mine, who will bury you.”  

There was a shakiness in your voice, indistinguishable between anger and nerves, as Joshua escorted him out of your home and slammed the door behind him.  You stood just beyond the entryway, safe distance within your house to avoid any conflict, but your shoulders heaved.  You could hear the heavy deadbolt flip, locking the door tight before Joshua turned around to face you. He gave you some space for just a moment, but he wasn’t too keen on leaving you standing there looking like the very life had been sucked from your bones for too long.

“It’s over,” he cooed to you, “you don’t have to hide anymore.”

Your gaze crossed the flooring to his feet and ran up his legs, up his body to his face. His mouth housed a tender smile, eyes soft as he looked over you, and somewhere deep in there he could see the relief, the surfacing of tension to let it all go, and for a fleeting moment, you granted him a soft smile as well before he wistfully crossed the floor to take you against his chest.

“I’m proud of the way you stood your ground. You’ll never have to stand it alone again.”

It seemed like a slightly inclined battle for the first month or so. You did hear from his lawyer, and he heard from yours, and it was a winning battle in court to discuss your role within the business. You came to an agreement to keep a position, much to the dismay of your now ex-business partner, and continue working on designs with minimal pressure, and that, the final marker of the decisions, was the nail in the coffin for all the tension to finally free from your body.  You stood in a mostly empty courtroom in a fine skirt-suit as you awaited the verdict—you were too relieved to cry, but Joshua’s hand squeezing yours almost elicited those tears.

It wasn’t long before you moved in together to settle down.

You spent long nights sometimes in the studio working on big sketchbooks loosely doodling designs across the entire page. A lone lamp that illuminated a desk behind your easel was hardly enough to sustain healthy eyesight, but it never seemed to stop you especially when you were struggling to push sleep away from those eyes.  Often, Joshua slipped out of bed to come find you, well into some hours after he’d retired for the night just to sneak into the studio behind you.

He watched the way your hand effortlessly moved across the page, flicking lines down on the paper to craft those rough sketches he knew would eventually turn into fine pieces of jewelry. You had a knack for it, serious vision for jewelry only the elite could afford.

“It’s not light enough in here for your eyes,” he whispered to you, rubbing his hands along your shoulders and upper arms before he’d dig his thumbs in.

“You tell me that every time,” you reminded him quietly, eyes closing to relish the way he pushed some knots away from your shoulders.  

His chuckle was smooth in your ears, dripping down your spine like refined syrup before he pulled up a stool behind you and nestle his arms around your waist, leaving you free enough to continue to work on some sketches, but not without some attempts at wooing you to leave them.

“Come to bed with me,” he whispered just behind your ear, only to place a couple of kisses against your neck and nuzzle against your jaw.

“Five more minutes,” you replied, only to feel his arms tighten around you.

“I fell for that too many times; I’m not so naïve anymore,” he reminded you. “They’ll be here for you another day.”

“And so will you,” you answered.

“Ouch, so expendable,” he teased, knowing that you were teasing, too.

“Joshua,” you whined as he kissed down your neck and across your shoulder, only lightly clothed by a loose-fitting tee that was slouching off to the side anyway. But he wouldn’t stop. Especially not as he got up to flick the lamp off, the only light remaining for vision was the hallway light outside the door, which was enough for him to scoop you from your stool to bring both your legs up around his waist and your arms to dangle over his shoulders. He could feel the sleepiness in your body, but your stubbornness persisted as you protested some more. He carried you from the small studio room and down the hallway to flick the light off with his elbow before he was gently laying you in the cool sheets of the bed you shared with him, sealing off any further words with a couple of sweet kisses against your unsuspecting lips.

Despite all your hawing a few moments prior, the soothing sheets underneath you coupled with the warm body that was settling in next to you settled you quite a bit when he turned you into him and you settled into his shoulder, the same way you did every night.

[shadowthief78]

Lucky Star

(GN!Reader/Diluc)

He's never seen someone as carefree as you. You laugh until your stomach aches, steal apples for their orchards and sips of wine from any unattended glasses in the tavern, dance until your shoes split beneath the moonlight. You toss your life fast and loose like a pair of dice, betting, betting, always betting on the gods's favor and always winning it despite the lack of a Vision.

Some call it foolishness, some call it luck, but all he knows is that you have something he doesn't.

-

You first meet one frosty autumn day amids the bare apple trees. He stops in the space between rows, stares up at you, silhouetted agains the gray-white sky and framed by the spindly black branches.

You ignore him, only reaching up to snatch another frostbitten apple from the tree. Yesterday, he could have been certain that the only fruit left was rotten and riddles with worms, but the one you now hold is shiny and crisp, perfect in all aspects save the light layer of ice on its surface.

"What are you doing?" He asks. You open an eye and glance down.

"Nothing that concerns you," you respond, then close your eye and bite into the apple. He can hear the sharp snap of the flesh. It makes him hungry - breakfast was too long ago and lunch is too far away.

"I live here?" He says.

"Don't sound so certain now, do you?" You say, then pluck a stray leaf, twirl it in your fingers, and let it drop. You aren't even looking at him, staring into Dragonspine in the distance.

"I live here," he says, without a tremor in his voice this time. "You're eating our apples."

"Someone's got to," you tell him. "They'll go bad otherwise. And isn't the harvest done? I though people in Mondstadt are supposed to let wanderers like me pick through the leftovers."

He can't argue with you because you're right, as long as he can remember his father has let anyone who wishes to pick the fields after a harvest. He settles for sputtering indignantly, "You might hurt the tree."

"I won't," you say, sounding so certain that he falls silent.

"Aren't you cold?" He says, noticing your worn and patched clothing. He's cold, even wrapped up in a coat. "Do you want to come in?"

"I'm fine. I have to practice," you say. You look at him for the first time. "I'm going there, you know." You point to the mountain. "Dragonspine. I'm going to climb it and see the world from the summit."

If it were anyone else, he would have called their bluff. You, he just nods and accepts your statement. You're going to climb Dragonspine one day and nobody can stop you.

-

You turn up again the next day, wrapped up in your scrappy cape and napping on top of a few hay bales in the stable. The horses look remarkably unbothered for having a hurricane in human form in their midst, one even nosing your makeshift mattress and nibbling around the edges of your hood.

"I hope you don't mind," the stablehand says to him. "They asked to sleep for the night and it was cold, I couldn't just toss them out. I though Master Crepus wouldn't mind. . ."

Diluc isn't sure to be happy or not. Kaeya laughs at him when he says he's twice met someone who wants to explore Dragonspine later at dinner.

-

The third time you turn up, it's when he's been called to stop you from splashing in the fountain in the middle of Mondstadt Plaza. It's an unusually warm day in early spring and he hasn't seen hide nor hair of you since the beginning of winter, and a little part of him is grateful you haven't frozen or fallen to your death (your gliding is atrocious), but a larger part wants to ask you why you're still here when a self-proclaimed wanderer like you should already be onto the next city.

"Why, Mister Apples, we meet again," is your greeting to him and the pair of knight trainees behind him. "Been to Dragonspine lately?"

"Nobody goes to Dragonspine during winter," he says. "It's too cold."

You shrug and go back to kicking your feet in the clear water. "Not for me."

"You can't wade in the fountain," he says once he realizes there's no point arguing with you.

"Can too," you counter, hiking your pants up and walking around the fountain in a stiff-legged gait. "See? It's most definitely possible."

One of the knights behind him snickers. Your eyes gleam. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize you had a condition that doesn't allow you to wade in fountains. My condolences for your loss, Mister Apples. A terrible shame, it is, not being able to wade."

"I can wade in a fountain," he says, grumpy. "And don't call me Apples."

"Mister Apples," you correct. "Why not? You never gave me your name and I do seem to recall you are quite particular about those apples."

"My name is Diluc," he says, then realizes that the way you beam means he's played right into your hands. "And nobody's allowed to wade in this fountain, get out before I have to write you up for it."

You shrug, pick up your bag, and make a beeline to the shallow water near the flowerbeds. He doesn't know what he expected.

-

The next time your paths cross, he realizes he doesn't know your name. When he asks you smile with your eyes closed, a wide grin streching across your face.

"Why so curious, Master Diluc?" His name is a mockery on your lips. You enjoy polarizing the simple things, double sided words and outright lies falling from your mouth, but they all sound believable and reasonable when you deliver them with your silver tongue.

"It's annoying talking about someont whose name I don't kmow," he says. "You know mine. Don't most people give their names when they meet?"

"Ahh, but I am not most people," you say, tipping your barstool back and sliding a piece across the chessboard. "I am very far from most people in many ways."

"Most people don't want to climb Dragonspine," he says and moves a pawn two spaces forward. "How about this, if I beat you this game you'll tell me your name."

"A wager? I'll warn you, I've never lost on in my life," you say. "And what do I get if I win?"

"An apple," he says, making you laugh.

"Why, is my name not worth more than an apple to you?" You tease. "Very well then, your move," you say, gesturing to the board.

-

The last time he sees you, you're carrying a sack of potatoes and traipsing around outside despite the rain. He flags you over and pauses. He doesn't know what he meant to say.

"Master Diluc, lord of all apples in Mondstadt," you drawls, filling in the silence for him. "To what do I owe the pleasure? State your business in less than three sentances, I have many responsibilities to finish and not much time to do them."

"Since when have you had responsibities?" He says. You laugh.

"Since I persuaded a merchant to drag me and all my supplies to Dragonspine tomorrow," you say, a touch of genuine pride in your voice. "We leave at dawn."

"Congradulations," he says. "Good luck out there."

"I won't need it," you say. "I'm lucky, and I always have been. You can keep your luck, and borrow some of mine."

"Is this my birthday present?" He ignores rain dripping down his collar and stares at you.

"I am you own personal lucky star, how generous of me," you agree. You heft your potaotes in your arms and nod to the interiour of the tavern. "Looks like they're missing their little princeling."

"I'm not a prince," he says, but he turns arouns and opens the door.

"Happy eighteenth birthday," you say from behind him. "From me, the monarch of misfits and leige of luck, regent of rogues and liars, diety of all who wander."

"A little conceited to give yourself such titles, isn't it?"

You bow, ever elegant even when covered in dirt and carrying starchy lumps covered in rough hemp. "I suspect we won't see each other again for some time, Lord Apples."

"I hope we will sometime," he says, making you smile.

"In that case, until next time, Diluc."

-

"Dragonspine?" He echoes as the Traveller explains their plans. "Good luck up there. If you run across someone called (Y/N), tell them hello from me."

[denisn4te]

Obey Me characters and their assigned dogs!

Okay, guys, I have a cool idea! What if like as an assignment, Diavolo decided to give everyone a dog from the human world to see how well dogs from the human world could get with demons and the students were allowed to choose which dog breed they'd want it to be. The assignment was to be for a few months long.

Here are my thoughts on which dog breeds they had been assigned and how well they raised them.

~•~☆~•~

Lucifer-Doberman

At first, he wanted to just use Cerberus as his dog, but it had to be a dog breed from the human world.

Obviously, he chose a big and very intimidating dog.

He received a male dog and named him Damien.

Lucifer already knew the basics of raising a dog since he is the owner of Cerberus and all.

Within the first month, Lucifer began training Damien.

By the end of that month, Damien was probably the best guard dog in the entire Devildom.

Despite being a big and scary dog, Damien was actually a big sweetheart!

He'd always follows Lucifer around and get sad when his owner wasn't around. He especially loves doing tricks for treats.

Damien is only aggressive he senses harm coming towards him or Lucifer or when he is ordered to attack.

By attack, he just chases the brothers whenever they make Lucifer mad.

When the assignment was over and the dogs were to be brought back to the human world, Lucifer immediately locked himself in his room and cranked that record player volume to 100 all while claiming he wasn't sad.

Mammon-Italian Greyhound

Tried to sell the dog not even one days after getting it

Mammon didn't know crap about human world dog breeds so he just picked a random breed not knowing anything about it. His immediate thought was 'is this a rat?'

Mammon had received a female dog and named her Jade after Lucifer caught him trying to sell her.

At first, he wanted nothing to do with Jade until out of literally nowhere she had brought him a couple of Grimm.

Suddenly he was very interested after realizing Jade had a strange habit of finding and digging up valuables. From Grimm and small jewelry to literally buried artifacts.

Nobody knows how she does it and it's concerning that they had put her in Mammon's care.

Mammon immediately started to teach Jade how to do cute tricks to random people for treats and such.

Jade was also a very energetic dog always running around and barking at almost everyone except Mammon, MC, and MC's assigned dog.

Jade loves playing with the other dogs even if it's clear that they don't want to play.

Mammon was absolutely sobbing when Jade had to go back to the human world and absolutely didn't want to let her go.

He wasn't okay for a very long time after that.

Leviathan-Newfoundland

Just like Mammon, Leviathan didn't want to do anything with a dog until he realized some dogs were specialized in swimming.

Him being very associated with the ocean was suddenly interested when he heard about the breed Newfoundland. He thought the name sounded cool and picked that in.

Probably should have done more research because he didn't realize how huge this breed was.

He received a female dog and named her Henry 4.0

Leviathan didn't know anything about dogs and boy was it so hard for him at first.

Probably had to learn by watching animes, reading mangas, and playing games about dogs NINTENDOGS.

Actually got pretty used to having a dog really quickly and enjoyed it too.

Henry 4.0 was a really chill girl and likes sleeping on top of Leviathan. Just casually crushing the boy y' know.

She really likes laying with him while he's watching anime and playing his video games.

Their favorite activities to do are taking baths, going out to swim in the nearby river, and cosplay!

Yes, you heard that right! Cosplaying is a thing they did quite often and they always dressed up as duo characters. Of course Leviathan made the cosplays from scratch.

One good thing that this assignment did was getting Leviathan out of his room for when he would take Henry 4.0 out for walks.

Whenever Leviathan got sad he'd just hug Henry 4.0 and put his head into her fur. Henry 4.0 became kind of like an emotional support animal for him.

Leviathan absolutely refused to let them take Henry 4.0 away when the assignment was over. He even tried to hide her and threatened to summon Lotan again (which he did end up doing!)

Was very much not okay after the assignment was over.

Satan-Basenji

Satan is clearly the most educated on human world dog breeds and even though he very much prefers cats over dogs, he always did like the Basenji breed.

They are known as the 'barkless' dog and even have a somewhat reputation for acting like cats.

Satan had received a male dog and named him Benjamin.

Once the assignment began he quickly began to read books about dogs.

Satan actually surprisingly liked Benjamin rather quickly despite not liking dogs all that much.

They mostly just sat down together in the library while Satan read books and Benjamin would nap.

Benjamin was a pretty active dog and liked to play with the other dogs every now and then.

But just like Satan, he got mad a lot. Whenever someone got into his personal space while he was tired he wouldn't bark at them, but he had a pretty spooky growl.

Other than that Benjamin is actually really chill.

Satan also taught Benjamin a few tricks which may or may not be targeted at Lucifer and his assigned dog, Damien.

The number of times Benjamin was seen running away from Damien and/or Lucifer with Lucifer's paperwork in his mouth was pretty impressive.

One surprise was that Benjamin and Damien got super well with each ther much to Lucifer and Satan's dismay.

Besides the antagonizing Lucifer tricks, Benjamin didn't really know any tricks other than to sit and fetch.

Just like the other brothers he was truly sad to see Benjamin go and had one last trick to play on Lucifer before the assignment ended.

Asmodeus-Samoyed

A lot of people were expecting Asmodeus to get a small dog, but he really said no❤

He already knew about all the most beautiful dog breeds from the human world and the Samoyed was absolutely elegant.

He had received a female dog and named her Opal.

He already followed a few dog pages on the internet so he had a few basics down.

You already know he's one of those absolutely extra dog owners and honestly good for both him and Opal.

He loves taking her baths and always makes sure the dog products he uses are the absolute best.

Asmodeus even bought her a gemstone collar and I'm not talking about those leather collars with those flat little slabs, I'm talking about these kinds of collars

Yes, he's that extra and no he's not ashamed.

Opal had to be the most spoiled dog in the Devildom by the end of it.

She didn't like to play all that much unless it was with Asmodeus or MC. Pretty people only.

She almost never growled ever and she would have to be really pissed if she ever did. For example, when Mammon accidentally spilled some wet dog food on her fur, she never forgave him.

As you already know, Opal got the best kind of food a dog could eat. Asmodeus being one for best self-care, he didn't want his beloved Opal eating low-grade kibble. Only the best for his little girl.

You already KNOW he dresses her up and takes her out to the club. Loves showing her off to the fans. Likes dragging MC and their assigned dog along with them just to have fun.

Do not ever pet Opal unless you have clear permission from both her and Asmodeus and also clean your hands first. Opal's fur is too delicate and beautiful to get ruined.

Whenever Asmodeus gets drunk he always hugs Opal and cries into her fluff which she doesn't mind.

Asmodeus wouldn't stop posting pictures of him and Opal on social media and even after the assignment ended he still posted older pictures of her.

Couldn't hold back the tears after Opal went back to the human world after the assignment was over. He took her on one last spa day before the day the assignment was over and gave her the best meal.

Was crying on Devilgram Live later that day.

Beelzebub-Saint Bernard

A pretty obvious one. Just like Mammon, he knew nothing about human world dog breeds and chose a Saint Bernard because Satan suggested it.

Satan purposely suggested a big dog because if it were a small one, Beel would have eaten it.

He received a female dog and named her Biscuit. The alternatives were Big Mac and Burger, but Lucifer didn't allow it.

Ome thing these two had in common was a large appetite. Beel quickly got attached to Biscuit mostly because of that.

Beel has to be supervised while feeding Biscuit her dog food cause sometimes he'll try to eat some of her food.

Biscuit loves cuddles and is a big softie just like Beel. Though she seemed to be more of a dog for Belphie since she was always tired and sleeping.

Beel never minded though and always enjoyed walking into a room and seeing Biscuit laying with Belphie and Belphie's assigned dog.

Biscuit gets along with literally everyone including the other dogs. She always lets them do whatever just as long as they aren't harming anyone.

If you do harm her owner or his family she'll go from 0 to 101 in a second. Saint Bernards actually have a very powerful bite so it's best not to piss her off.

But out of her entire time in the Devildom with the brothers, MC, and the other assigned dogs she only really actually bit someone once and it was in self-defense.

Of this assignment had taken place during the whole Belphie attic incident, Biscuit would have been a huge emotional support animal to Beel.

If it didn't take place during that time then Beel would have loved her the same way.

Whenever he would try and work out, Biscuit would always lay on him and get in the way. She's too precious.

The only workout she wouldn't interrupt with cuteness is morning walks/runs.

One problem however is how much Beel would forget to brush her and she'd leave fur absolutely everywhere.

When the assignment was over he felt like he lost a part of himself.

He woke up the morning after looking for Biscuit to take her for their morning run and remembered that the assignment was over.

Still has her collar and leash.

Sad lad hours

Belphegor-Basset Hound

Belphie definitely was one of the brothers who didn't want to do anything with dogs and in fact, he didn't even choose a dog breed so they gave him a random one for the assignment.

Clearly whoever chose the breed for him knew their breeds well because Basset Hounds are some sleepy dogs.

He received a female dog and named her Floppy. Very creative I know.

To be honest, Belphie would be the most irresponsible of the brothers when it comes to raising a dog.

Usually, he had to be reminded a lot to care for this damn dog. Whether it's be reminded to feed her or take her on walks, he's just really lazy.

At first, he didn't like Floppy at all and thought she was ugly until Beel pointed out how much they sleep together.

It was true how much they slept together, wherever Belphie was sleeping, Floppy was either on top of him or next to him.

That's when Belphie actually began to care about her and trying to take better care of her.

He'd forget a lot of the times to do things, but he was trying.

Floppy didn't know any tricks or even bother to learn any. She didn't beg for food or play with the other dogs. She never growled or barked at all either.

Someone would literally be getting stabbed in front of her and she'd yawn.

Even though Floppy never liked getting along with the other dogs, she did like to nap with Beel's assigned dog, Biscuit.

Nobody else though. Not even MC or their assigned dog.

Floppy hated going on walks and any other activity that included having to put any effort into it.

She'd just let Belphie drag her across the ground by the leash.

Belphie was the least sad when the assignment was over. He does really miss Floppy, but he knew he wasn't the best dog owner and she deserves better.

He just wishes her well and hopes she finds a better family. Oh god, he's crying now-

~•~☆~•~

tl;dr: The brothers get dogs, get attached, then get really sad once the dogs are gone.

Oh lord, this took so much longer to make than I expected. Online classes haven't been nice to me. I was going to make some art for this, but this already took way longer than I expected so I'll probably save that for another time!

If anyone of you wants you can add to this by saying what your MC's assigned dog is! Anyways hope you all have a good day and maybe I'll even make a part 2 for the Undateables! ;)

[starsinmylatte]

A Song Among the Stars

Chapter count: 2/?

Rating: Mature 🔞

Relationships: Grand Admiral Thrawn/Original Female Character

Tags:

Space Opera (literally)

Slow Burn

Slow Romance

Other Additional Tags to Be Added

Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con

Never by thrawn

Sexual Tension

Mix of Legends and Canon

Art Enthusiast Thrawn | Mitth'raw'nuruodo

Thrawn | Mitth'raw'nuruodo is protective of his muse

Ballroom Dancing

Imperial Star Destroyers (Star Wars)

Imperial Officers (Star Wars)

Angst and Romance

Canon-Typical Violence

Chiss (Star Wars)

Chiss Ascendancy (Star Wars)

Masquerade

The Empire shows off

Imperial style

Phantom of the Opera AU if you squint

Thrawn finds his muse

Total word count: 5,506

Chapter 1: Overture

Song suggestion: Reflections- Toshifumi Hinata

I lingered in the bath, fully understanding that I was only delaying the inevitable. The warm, aromatic water swirled around me as I began to dread the next few hours. Soon, the handmaidens assigned to prepare me for tonight would arrive to ensure my compliance.

At an earlier point in my life, I would have resisted all of their attempts to shove me into the various gowns, gems, and the absolutely appalling shoes that had been chosen for me. I had actually bitten the first girl that tried to change my outfit forcibly.

The handmaidens were all extremely wary of me after that incident, but, somehow, three of them had managed to become my only true friends on Coruscant. Despite my best intentions to hate everyone, Talle, Kaia, and Ahni were the only ones who bothered to understand my story.

Though each of us was from a different planet, we had all been taken from our homes by the Empire. We all served high-ranking Imperials, but my main role was different. I was a piece of Imperial propaganda. I was painted as the poor girl from the Outer Rim whose singing talent was discovered by the Empire and given a place to shine for the whole galaxy to see.

My train of thought was immediately interrupted by the sound of three very familiar sets of footsteps entering my room and a sing-song voice that rang out, “Oh Lyra! It seems that you’re stuck with us yet again.”

I let out a genuine snort before retaliating. “Kaia, you know nobody else wants to be anywhere near biting distance of me. You’d have to be personally requested by Lady Tarkin before anyone would consider switching jobs with you, and that’s saying something.”

I suddenly shuddered as I remembered my last encounter with her. Thankfully it had been brief, but it had still felt like an eternity. “That woman is so unpleasant.”

The second voice jokingly mused, “I don’t know, sometimes you can be almost as miserable as her. Now come on out of the bath. We have to start getting you ready.”

“Just five more minutes Talle.” I groaned, “I can just feel that tonight will be particularly long.”

Kaia laughed as she poked her head into the refresher and handed me a mug. “Somehow, I knew you’d say that, and that’s why we’re here ten minutes early.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Before you even begin to ask about it, here’s your shig.”

I shot Kaia a friendly scowl before immediately perking up at the mention of my favorite tea. I had always been partial to caf, but there was nothing better than a steaming cup of herbal tea before a performance. The citrusy scent of the behot immediately filled the small room, and holding the warm mug in my hands was instantly comforting. I let out a sigh of pure bliss, “Stars, you are a wonderful friend.”

Kaia winked before exiting the refresher. “Oh, I know.”

As I enjoyed the last few minutes of my bath, the tea brought back memories of my home. Before the Empire had taken me, a cup of shig and a hot bath would have been considerably rare, and the chances of both happening on the same day, even rarer.

Back on Ero, life was more mundane. My father always had quality goods on hand, but as a trader, he couldn’t just let his daughter drink all of his products. There were also no fancy bathtubs because they were a waste of precious drinking water, so almost everyone used sonic showers instead. I could resent the Empire all I wanted to, but there was no denying that I was at least well provided for. Somehow that made me hate my captivity even more.

I gripped my mug as I fought the other memories that tried to resurface. It had gotten easier to push them down as the years passed, but the pain was still there. Flashes of my capture, my time spent held on a Star Destroyer, the captain that had trapped me in his quarters…... The last thing I needed was to slip back into these memories.

Then there was a gentle hand on my shoulder. The sudden presence made me jump, but I saw Ahni’s smiling face when I looked up. Her face was both a comfort and a constant reminder that the Empire had hurt many people besides me. She had a beautiful deep green complexion marred by the scars from her capture that ran across her face and entire body. Ahni rarely spoke, but she was still extraordinarily expressive and always had ways to make her emotions known. Realization flashed across her face before she bent down and hugged me.

We shared an understanding moment of silence before Kaia yelled in from the other room. “Come on, Ly! We have to get you into all this kriffing fabric sometime today. I heard that we managed to get one of the better options, but tonight everything is special, so there’s more to do than usual.”

Stars, I almost forgot, I mentally berated myself. Tonight’s not only the biggest party I’ve been expected to perform at so far, but it’s the kriffing Masquerade too.

I immediately began cursing under my breath in every trade language I knew as I leapt from the bathtub, wrapped a robe around myself, and ran out of the refresher, closely followed by a very amused Ahni.

My apartment was quite lovely for basically being a prison. I had a plush bed with privacy curtains, a small vanity, a bedside table, a closet filled with outfits, and a tiny enclosed balcony. Having a private refresher made it very close to luxury.

I walked over to the vanity and had a seat. I had been prepared for Imperial events far too many times and knew the procedure that was about to happen by heart. I used to protest that I could get ready myself, but preparing for an Imperial ball required way more thought and perfection than anything else and by now, I put my trust in Kaia, Talle, and Ahni.

Tonight demanded absolute perfection.

The Masquerade was a collection and celebration of the Empire’s most significant members, and my role was to be the sparkling gem in the center of everything. I knew my true purpose tonight involved way more than my renowned singing ability. My presence tonight was pure propaganda. I was a message to every person on every planet in the Empire. This could be you. The Empire is generous. If this insignificant girl from the Outer Rim could be here, you could be here too.

I had already been warned about the consequences if I fell short of what was required tonight.

Hours later, the process was finally complete. Talle had powdered, colored, and shaded my face to her precise standards. She had even filled my lips in with a deep red pigment and darkened my eyelashes to complement my icy blue eyes. Not to be outdone, Kaia had coaxed my long blonde hair into an elegant, intricate updo inlaid with black and white quartz.

The dress came last, and it was stunning. When Ahni opened my closet, I almost couldn’t believe my eyes. Whoever had selected it had undoubtedly wanted me to stand out. There would be no shortage of finery tonight, but I was to be resplendent.

Talle was completely astonished for a long moment before she spoke, “I do believe this is the least horrid thing they’ve picked out for you.”

Ahni nodded vigorously in agreement while Kaia and I remained utterly speechless. The dress was breathtaking, even just on the mannequin.

Getting into the dress was a three-person endeavor, but the struggle was utterly worth it. The long, form-fitting black dress perfectly hugged every curve from the floor up before tapering just slightly above my cleavage. There, the material shifted to the left, wrapped behind my neck, and then formed a sleeve that draped down my entire right arm. However, the most remarkable thing about the dress was the fabric. Any and every way that I moved caused the material to shimmer like the thousands of stars twinkling in the night sky.

I was provided a single thick, gold cuff for my left wrist, and even though the hem of the dress would cover them, heeled slippers made out of the same fabric as the dress.

Talle smiled and carefully handed me the final missing piece. “Now, now,” she jested, “you can’t go to a masquerade without this.”

The mask she handed me was so intricately ornate that it easily could have been mistaken for black lace, but it was actually made from a lightweight metal inlaid with dozens of sparkling diamonds. When I put it on, it rested just above my nose to conceal the upper half of my face beautifully.

As Kaia secured the whole thing in my hair with more pins and gemstones, Ahni produced a floor-length mirror from the closet. In my performances on Eros, I had worn dresses that were considered elegant in the Outer Rim, but there was no way they could ever compare to this. For the first time in my life, I was stunned at my appearance. I had never been overly confident, but now I felt absolutely beautiful.

Talle laughed, “Just try not to stop any hearts tonight. The Empire might lose important officers, and then we’d all be in trouble for making you look this good.”

Kaia placed a hand over her mouth to stifle her snickering, and Ahni looked highly amused by the thought.

I just rolled my eyes, “I think their partners would probably get to me first.”

That sent everyone over the edge, and we all laughed to the point of tearing up. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Ahni went over to open it, and two officers decked out in their Imperial best stepped into the room. The shorter officer locked eyes with me and blushed furiously before looking away.

The taller one finally spoke, “Good evening Miss. We will be your escorts for the night. If you wouldn’t mind following us, we have a speeder waiting to take us to the venue.”

I smiled at the officer, “Thank you, I appreciate it. If you wouldn’t mind waiting outside, I’ll finish up and be out in a second.”

He nodded and signaled to the other man. They stepped outside, and I immediately pulled Ahni, Talle, and Kaia into a big hug. “Thank you all for your help and for being my friends; you make this so much more bearable. I’ll see you when I get back tonight.”

After a few seconds, we broke apart and finished our goodbyes. I smiled at my friends one last time before walking out of the room to join the officers.

________________________________________________

Chapter 2: Aria

Orchestra tuning: The Imperial March (Glory of the Empire)

Lyra’s final song: Roméo et Juliette, CG 9 Act 1: “Ah, je veux vivre danse ce rève” sung by Aida Garifullina

*TW* brief Attempted assault/non-con towards the end of the chapter

The officers outside of my door stood so close that I almost ran headfirst into the taller one when I stepped out.

“Apologies, Miss, we thought you’d be a little longer,” the man managed as he smoothly sidestepped me before acknowledging his previous blunder, “It also seems like we’ve forgotten to introduce ourselves.”

He briefly paused to take his place beside his partner before continuing. “My name is Captain Dreycolt, and this is Lieutenant Arkmad. It’s an absolute pleasure to make your acquaintance and we both actually have you to thank for our presence at the Masquerade tonight.”

Arkmad, who was still noticeably red in the face, nodded sagely. “None of the higher-ranking officers wanted to be stuck with a job at the party; however, the rest of us were fighting to even be included. We happened to fall at the perfect place on the pecking order,” he smiled slyly.

I raised a single eyebrow at Arkmad and gave him my most saccharine smile, “Well, I’m glad that this will be an enjoyable job for you, even though you’re stuck with me.”

His face flushed several shades deeper, and he started to stammer. “M-My apologies M-Miss. I n-never meant to imply….”

Dreycolt promptly tapped him on the shoulder to cut him off before turning back to me and smoothly taking my hand. In one fluid motion, he leaned forward, slowly raised it to his lips, and gallantly kissed the top of my hand. He smiled up at me through lowered lashes, “However, any job that is this beautiful couldn’t possibly be so bad.”

Now it was my turn to blush and I prayed the mask hid most of it because Dreycolt was definitely an attractive man. His caramel-colored hair was neatly trimmed with darker eyebrows and eyelashes framing his warm amber eyes. The uniform he wore fit him exceptionally well, and the slight stubble on his chin tickled my hand as he pressed his lips to it. After what felt like an eternity, he released his grip, and my hand returned to my side.

There was no doubt Dreycolt’s distraction from his lieutenant’s blunder had worked as intended. I could tell he knew as much from the slight smile that tugged at the corner of his lips.

“You flatter me, Captain. If all Imperial officers are as pleasant as you, perhaps tonight will be more enjoyable than I expected.”

Of course, all officers aren’t as kind or practiced in flattery, I thought darkly. These two seem bearable enough to talk to, so I’m at least grateful for that. After all, they’ll be keeping me company for most of the night when I’m not on the stage.

His annoyance at the situation briefly flashed in Arkmad’s eyes before he cleared his throat. He did not seem to enjoy being sidelined for his misstep.

“We should be on our way by now,” he chided. “The airspeeder has priority clearance to travel outside of normal traffic lanes, but I don’t want to explain why the Empire’s star performer is late for her practice time with the orchestra.”

He was, of course, right. Dreycolt jokingly bowed and gestured out into the hallway. “Lead the way, Miss.”

With the Captain and Lieutenant flanking me, I walked through the twisting hallways of the building towards the balcony where our airspeeder was docked.

I was still somewhat dreading the Masquerade, but at least the ride would be pleasant and I would even get to see the sky again. It sounded like such a small thing to enjoy, but coming from Ero to Coruscant was a massive shock in so many ways. I could always see the sky and the stars glittering at night in the Outer Rim but Coruscant was a completely different story.

Though my apartment was beautiful, it was nowhere near the skyline. I played an important role, but it was definitely not important enough for me to live among the rich and powerful. The towering buildings above me kept all traces of natural light from finding my little room, and while artificial light was better than living in the dark, it held no comparison to the real thing.

When we reached the airspeeder, Dreycolt jumped into the driver’s seat, and Arkmad helped me into the back before taking his place in the seat beside him. At the press of a button, a smooth, clear dome slid overhead and enclosed the craft.

I couldn’t resist making a joke. “For both your sakes, I’m glad there’s a roof. You would have to deal with my very unhappy hairstylist if her work was ruined.”

Dreycolt let out a deep-chested laugh, and even Arkmad’s stormy facade cracked into a smile before the airspeeder pulled away from the building, and we were finally on our way.

Since I was expected to be at the venue early to rehearse, night had not yet taken over the cityscape. The sky was cloudy as usual, but light still fell to glisten and reflect across the tops of the tallest buildings. The view was absolutely breathtaking.

I all but shoved my face against the clear dome to take in all of the incredible scenes spread out below. Thousands of speeders, taxis, and transports wove around the many buildings, each with a different purpose and destination. I was beyond captivated by all the people and their freedom to go wherever they pleased, whenever they wanted to.

Before I knew it, we had arrived at one of the most palatial homes on the highest level I had ever seen. Dreycolt stopped the speeder at the balcony, although calling it a balcony was a massive understatement, and Arkmad helped me out onto the landing. I had become accustomed to the splendor displayed by the most influential Imperials, but this was on another level entirely.

An enormous garden lay spread out beyond the balcony’s opulent landing pad. The path we walked down extended its way throughout the entirety of the grounds and wrapped around a massive central fountain before it continued up into a set of stairs that I could only guess led to the main ballroom.

Statues depicting the most famous Imperial victories lined both sides of the walkway, which eventually branched off to different garden sections on each side. Upon closer inspection, the central fountain proudly displayed the Imperial Crest carved into stone so dark it could’ve been mistaken for a solid shadow.

Every single hedge, bush, or flower we could see was maintained to standards of perfection that would impress even the Admiralty of the Imperial Navy. The sweet scent of the many exotic flowers lingered in the air, and the sounds of water trickling from the fountain made the garden almost seem peaceful.

Dreycolt let out a low whistle that made both the lieutenant and I jump. Evidently, he had passed the speeder off to another officer while we were distracted. “Stars. I had heard the constant squabbling over who would get to host led to an amazing result, but this is insane.”

Arkmad nodded, “Someone told me the Emperor personally picked the host and venue. I have no idea who was picked, but they certainly did an outstanding job with the preparations.”

“I wish I were able to walk around,” I sighed wistfully. “It’s been years since I’ve been in a real garden.”

Dreycolt smiled, “Well, Miss, perhaps after your performance, we can arrange that.”

The grin that crept across my face was hard to hide as that simple thought became all of the encouragement I needed to get through the night. As the three of us began the walk to the ballroom, I realized that whoever had designed the path had done so with women’s shoes in mind, as it was completely smooth and comfortable to walk on. Kriffing hell, they really thought of it all.

Before long, we reached the top of the stairs and entered the ballroom. I didn’t think anything would outshine the garden, but I was so very very wrong. The garden was the pinnacle of control and order, but the ballroom exuded absolute elegance.

As we reached the top of the stairs, another officer was waiting to announce our arrival, but I was so captivated by my surroundings that I barely heard what he said. Beyond him was the main dance floor. It looked to be made out of the same dark stone as the fountain, but it was polished so thoroughly you could easily see your reflection looking back at you if you looked down. At the far end of the room, a small but wide set of stairs led up to the stage where the orchestra was busily setting up. More stairs just inside the entrance led to the upper floor, which was filled with tables draped in brilliant white cloths for people to sit and enjoy the spectacle of the dancing below them. A massive, crystalline chandelier hung over the ballroom and blood-red sashes decorated the balconies.

There was so much more to see, but, unfortunately, I wasn’t there to spectate.

As I walked up to the stage, I stopped to greet the conductor of the orchestra; Skath Farri was an old friend from the conservatory where I had trained. He was invited to Coruscant for his considerable talents and was never permitted to leave. Now, he conducted the Imperial Orchestra. No one could know our relationship was anything more than professional, or we’d never see each other again.

“Ly! You look gorgeous, my dear.” He greeted me with the usual platonic kiss on the cheek and inconspicuous wink. “Are you ready to shine tonight?”

That was his unique way of checking in on me. He was very aware that I had never entirely given my voice, or heart, to the Empire. I followed orders and sang the songs they wanted, but the emotion that drove my greatest performances was still in the Outer Rim. There was a marked difference between my performances here and Ero, but only someone like Skath would ever notice. I still played my part of the obedient songbird, but I refused to give them all of me.

I smiled back at him. “Just about as ready as I’ll ever be. They sent me a rather impressive list of everything I’m to perform tonight. At the very least, I came prepared.”

Skath just smiled knowingly before he shooed me onto the stage to begin warming up with the orchestra. Time seemed to stop as I rehearsed, but before long, the guests started to arrive and I was sent over to wait in my spot in the backstage wings until it was time to perform.

I could only see the stage, but I heard names, both familiar and not, being announced upon their entrance. The ballroom began to fill with voices as the guests trickled in. All of a sudden, a musical cue played, and the room went deathly silent. A ghostly hologram flickered to life in the center of the stage, and the shadowy form of the Emperor appeared.

“Welcome, my friends. I trust you will all enjoy tonight as a celebration worthy of our great Empire.” He paused for applause before continuing. “Now, it is my wish that you use this time to reflect on the victories that brought us to this moment. I assure you there will be many more in the future.”

The Emperor stood for even more cheering before holding up his hand to silence the crowd. “Now, let my Masquerade begin!”

His hologram flickered slightly before disappearing altogether as the lights dimmed, cuing me to get on stage. I walked out to stand in the center of the stage, and as soon as I reached my place, the lights slowly returned to their former brilliance.

I was no stranger to performing, but having every single Imperial in the room staring at me was enough to give me butterflies in my stomach. Thankfully, before they could settle in, Skath cued the orchestra to begin with a flick of his baton. The opening notes of the first piece, a current favorite on Coruscant, swelled to life, and I began to sing.

Almost immediately, the officers and politicians turned to their spouses or began to venture off in search of a dance partner. The crowded dance floor began to clear slightly, as others had no interest in dancing and were only there to make connections. The first song ended with tremendous applause, and I began the second. You can do this. Just take it one piece at a time.

By now, I was calm enough to enjoy myself and to watch the dancing and it quickly became apparent that everyone in attendance had tried their best to impress. The ladies wore beautiful, elaborate dresses made out of the best materials and representing the latest fashions from every corner of the Empire. Politicians displayed the most richly colored and finely tailored clothing they owned and Imperial officers were in their usual dress uniforms, but no one was seen without a mask.

There were all kinds of masks on display. Some were crafted entirely from gems or precious materials to show off resources from their home planet. Others pulled designs from legendary animals or myths. There were even some covered in exotic feathers or flowers, but every mask was distinctive in its own way.

Hours passed as I continued to sing. Slowly but surely, I made my way through the extensive list of songs on the program until only one remained. The last song required using a specialized instrument, so I retreated to the wings for some water while it was being set up.

Suddenly, Skath appeared and sprinted towards me. He spun me around to face him fully, and I was in shock at how frazzled he looked. Even his voice was strained. “Lyra, you have to trust me. I have no idea who asked for this, but they were important enough to change the final song we planned. Every member of the orchestra was given the new sheet music, and a stand was set out for you.”

“They want me to sight-read a piece on a night as important as this?!” I gasped indignantly at the thought.

Skath’s face was grim. “No. You’ll know it, but you won’t be happy about it. We don’t have any time left, so we’ve got to get back on stage. For what it’s worth….. I’m so sorry.”

My stomach sank. If he was this upset… I had no idea what to expect. However, there was no choice but to walk back to my place on stage and pretend nothing had even happened. With every step, the sinking feeling in my stomach grew.

It was so much worse than I ever could’ve expected. There was no way anyone here besides Skath should know about this song, but here it was in front of me. It was my favorite piece of music and the only one I’d sworn to keep from the Empire forever. The piece that had been the star of my first major performance on Ero after I left the conservatory.

Before I could even finish my thought, the orchestra cued up. The first few notes began, and every single one of them felt like a knife to the heart. My muscle memory kicked in, and before I even knew it, I was singing.

Thoughts flew through my head while I choked my way through the opening verse. What would I do? Do I keep my promise and hold back, or do I seize the chance I was forced into and truly sing from my heart? Memories of Ero, my family, and my friends all returned as the song continued. My voice began to flow over the music as I made it my own. I remembered my father’s smile and how proud he’d been of me for my music.

Courage suddenly coursed through me like liquid fire. I’d show every kriffing Imperial here what a daughter of the Outer Rim was truly capable of! I was wrong to hold back my emotions before. They could take me, bring me to this place, and shove me on a stage, but they could never control my voice. The Empire wanted me to be their emotionless puppet. My voice wasn’t exactly quiet before, but now it rose to fill the entire ballroom. I was going to burn myself into the mind of every Imperial present. Whoever requested this song would not see me subdued; they would see me triumphant. I poured every ounce of bottled-up emotion into my music, and my voice soared. Then, I had sung the final note, and it was all over.

You could’ve heard a code cylinder drop in the ballroom after the orchestra finished. The dancing had all but stopped, and people were leaning over the balcony to watch me. I curtsied, preparing to exit the stage and receive whatever punishment was in store for kriffing up the Masquerade, but then the thunderous applause began.

I kept my curtsy for as long as possible before my knees started to buckle. Everything left in me had gone into the song, and I barely made it into the wings before I collapsed. Fortunately, Captain Dreycolt was there to catch me before I hit the floor.

I smiled weakly at him. “Since the orchestra is taking it from here, now might be a good time for me to get some fresh air.”

He grabbed Arkmad, and together they helped me out one of the side doors into the garden. I didn’t want to be seen in my weakened state, but thankfully the garden was empty. Most people seemed to be still dancing or otherwise occupied. Those that were in the garden didn’t appear to have ventured this far.

Dreycolt stopped and pointed at the hedge maze, “There’s a small sitting area in the middle. The only way in or out is through the maze. Why don’t we take you to it so you can rest? Arkmad and I will stand at the entrance and exit to make sure you aren’t bothered.”

I had no complaints; the idea sounded fantastic. We made our way through the maze until we reached the center. It was small and only had enough room for a bench, but it was paradise to me. Arkmad helped me onto the bench before making his way to the exit. Dreycolt gave me one last worried glance, turned around, and headed back towards the entrance. The crisp night air felt wonderful on my face, and I began to relax. I closed my eyes, took deep breaths, and started to feel normal again.

The sudden sound of footsteps startled me. Assuming it was Dreycolt or Arkmad, I rose to meet them. For the second time that night, I was profoundly incorrect. A cold, sly voice broke the silence as the face that haunted my dreams stepped into the area. “Hello, Lyra. I bet you thought you’d never see me again.”

Icy fear washed over me as I was thrown into complete shock. Standing in front of me was Girerd Bost, the captain that took me from my home and attempted to violate me in every way possible. The starlight shone on his face, illuminating his narrow, glacial eyes and the nasty scar to the right of them. I hissed at him, “Captain Bost, what an unpleasant surprise.” I gestured to his scar, “It’s a real shame that didn’t heal better.”

He had the decency to look hurt by my cutting words as he moved his pale hair to the side and softly traced the scar. “Unfortunately for you, it’s Commodore Bost now.”

Before I could even blink, he lunged at me, grabbed me by the throat, and shoved me down onto the bench. Bost leaned forward and whispered into my ear. “Those two boys waiting for you were certainly brave. They tried to argue with me, but they couldn’t disobey a direct order from a Commodore no matter how much they wanted to.”

He paused briefly to trace his other gloved hand over my face. His touch revolted me and made my skin crawl; he seemed to take pleasure in my discomfort before continuing, “Now, there’s no one nearby to interrupt us…”

At that moment, he made the mistake of stroking my lips. It was my turn to lunge forward, and I bit down on his hand hard. Bost screamed and released my throat to grab his bleeding fingers. I leapt up from the bench and bolted past him, sprinting as fast as possible towards the maze’s entrance and praying that I wouldn’t hit a dead end. He was chasing me by this point, screaming obscenities and threats of what he would do to me. Finally, an opening in the hedges appeared. I glanced behind me to see if Bost was close behind, but as soon as I turned my head, I suddenly collided with a very large, solid thing.

The hedges made it way too dark for me to see, but from the soft grunt I heard during the collision, it was another man. I recoiled backward defensively as Bost rounded the corner. The mysterious man glanced at him, looked back at me, and seemed to judge the situation quickly. He swiftly stepped in front of me to block Bost’s path. At this point, all my dignity flew out the window, and I hid behind his tall figure. I just had to trust fate that I was better off with him than with the Commodore. In contrast to Bost’s loud cursing, the other man’s voice was impossibly soft and collected when he spoke. “Commodore, I believe this woman would like to be left alone.”

Still distracted by his hand, Bost howled, “Just who do you think you…..”. He looked up at the man and abruptly shut his mouth. Before he could re-open it, my unknown hero spoke again. This time his voice had a definite edge, and an unrecognizable accent slightly marred his words.

“I am Grand Admiral Thrawn of the Seventh Fleet. I trust you will have no further issues with me asking you to leave.”

[masterweaverx]

Pit Stop

"So you hear about that Ruby transmission?"

Cinnamon chuckled. "It's all anybody's talking about," she said as she handed a plate to him. "We only get spotty transmission out here, you know."

"Yeah, I know, but... still." The customer laughed a little awkwardly. "Atlas being under attack, magic being real, this... Salem person... It's a lot."

Cinnamon nodded, looking around the pub. It wasn't anything too fancy, they were just a village after all, but it was an informal gathering spot for both the villagers themselves and travelers just passing through. Some tables had people clustered around them, while others had but a single customer apiece; it wouldn't have been anything unusual if it weren't for the hushed murmurings and occasional glances northward.

"Well, it's only been about a day, right?" Cinnamon reassured the man. "They're probably still holding out up there."

"...right." The man took his fork and began poking at the food in front of him.

Cinnamon sighed, heading back behind the counter. It was a slow day... which, given what that Ruby girl had said, was only to be expected. The casual vibe of the pub didn't really gel with the tension in the air; even the stress drinkers had just dropped by, bought a bottle or two, and walked out. She could see some of her customers eyeing the kegs.

Just scrub the glasses, she told herself. Scrub the glasses and look calm and relaxed. She wasn't a huntress, but damned if she didn't know the importance of image in keeping negativity down...

They'd get updates, eventually. Probably from some force heading up from Vale. Or... maybe, if things were really horrible, from some Atlesian refugees. No matter what, it would take a few days.

She couldn't help worrying, of course, who wouldn't be worried, but it wasn't like she could make time move faster. It had only been a day, after all.

There was a strange sound from outside, an oddly growling hiss. For a moment Cinnamon gripped her cleaning rag tighter. There would have been shouts from the lookouts if Grimm were approaching, right? Unless they'd been so rattled by the transmission that they forgot to--

--no. Even with that message, they wouldn't have abandoned their posts. They didn't during the fall of Beacon, after all.

"Somebody's just messing with burn Dust," she suggested casually, to nobody in particular. "Probably just a few teens... hopped up on bravery and wanting to go fight monsters in Atlas, you know?"

There were a few chuckles, but they were strained. The sort that were made by obligation--

One of the customers, leaning to peer out a window, jumped back with a yelp. "It's--! There's a Grimm woman!" he gasped. "It's gotta be Salem!"

Another customer rolled her eyes with a nervous chuckle. "Okay, you've probably had a bit too much to drink--"

Twinkli-linki-link...

Cinnamon looked at the door as it swung open, and her breath caught in her throat. The figure that practically glided in was breathtaking, in the same way a Sea Feilong was; tall, elegant, pristine, and as clearly capable of slaughter as any Grimm she could name. Her black dress, lined with red, certainly made her look like one; it was a resemblance only furthered by her bone-white hair and skin. Purplish veins crawled up her arms and under her sleeves, reemerging round her neck to frame a pair of dark eyes--utterly black, save for the rings of red that ross from their shadowy depths.

One hand was wrapped around an ornate golden staff, which was capped with a blue gem. The other, bearing a ring that resembled nothing so much as a beetle, gestured around the room surprisingly gently.

"I see you have a table available."

It took Cinnamon a couple of seconds to process that. She looked to see that, yes, there was an empty table--there were quite a few, in fact. "Ah... so I do," she replied, voice quavering.

"I believe we will take it. If you would be so kind...?"

Cinnamon put down her glass, quickly reemerging from the bar. "Right this way, ma'am," she said automatically.

The tall woman walked past her, and only then did Cinnamon register the second woman following behind her. The gold-embroidered black garb she wore was short but elegant, much like the hair covering her eyepatch. In fact, she almost looked like a freshly graduated huntress; if it weren't for the fact her left arm consisted of Grimm flesh and the way her amber eye produced literal fire, Cinnamon wouldn't have any idea why she'd be smugly trailing after the bone-white woman.

She shared a nervous look with one of the customers, flicking her eyes toward the door. The man's eyes widened, and he nodded subtly, casually walking out as the new pair seated themselves.

"...So." Cinnamon said, forcing her fear out of her voice. "What will it be?"

"Oh, nothing too much," the pale woman assured her. "A small meal will suffice."

The younger woman frowned for a moment, but nodded. "Perhaps... do you have fish and chips?" she asked.

Cinnamon almost said no, out of habit, but cut herself off. "We... have a salmon soup," she offered hesitantly. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the other customers quietly filing out.

"Hmm." The younger woman shakes her head. "I'd prefer something more... solid."

"Would a chicken sandwich do the trick?" Cinnamon offered.

The younger woman nodded. "I think it would, actually."

"And..." Cinnamon turned to the beautiful violation of all she had ever thought she'd known. "What will it be for you, ma'am?"

The Grimm woman smiled wryly. "I don't suppose you serve the souls of the innocent here."

"No ma'am. Innocence is a rare commodity these days."

The younger woman actually smirked at that. "Isn't it though."

"Well... perhaps I shall have the salmon soup," the woman offered.

"Of course." Cinnamon took a quick look around the pub; it was almost empty now, save for one horrified customer staring at the scene. She turned back to the pair. "It might be a minute."

"We have all the time in the world."

Cinnamon nodded, heading around the bar. "Get out of here," she hissed to the last customer as she passed.

"You're just serving them--?"

"The longer they're here the longer you have to get to Vale, now move!"

The customer blinked twice, before her eyes widened. She vacated her table with haste, rushing out the door.

"I'm beginning to think the locals don't like us," the younger woman noted calmly.

Shit.

"Ah, it's nothing too much," Cinnamon assured her as she went behind the counter. "Just a bit nervous about celebrities visiting our little village."

"Celebrities?"

Cinnamon very carefully put the pot of soup on the stove, stirring it slowly. "You didn't catch the transmission?"

"Ah," said the bone-white woman. "So, Ruby Rose's message did reach the outside world."

"Whole world, if I heard right." Cinnamon set aside a plate, carefully putting together a sandwich.

"Wait, what transmission?" The young woman looked from Cinnamon to the other. "Was that what Penny was doing with Amity?"

"It was," the bone-white woman replied. "If I recall, you were unconscious at the time."

The younger woman stiffened... and then bowed her head. "I... yes, master. I made an error in judgment."

"Mmm..." The bone-white woman put a hand on her shoulder. "Not all lessons can be taught gently, Cinder."

Cinnamon checked the soup, subtly activating the recording function on her scroll. "So, yeah. What happened after that anyway?"

The bone-white woman gave her a coy smile. "Now, why do you ask that?"

"I'm just a small village chef," Cinnamon replied, pouring the soup into a bowl. "Can't help but be curious about the outside world."

The younger woman--Cinder--examined her Grimm nails. "It was a very busy day in Atlas, honestly."

Cinnamon assembled the sandwich, taking the bowl and plate out to her customers. "I guess it'd have to be. Can I get you anything to drink?"

"I suppose I wouldn't mind a glass of wine," the bone-white woman allowed.

"Just water for me," Cinder added.

"Of course." Cinnamon prepared the drinks, surreptitiously looking out the window. Entire families were loading up tightly in the delivery trucks, rolling out through the gates--

"Is something going on out there?"

"Farmers headed out to bale hay," Cinnamon lied smoothly. "Big deal for us small-town folk."

Cinder gave her a look as she put the glasses down. Cinnamon shrugged, retreating behind the counter.

For a minute or two, the only sounds came from Cinder and the other woman quietly eating. She could see how much Cinder savored every bite. And... the other one, she did seem to enjoy the wine, if the way her eyebrow quirked was anything to go by.

"...Three questions."

Cinnamon looked up, keeping a mask of calm even as her heart pounded.

"You have been an excellent host," the bone-white woman continued, "and you reek of fear. So. Three questions."

"Ah." Cinnamon glanced at her hidden scroll, still recording the entire conversation. "How's Atlas doing, you reckon?"

"Oh, it's flooded," Cinder replied casually. "Entire city."

Cinnamon blinked at her, almost opening her mouth--but, no, three questions. Atlas, flooded... well, it was a floating rock, for one. How could they get water up there? Even with a magic rainstorm... no, it didn't make sense. A city in the sky couldn't...

...unless...

Cinnamon swallowed carefully. "I see... what happened to the survivors?"

Cinder frowned, biting into her sandwich aggressively.

"Apparently miss Rose came up with a scheme to get them all to Vacuo," the bone-white woman replied, sipping at her soup. "Which, of course, means I'll be meeting them again fairly soon."

Her smile was far too soft for such a threat. It almost looked motherly, in a way.

Cinnamon felt her heart beating. She glanced out the window again. She couldn't see anybody.

"...How am I going to die?"

The bone-white woman turned to her, then. "Now that is certainly an interesting question. Especially as I don't have an answer. What do you think, Cinder?"

Cinder finished her sandwich, taking a long draft from her glass.

"I think she has options," she said eventually. "We could lock her in this building, weld the doors shut so she can't escape with the rest of her village. I could burn her to death, or freeze her. You could summon any number of Grimm, or even use magic."

"We might do nothing at all," the other woman mused. "Let nature take its course."

"...we could take her with us," Cinder offered. "Hazel was our primary chef, before... well, before."

The bone-white woman quirked a brow. "And how would we carry her?"

Cinder glanced at the staff. "We're not using that for anything right now. An airship would be easy."

The bone-white woman considered this. Cinnamon felt her hands trembling.

"...I will prepare the airship," the woman finally said, standing up. "You will help our new... associate gather what she needs."

Cinnamon flinched as Cinder stood up, quickly ending the recording and sending it out on broadcast. "I, uh, I'm... it might take me a few tries to get your food like you like it--"

The bone-white woman smiled at her. "Oh, don't worry. I have all the time in the world."

[sugar-petals]

Hi, I was wondering do you have any ideas on how exo biases reflect in us the same way our bts bias does?

ok so, this goes after the same “how we pick our bias based on our struggles” / “what gift of ours they reflect” format.

kyungsoo

what you believe you lack: ability to maneuver throught the trials and utter chaos of life. you find it hard to keep cool, set bounaries, and do things precisely your way. you long for being a compelling, subtle, and collected character who handles everything thrown at them. you often wish human nature would confuse and faze you less. you wish that everyone just does their job and won’t cause upheaval. you wish all was better regulated and things taken care of.

your potential and gifts: you’re a devoted family person and aspire for peaceful living. meanwhile, a part of you is highly logical and assertive. you are extremely efficent and always the one to arrive at the finish line first because you’re so focused and single-minded. your smile is innocent. people think you’re cool for liking RnB. you’re great with animals and a genuinely good friend. you’re loyal.

jongdae

what you believe you lack: you assume you’re naturally unintelligent and don’t fit in, have nothing valuable to say even when you try very hard. you think others will exclude or step on you and not consider your opinion. you’re anxious that you end up silenced and scorned at, made a sheep. you fear that you’re not outstanding or interesting at all in any regard, or live up to high expectations.

your potential and gifts: a meme machine, someone who truly pursues what they want. you are humankind at its most brave when you realize that you can direct circumstances to your wishes more than your former powerless self thought. you can go against any outdated norm you want and get away with it. people like you for being a renegade, not for taming yourself and biting your tongue. people support you when and because (!) you speak the truth.

yixing

what you believe you lack: a shield to protect you from how invasive reality is, all while you’re afraid to lose touch completely. you feel left out or squarely pushed to be on our own devices. you feel discriminated against or entirely underestimated. you feel like you could never achieve a sense of pride or show your true colors. you want harmony and fairness but are proven otherwise everywhere you look.

your potential and gifts: you are dignified, sexy, cool, smooth, and talented. show stopper potential right here. you cannot be overlooked because you are a royal. you have a sense of justice and treat everyone with the same base line of respect. you’re deep. you are cute and the least likely to annoy an introvert or sensitive person which you can interpret as a certificate for a sound character. you work hard and take things seriously.

suho

what you believe you lack: the skill to make everything happen the way it should. in fact, “shoulds” govern your life. life made you disappointed and a misanthrope. you know that you can still be frustrated and overworked if you have everything others wish they had. the dark side of responsibility or your attempt to seize it is eating you alive. you wish you had real support and encouragement.

your potential and gifts: that patience is something only surpassed by water washing down a stone. you believe in etiquette, you’re the old school and you’re damn right, manners are there for a reason. also, yes, you are attractive and look very elegant to others. you are welcome in every household. other people may disappoint you, but you are no disappointment to others.

baekhyun

what you believe you lack: you’re emotionally, sexually, romantically, and socially deprived to extreme degrees. you often feel a sense of numbness, coldness, loneliness, demotivation, unimportance and lack of purpose in the greater scheme. your worldview is cynical bordering nihilistic. you find it hard to connect meaningfully and never feel you know the right thing to say/do. you are conventionally attractive but got left behind in the dating race. you isolate yourself. you have severe body image issues. you depend on others valuing you more than the average person and feel bad because you think it’s a bottomless pit that nobody can fill, not even you.

your potential and gifts: you’re the determining factor in a social setting. others admire you. in fact, they are obsessed. your ambition is boundless. you know how to protect yourself. you’re a professional, invoking jealousy and awe wherever you go. other people do love and respect you, you’re just way out of their league for them to word it your way. you have the midas touch, all you pick up as a project turns to gold.

minseok

what you believe you lack: organization and sweetness in life, something to stir things up. you’re feeling like you are caught in eternal boredom and chores and it’s driving you insane. hell, you are against this entire system, the rat cage is turning you into a hypervigilant. you wish for more diversion in your life. you want to really raise the roof but are haunted by a terrifying restraint from within yourself.

your potential and gifts: you can bring order to things and speak frankly. people see that you are a dark horse, understated but still always to be reckoned with. people like you for your curiosity, constructiveness, and ease to be around. they feel safe and comforted around you. you don’t seem to age since years. you are great at all leisure and ever-pleasant.

jongin

what you believe you lack: what you beat yourself up for is that you feel like a slob who can’t engage others no matter what you do. you feel isolated, un-dateable, weak, always pushed to the fringes. you think you need to be nicer, fitter, sexier, fiercer, and more popular and adapted to be accepted. you wish you had more pizzazz and appeal. you never thought you could cause a stir or get any attention. you retreat from the world a lot and rein in your energy.

your potential and gifts: even if you’re not actively athletic, you do have it in you. your body is in better shape than you accuse yourself for day by day. you get one with music and naturally stand up for yourself. others can’t do you no wrong. despite what you say to yourself, you have nice skin. you’re always the most passionate person in the room.

sehun

what you believe you lack: excellence — you assume you’re always meh in everything. or vice versa, you have unacknowledged expertise, something you can’t make a reality. you feel like you’d have to take life more seriously but you’re just floating on, closed up, annoyed, overlooked, even cast out. you wish you knew the balance of speaking your mind and acting with compassion. 

your potential and gifts: people think you’re cute no matter what you do. nor do they criticize your moral standards unlike you assume they do. they think you are nice and forthcoming all while being what you are, a badass bitch. you are universally envied and well-known in your circle, believe it or not. people would kill for your silhouette.

chanyeol

what you believe you lack: you think your life has been going down the drain ever since. everything feels dull. deep down, there’s nothing else but sadness and exclusion from all the important things. you wish you had more overview and a bigger emotional and physical presence. you wish more people would love and support and hype you. you hardly find excitement these days, it’s all dragging you down

your potential and gifts: even if you might feel lost in social situations, you still have your aims and you should very well stick to your motives. you are fine-tuned to people and help others out. you can safely leave the rocket science in florida: you don’t have to be a born sunshine, superman, or a model to get by. a good heart and a dose of charm is enough down the line. the secret to a happy life is not in looks nor attitude but how you uplift others.

[azaisya]

i ADORE your daemon au, thanks for sharing your writing!

Thank you!! I’m never sure how things will go once I send them out into the void haha, but I’m glad you like it!

Here’s a Yi City snippet that I’m (probably) never going to finish:

---

When people saw them, they only ever saw a helpless blind girl and her too-slow, too-dumb daemon. 

He was a cat, mostly, because cats could be cute enough to draw sympathy from adults and vicious enough to drive off fellow street rats. He was a cat now, trotting at her heels as they followed the strange blind man and his equally blind daemon. 

With nobody else there with eyes, A-Qing could stare all she wanted. They were just strange. She’d never heard of a blind daemon before. She hadn’t even known daemons could be blind. 

He’s weird, A-Tao said. 

They’re both weird, A-Qing replied matter-of-factly, If we let them wander around alone, I bet he’d get mugged in a week.

A-Tao sent her a general wave of disinterest, because that was hardly the point. I mean, they’re both weird. But that daemon doesn’t feel right. 

Puzzled, A-Qing frowned at him. The daozhang’s deer daemon was a pretty thing, as white and pure as his person’s robes. She’d never seen a daemon as big or as elegant before, but there was nothing about him that felt wrong. It was a little strange that he hadn’t spoken yet, but she’d learned that proper folk could get weird about who their daemons talked to. The daozhang had introduced them both—Xiao Xingchen and Xiao Jia—with an easy smile that did nothing to reassure A-Qing of his ability to survive on his own. 

As if he felt her watching, the stag turned his head towards her. His eyes were just as white and faded as the rest of him. 

“A-Qing?” Xiao Xingchen asked, slowing, “Is something wrong?”

A-Qing waved. The stag daemon didn’t react. “Um,” she said, “It’s nothing! I just had a rock in my shoe, but I got it out now.” 

Xiao Xingchen just smiled. “Alright. Let me know if you need to rest.”

“I will!” A-Qing said cheerfully, peering closely at him. Okay, she said to A-Tao, The bloody eyes thing is a little weird. 

A-Tao scoffed and darted forwards, close to Xiao Jia but not close enough to touch. His tail lashed in the air. I bet it’s some weird magic bullshit. 

Slowly, A-Qing asked, Do you think his daemon was born blind? Or do you think. . . . She trailed off, too horrified at the thought of magic that could cause irreparable damage to one’s soul to voice the thought aloud. 

A-Tao shuddered. With an agile leap—the sort that he’d never do in front of somebody with working eyes—he jumped into her arms and buried his face in her chest. We’re too small for big magic like that, he said firmly, shifting into an even smaller cat to make his point. 

She hugged him tight. Still a scary thought. 

He licked her chin, tongue sandpaper-rough against her skin. Mm. But not one that should worry us. 

She huffed grumpily and buried her face in his soft fur. In front of them, Xiao Xingchen and Xiao Jia walked blindly on.

---

“F— agh,” A-Qing hissed, under her breath, eyes darting to Xiao Xingchen. His head twitched towards her, the only sign that he’d heard. 

A-Tao—a big tabby once again, balanced on her shoulders—hummed mildly. Yeah, that’s a body. 

Fuck, she thought, in the safety of her own mind, No, he’s alive. He looks like bad news. Ordinary people bled out in ditches all the time, but people wearing discordantly expensive robes or clutching fancy swords weren’t normally the type to get abandoned on the edge of the road like this unless there was somebody with even more expensive robes and even fancier swords that wanted them dead. This man looked vicious even deep in the throes of unconsciousness. Not all of the blood on his robes was his. 

Ahahaha, A-Tao said, Yeah, no. 

“A-Qing?” Xiao Xingchen stopped walking. “What is it?”

She immediately pulled every trick she could think of to get him away, to keep walking, because everything about this man screamed danger, but she was too late.

Xiao Xingchen dropped to his knees besides the unconscious man, heedless of the way his sleeves dragged through the blood, and A-Qing stood tensely at his shoulder. His fingers were deft and careful in their search for injuries, and his ordinarily placid expression darkened at whatever he found. 

“A-Qing,” he murmured, “Can A-Tao see his daemon?”

She didn’t want to look away from the unconscious man, but the question was enough to draw an indignant glare. She opened her mouth, because surely he wasn’t planning to save this person, but then she shut it again when she saw the look on his face. 

Ah, she thought, an odd feeling prickling in her chest. Xiao Xingchen hadn’t even hesitated. He’d just seen—well, smelled—somebody bleeding out and decided to save them. There was no question of risk or cost or logistics. He hadn’t even combed through the bastard’s pockets. 

Ah, she thought again, and then: Huh. It wasn’t the choice she would’ve made. She might even call it a stupid one. But she’d chosen—irrationally—to throw in her lot with Xiao Xingchen, and so she just said, “A-Tao, can you see his daemon?”

A-Tao’s claws bit into her shoulder, but he still stuck his head up and sniffed the air. Out loud, he said, “Um. There, I think.” 

And he was right. There was a dark clump lying in the grass only a couple feet away from the unconscious man, shaped like some strange intersection between bear and weird rodent. She was small, the size of a dog, with dark brown fur that lightened to reddish-brown around her face and in two streaks down her side. There was dried blood crusted over her muzzle and claws. 

Aw man, A-Qing thought, leaning down to poke the daemon with her stick, It looks like it can bite. 

I’ll bite back, A-Tao snapped. He was strung tight with stress, the fur along his spine standing on end. 

“A-Qing, A-Tao,” Xiao Xingchen called, sharper than she’d ever heard him speak before. 

They both reacted instinctively, coming to attention at his side.

“Is his daemon small enough to fit on his chest?”

“Yes,” A-Qing said immediately. 

Xiao Xingchen’s shoulders relaxed infinitesimally. “Good. A-Tao, can you lay his daemon on his chest?”

A-Tao hissed, recoiling instinctively from the idea of touching a daemon as vicious looking as that. But in the end, he shifted into the biggest dog he could and roughly dragged the daemon onto the unconscious man’s chest, lingering just long enough to make sure that her limbs were curled into her body. She was wounded, too, but it was difficult to tell how much of it was her own injuries and how much was carried over from her person’s near-dead state. 

“Thank you,” Xiao Xingchen said. 

A-Tao shifted back into a cat and hissed again, tail lashing. 

Without any more hesitation, Xiao Xingchen leaned down and scooped the unconscious man up in his arms, cradling him against his chest and careful not to touch the dark-furred daemon. A-Qing gaped at him. Not that she hadn’t expected him to be strong; he had a sword and the air of a proper cultivator. But his figure was deceptively thin, and she definitely wouldn’t have guessed that he could pick up a whole human being—and his daemon!—without even breaking a sweat. 

He didn’t even show any signs of fatigue once they started walking again.

Their pace was much faster than before, and A-Qing stayed silent, wary of the strange man and his strange daemon and shocked by Xiao Xingchen’s casual and unrelenting willingness to help a complete stranger. 

A-Tao stayed at her side, eyes sharp and watchful until they entered a city draped in funeral trappings and he adopted the big-eyed dopey expression he used to distract from his teeth and claws. 

(He was the only one watching Xiao Jia, and so he was the only one who noticed: the stag daemon had not moved during that entire exchange. In fact, he hadn’t moved at all until Xiao Xingchen had started walking again. He didn’t know what that meant—not yet, anyways—but something about it sent a prickle of alarm down his spine. Something was wrong with that daemon.)

---

Later, Xiao Xingchen went into the city looking for supplies. A-Qing had the sweet stickiness of candy in her mouth, and that temporary happiness was almost enough to make her forget that the stranger had almost fucking stabbed her with his sword. 

It was tucked away now, and he was staring at her with unmasked incredulity. There was some interest in his eyes, too, as if she were some new species of animal that he’d never encountered before. 

“Can’t your daemon see?” the stranger asked, raspy voice cheerful and perfectly guileless. 

She frowned at him. Well, slightly to the left of him. “What does it matter to you? Of course he can see.” Before the stranger’s expression could go all sharp and dangerous, she held out her hand and called, “A-Tao!” 

A-Tao—in his usual tabby cat form—ambled over, pace slow and sedate. He butted his head against her shins, and miaowed petulantly. It was an act he’d perfected over the years, one that kept people from thinking twice about them. 

The stranger snorted. “You sure?”

A-Tao jumped as though startled, whirling around and hissing. 

The stranger just laughed. “I’ve got much sharper teeth than you, little kitten.”

A-Qing shivered. She didn’t like the knives in his voice. “He can see perfectly fine! Maybe he just didn’t want to talk to you.”

The stranger cackled with what sounded like genuine delight.

---

A-Qing --> A-Tao (unsettled)

Xiao Xingchen --> Xiao Jia (white stag)

Xue Yang --> Xue Mei (wolverine)

[notwithd]

A whole new world of music

(So, all this started because of this piece of art i made, i couldn't stop myself i just love Cellist Cas so much. so here it is this fanfic i wrote hope you enjoy it.)

Damn Sam and his stupid puppy eyes, and damn Ruby for dumping him on this exact day. Sam had planned the perfect date night; he had flowers and tickets to a concert at the city.

Dean was ready to spend the night watching Dr. Sexy and eating tons of pizza when Sam came back not even fifteen minutes later, head down and bouquet still in hand. He looked so miserable Dean couldn't take it.

"Ok, let's go," Dean grunts, getting up from the couch.

"What? To where?" Sam looks tired and confused, as he drops the flowers on the table.

"Dude, you spent like fifty bucks on those tickets! We are not letting them go to waste! I'm going with you," Dean replies.

That's why Dean is now at a fancy theatre, waiting to go into the concert hall. A girl in a tailored suit comes to them and asks Sam to show her their tickets. She then takes them into the hall and to their seats. “A friggin balcony,” Dean thinks as they take their seats that are close to the stage.  

Dean looks at the crowd around him and based on first impressions, he assumes that all these people are music snobs. Every person is wearing their best garments and talking excitedly, causing Dean to feel weird and out of place. Dean is grateful that Sam insisted he dress up.

"At least put on clean pants and a decent shirt, Dean," Sam had said.

Feeling a bit insecure, Dean decides to go to the restroom to check on himself and make sure he looks presentable enough.

"I'm ok," he thinks moments later when he's inspecting his reflection. The green dress shirt he chose brings out his eyes and his hair is well combed and soft looking. "Yep, I could be wearing a damn potato sack and would still look hot as fuck," he says to himself.

Suddenly, the restroom door flies open and someone runs into a stall. Dean needs to get away because that's a sign that somebody is about to puke, and he doesn't want to be there. There's no chance for Dean to escape because the man comes out almost immediately and goes to the sink, his face a pale shade of green.

"Are you ok man?" Dean asks worried.

The man jumps, obviously startled. Apparently, he hadn't even noticed Dean in his hurry. "I'm good; I thought I was going to be sick, but it was a false alarm," he replies with a Russian accent.

The guy is extremely handsome: blue eyes, dark hair, pretty lips. He’sexactly Dean's type. He's wearing an ugly tan trench coat over a very elegant navy-blue suit. The man looks like he’s about to faint as he removes the trench coat, letting a strong muscular body show, and stares at his own face in the mirror.

"I'm about to go on stage in a few minutes. I'm just feeling pretty nervous," he tells Dean.

"Is it your first time?" Dean asks just to make conversation; he's definitely getting this guy's number.

The man shakes his head as he replies, "No, I've done this so many times, but it's always the same."

Dean feels sorry for the musician and tries to offer words of comfort. "I'm sure you'll do just fine. It’s my first time coming to this kind of concert and listening to this kind of music, if it makes you feel any better. I’m freaking out about how I look since everyone is dressed so fancy."

The guy smiles and finally looks at Dean, "Thank you; I'm sure you will love it."

They look at each other for a moment. Dean wonders if this is a good moment to make a move, but the guy jumps suddenly. "Oh fuck! I have to go." He runs to the door, but right before leaving, he turns back and says, "You look pretty good to me, since you said you were worried about it." He winks before rushing out the door.

When Dean gets back to the hall, he’s smiling like an idiot. There are at least fifty musicians getting ready on stage already. Each one of them is in their own world as they quickly check their music sheets or tune their instruments. The handsome restroom guy is nowhere to be seen.

Then Dean looks up and sees the mural painted on the roof. It is a blue sky with fluffy clouds and angels flying in between them. Some of the cherubs are playing instruments; others are just looking down with curiosity. Dean stares at the mural until Sam distracts him by handing him a program.  

Dean takes it and reads:

Cello concerto in E minor. Edward Elgar

1. Adagio – Moderato

2. Lento – Allegro molto

3. Adagio

4. Allegro – Moderato – Allegro, ma non-troppo – Poco più lento – Adagio

Dean doesn't know what any of this means, but Sam seems very excited about it, so it must be good. He just hopes to not fall asleep in the middle of it or Sam is going to kill him.

Suddenly, the lights dim and the concert hall goes silent. Every musician is sitting at attention and ready to play. The director comes onto the stage and is received with applause. Dean claps a little bit and quickly looks at the program again.

“Guest director: Baltazar Vaughan,” the program reads. Dean glances at a picture of the guy and thinks he looks British and snooty.

Dean reads the next line, “Guest cellist: Castiel Novack.”

The name is followed by details of Castiel’s musical trajectory and career. There’s probably a picture on the next page, but Dean doesn't have time to read.

He looks up just as the director makes a sign with the baton and all the musicians play the same note until they sound like a single instrument. Once the orchestra is tuned, the director makes a welcoming gesture to the side of the stage and that's when Castiel Novak makes his entrance.

Dean’s eyes widen in shock as he realizes Castiel is the guy from the bathroom! He still looks a tad nervous as he thanks his welcoming applause with a little bow and a hand to the heart. Dean claps harder and Castiel looks directly at him for a second, recognition in his bright blue eyes. Castiel is breathtaking and Dean is sure he's blushing.

Castiel shakes the director’s hand and then goes to the only chair that's still empty, the one in the middle of the stage. As Castiel takes his seat, he maneuvers his large instrument into place, stroking it with love and care. The dim lights brighten and focus on Castiel, illuminating his perfect face as he takes a deep breath. He is poised and prepared to begin, and Dean has never seen a more angelic beauty.  

Without warning, the bow slashes the air and Castiel starts playing strong notes. His expression is one of defiance, like he is a rebel that decided to start before the director was ready. That's clearly not the case as the director is expectant and gives the cue to the rest of the orchestra moments later. They join Castiel quietly, raising the intensity little by little as the cellist plays a low dark note that reverberates everywhere.

Dean shivers with emotion as he feels the music vibrate through his body. The mood is now sweeter but sad. Castiel stares at the roof as if he were in mid prayer, not even looking as his hand moves up and down the fingerboard. The notes produced are beautiful, and Castiel makes it seem effortless.  

The music intensifies as Castiel plays a descending scale with a dramatic vibrato. The orchestra then erupts with a fortissimo which quickly dies down, so Castiel can play his desperation, slowly lowering his own sound until he goes quiet.

At this point, Dean realizes he's on the tip of his seat, leaning over the balustrade. His cheeks are on fire as Cas looks directly at him again, changing the position of his right hand to play some chords in pizzicato. Dean stares at the musician as he caresses the strings in a way that is almost romantic, and Dean feels his heart beating fast.

The rhythm becomes faster as Castiel’s blue eyes finally leave Dean’s. He gets more and more excited as his fingers move rapidly and his bow slashes the air. He wears a smug expression as if he is having a battle with the music and he is winning.

This part of the concert speeds by and soon Castiel is playing with eyes closed, biting his lip, very clearly enjoying himself. His face is red and sweaty; his previously neat black hair is now all over the place. Castiel’s the hottest damn thing Dean’s ever seen and Dean knows he’s going to die before the concert is over.  

As soon as it started it finished. Now Cas has gone quiet again, the seconds without sound feel like the aftermath of war. Then Cas starts to play a melody so sad and beautiful it is painful.

The mood in the hall has changed dramatically; the orchestra dies down to pianissimo as Castiel plays what sounds like a lamentation. The bow glides smoothly, and sweet notes float through the air as the orchestra plays louder, adding drama to the soft melody.

Cas is sorrowful as he plays a high note that is both quiet and full of misery. He looks as if he's about to cry, blue eyes shining with unshed tears.

"No, no please don't cry." Dean can't stop thinking. "Angels are not supposed to fall."

Dean hears a sniffle beside him and finds Sam wiping tears with his sleeve. “Don’t say a word,” Sam mutters.

The final notes Cas plays have a trembling vibrato, as if he's about to give up. He goes quiet, head down as the echo of the last note resonates through Dean.

This silence is longer, and for a few seconds Dean thinks it is over. He wonders why nobody is clapping for this awesome performance because Cas deserves a standing ovation. "Psst, Sammy why is no one clapping?"

"Shhhh, you're not supposed to clap between movements." Sam whispers harshly.

Movements? Dean is about to check his program again when Castiel raises his head and takes a deep breath. He's not giving up, and the fight starts again.

This time Cas is fearless as he plays intricate passages full of emotion. He breaths with every phrase, and every change is accentuated by the orchestra.

Dean feels like he's watching a real angel, all greatness and elegance, but also noble and good. When the tempo slows for a little bit Castiel looks directly at Dean again. Ocean blue collides with forest green and the two men share a secret smile.

Finally, the orchestra breaks into fortissimo as Cas finishes the piece with a couple strokes and a strong victorious note.

The theatre bursts into a standing ovation, Castiel's smile is bright as he thanks everyone with a reverence. Dean is standing, clapping hard and whistling every so often. He thinks Cas’ smile is the most beautiful he's ever seen. Cas looks his way and does a little bow with a hand over his heart, like he's thanking him specifically!

"Sammy, I think I'm in love," Dean says as his heart rate kicks into overdrive.

Sam is not listening to his brother’s love declaration; he turns to Dean and hugs him hard. "Thanks for coming with me; I can't believe I almost missed this."

"I know! it was awesome!" Dean exclaims.  

When he looks back to the stage, Cas is gone, and even though the ovation is extended, he doesn't come back.

Later that night, Sam and Dean are walking back to the Impala since Dean doesn't believe in valet parking. So, his baby is parked more than two blocks from the theater.

He's thinking about Cas, and how he won't see the man again. As they round the first block, they find Cas near a crappy Lincoln Continental. He's wearing his tan trench coat again, and he's putting his cello case in the back of the car. He looks like a completely normal person rather than someone who just performed in one of the best concerts Dean’s ever seen.

"Dude look, it’s Castiel Novak." Sam points at the musician, but Dean is already walking towards Cas with a purposeful stride.

"Hi, my name is Dean, and I just wanted to tell you that your performance tonight was amazing."

Cas freezes like a deer in headlights, and his cheeks turn pink when he realizes Dean is the guy he was ogling at the concert. He had been saddened when he realized at the end of the performance that Dean was accompanied by someone.

"Thank you, I'm glad you and your companion enjoyed it," Cas says carefully as he glances at Sam for a second.

Dean's a little bit distracted. Cas is even more beautiful up close, and his voice is just delicious which causes his words to take a while to reach Dean's brain.

"Wait a minute, you think he is my date?" Dean asks incredulously, pointing at Sam. "That loser? He's my brother, Sammy."

"Oh." Cas blinks in surprise. "I saw you guys hugging, and I assumed. I'm sorry."

"You're beautiful," Dean blurts. "I mean, your interpretation was beautiful."

Dean is so embarrassed; he feels he could cook an egg on his face. It is all worth it when he sees Cas’ lips spread into a beaming smile.

It turns out that a profound bond was created that night and love was found through music. It sounds like a chick flick, but it’s true.

Dean couldn't be more grateful that Ruby dumped Sam on that exact night because thanks to her, he discovered a whole new world of music and scored a date with a hot cellist.

especial thanks to my friend and beta reader @shadowywerewolfqueen you are amazing!

[annabethy]

Since you want more prompts: Actress Annabeth who goes to the store/coffe shop/ restaurant (whatever you choose) and star struck fan boy Percy who’s trying to play it cool but “wow she’s way prettier in real life and she’s super nice and funny and how is she so poised and elegant I must be making a fool of myself” I just love that and we all know Annabeth would be *that* celebrity who does everything she can to make her fans happy and treat them well “hey this fan is pretty cute and sweet”

Percy really just wanted to go home.

It was only noon and he had already had his fair share of awful customer encounters in the magical place he called Walgreens. He didn’t know what was up today, but it was as though every single person had a stick up their ass, and he was not being paid enough for this.

Regardless, he didn’t have the option of going home because he just started his shift and also because he needed money as a poor twenty-four-year-old who decided to go to grad school.

Still. He wasn’t even doing anything useful. Someone else was at the front manning checkout, so he resorted to sort of stumbling around the store for any source of amusement.

Surprise. Nothing came.

At some point during the next hour, he found himself moping in the candy aisle, contemplating on whether or not he should grab something to keep himself awake. It wasn’t like the store was going to miss those delicious sour gummy worms, and if they did, it would still be worth it.

Percy only managed to calm his desire to snatch that colorful candy when someone breezed by the end of the aisle. He wouldn’t have looked twice if it hadn’t been for the fact that they looked like they had just robbed a bank and were now sulking around the aisles suspiciously.

He tried to ignore them the best he could, but in the mirror lining the top of the wall, he could see the person standing in front of a shelf of rather expensive technological shit he couldn’t be bothered to name.

The girl, or at least he thinks it’s a girl if the long blonde hair peeking out from underneath a black hoodie was any indication, had her hands stuffed deep into the front pocket, and she was shifting on her feet ready to run at any given moment. This girl appeared really sketch, and as much as he definitely doesn’t want to get involved, he kind of has no choice if she’s stealing.

He quietly made his way around the aisle towards the area she was occupying, treading lightly. Once she came into view, he leaned against the metal rack to survey her, hoping she wouldn’t turn around and notice him ominously watching over her.

From where he stood, he couldn’t really see her face, but everything else about her seemed overly poised. The fabric of her sweater seemed way out of his pay grade, even with the distance between them, and he had to resist the urge to reach out and run his fingers over it.

She stood there for a second, analyzing the display of expensive chargers and headphones, before gently grabbing one and sliding it down the opening of her sleeve. It sent off alarms in Percy’s head because he was fairly certain that she intended to steal it.

He bit his lip sharply, a wave of annoyance coming over him. What was it with customers thinking that they could get away with theft?

He was just not in the mood to do this today. In the middle of New York City, it could get pretty dangerous when someone was completely disguised by an oversized hoodie. For all he knew, she was carrying a weapon, ready to knock his brains out if he interrupted her master escape plan.

Still, it was his job and those headphones she just grabbed seemed pricey enough to make him lose his job if he just sat by and let it happen, so he didn’t have a choice.

“Excuse me, ma’am?” he called out just as she started to turn and stalk off. She whipped around rapidly, which didn’t do anything to take the suspicion off of her. He still couldn’t get a great view of her face, and he also didn’t really care to.

She slowly twisted her hands together, her fingers just barely peeking out from below the rims of the sleeves. She stayed silent, perhaps to stay innocent until proven guilty, but when he didn’t elaborate, she was forced to calmly mutter, “Yes?”

Percy almost snorted in her face. From her stance, she seemed to know exactly why he had interrupted her. Instead of mocking her though, he just nodded towards her hands. “You’re going to have to pay for that, or I’ll be forced to call the police.”

The girl froze. “I—I was going to.”

Percy eyed her carefully, concerned about the hoodie still really low over her face. “You stuffed it into your sleeve and you’re wearing a black jacket over your face in the middle of New York.”

She scoffed, and then her hand was reaching up to yank the hoodie off her head, revealing her flowing blonde locks and piercing grey eyes, and it was then that Percy realized his grave mistake. “I was not going to steal!”

Percy stumbled over his words because standing right in front of him was Annabeth Chase, one of the biggest actors in the country, hell, maybe even in the world, and she was glaring at him like she was about to pull out a knife and stab him for even insinuating that she would steal from a random Walgreens.

“I—” Percy’s eyes were wide as he stared at the celebrity only five feet in front of him. “I just thought…”

“Thought what?” Her voice as she spoke was venomous, dripping with apathy.

Percy couldn’t find it in him to gather his words because Annabeth Chase was so close he could probably reach out and touch her, and he had spent so long being obsessed with her (but in a healthy way, he thinks) and this could not be happening.

“You’re Annabeth Chase,” he said, dumbfounded. He probably had his mouth gaping and everything.

“And?”

“You’re—” Percy swallowed, suddenly self-conscious of his ugly red polo and work khakis. He felt like Jake from State Farm. “You’re so much prettier than I expected.”

“Excuse me?”

Percy cursed, holding his hands out as though to soften the blow of his words. “No! That’s not what I meant! I just—”

“You just what?” Annabeth looked thoroughly offended by him, and he didn’t know how to clarify what he was actually saying without sounding like a stalker that may or may not have a shrine for her.

Still. He didn’t want to insult someone that could turn millions of people against him with the snap of her fingers, so he rushed to say something, which did approximately nothing. “I’ve been watching you for years and you were so pretty, but now you’re standing in the middle of Walgreens and you’re, like, really pretty, like so pretty I could kiss you, and—” Percy shrieked. “Wait, no! Not kiss you! I mean, I could of course, but that’s pretty rude and I’m pretty sure it’s considered harassment in some states, if not all of them, so I definitely won’t do that to you, but—”

Somewhere along his mess of a speech, her face seemed to morph from fury to amusement, and he wanted to just melt into a puddle on the floor and die.

“I’m making myself look like a fool in front of Annabeth Chase,” he muttered to no one in particular. “Perfect.”

“I would reassure you and say you didn’t, but I’d feel guilty lying to you, considering how honest you were with me two seconds ago.” Annabeth looked him up and down, and Percy thought she looked unimpressed. When her eyes trailed back to his, she tilted her head to the side, lifting the side of her mouth slightly in a smile that showed off one of her dimples, and god, she was so freaking gorgeous. “I wasn’t going to steal, for the record.”

“Yeah, I got that now.” Percy suspected his voice also just cracked, and he was actually going to go bang his head into a wall repeatedly until he had a brain bleed.

It was entirely unfair just how elegant she seemed in this moment because Percy was a blubbering mess over here, and she had the audacity to laugh at him. How could someone be so put together, and just how unlucky do you have to be to look this moronic in front of arguably the hottest celebrity out there?

“Are you alright?” Annabeth asked. “You’re looking a bit faint over there.”

“I just—” Percy gave an awkward grin. “I’m starstruck over here.”

“Starstruck?” she asked, testing the word in her mouth. “No one’s ever said that to me before.”

“Really? How could they not?”

“Most people would consider it lame to actually say that to their celebrity crush, as you so eloquently put it.”

Percy flushed. “Funny.”

“It is, don’t you think?” Annabeth smirked at him, and Percy’s heart just about leaped out of his chest. “I have to say, no one’s ever messed up that badly before.”

“Well, I guess no one’s as stupid as me.”

“No one’s accused me of stealing either,” she added unhelpfully. Even without a mirror, Percy just knew he looked redder than a tomato, and he could tell she was basking in his misery.

That’s it. Percy’s going to walk into the street and let himself get run over by a taxi.

“A lot of firsts in this room,” Annabeth said, a teasing edge to her voice. “First time meeting a celebrity?”

“How’d you know?” he asked sarcastically, and he realized he was standing awkwardly at a distance from her.

She looked at the floor between them. “You can get closer, you know. I won’t bite.”

“The look you gave me earlier said otherwise.” Percy got closer anyways so that they were talking like normal human beings.

Annabeth laughed, and even that about her was smooth and melodic.

He lifted his hand to scratch the base of his neck. “I’m sorry I accused you of stealing.”

“I’ll let it slide because you’re so cute.”

Percy’s mind came to a reeling halt as he processed her words. If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought she was flirting with him, but she obviously wasn’t because he was a nobody off the streets. Right?

“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say now,” he offered meekly.

“You really are new to this,” she said, whistling slightly.

“Obviously, I haven’t ever tried to stop a famous actor from stealing.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Percy blinked. “Oh?”

“I guess I’ll just have to help you out then,” she said, sighing in mock disappointment. “You’re supposed to tell me your name.”

White hot alarm flooded through him, because yeah, she was one-hundred perfect flirting with him. That, or she was trying to get him to make even more of a fool of himself.

Either way, she sure knew what she was doing.

He supposes he would just have to settle with defeat if she was conning him because in no way was he about to pass up the opportunity to cozy up to the hottest girl alive.

“I’m Percy,” he offered, working up the confidence to give her a dazzling smile. “Figures you would want to know my name.”

“Had to know the name of the guy to call me out for my thievery,” she excused jokingly, eyes gleaming. “And the one who proposed making out in the middle of a convenience store.”

“I’m still down for that kiss,” he teases, voice suddenly much less shaky and much more low, deep in the back of his throat.

“Oh, so now you wanna have game?” she asked, leaning against the shelf with the headphones she’d grabbed now clear in her hand. “Where was that when I asked your name?”

“I was still gathering it up,” he said.

“Hm.” Annabeth nodded knowingly. “I see.”

“Should I make it up to you, then?”

“You’re going to have to if you expect this to go any further,” Annabeth said, but he can tell that she’s mainly messing around with him.

Percy decided to tease her back. “You expect this to go any further?”

“It’s gonna have to. You promised me that kiss, and I expect you to pay up.”

“I guess I’ll just have to deliver, in that case.”

“I charge interest.” When Percy locked eyes with her, there was fire burning between them, and it was like there was something more between them, despite them having just met.

“I don’t think that’ll be a problem,” he said.

A silence fell between them again, but it was comfortable and fitting. They just stared softly at each other for a while until Annabeth spoke again, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

“You’re different,” she started, nibbling on her lower lip. “You’re really sweet.”

“I think you mean chaotic,” he quipped, ignoring the way his heart pulsated beneath his fingertips at the heartfelt compliment.

“That whole being in love with me spiel you did was pretty cute,” she said. “When I say you’re sweet, I mean it. I don’t hand things like that out for nothing.”

Percy blushed, gesturing towards her. “Look at you, though. You’re — perfect. I’m not sure how else to put that, but you do everything to please your fans.”

“I am quite perfect,” Annabeth agreed. “But being accused of stealing and then watching you melt into a puddle of nerves and get all jittery? It’s unmatched.”

Percy could not believe that this was actually happening. Everything he thought was true about her from movies and pictures was magnified by ten in person, and she was such a nice person. She was more down-to-earth than other people out there, and it was refreshing.

He tried to play it cool, but he did the exact opposite, and she still called him cute and sweet and he could actually start fangirling right now.

Percy really didn’t want this to end, so he would just have to take things into his own hands.

“Listen,” he said, standing up straighter. He could feel his stomach tingle with nerves. “I know you’re famous and all, and I’m…not, and you probably get asked this all the time, but you seem like someone I’d like to get to know, so I was wondering if…”

“Careful,” Annabeth warned, amused. “You’re starting to lose your game again.”

“Shut up,” he muttered, gently shoving her shoulder. It wasn’t until after the fact that he realized he just touched the golden girl of the country. “Would you like to go on a date with me?”

She didn’t answer, and his heart dropped, but then—

“I thought you’d never ask.” Annabeth pursed her lips to stifle her widening grin.

Percy clapped his hands together, admittedly surprised that she agreed. It was something of dreams. “When are you free?”

“Today works.”

He looked around, contemplating on how to answer. He really needed the money, and he was still in the middle of his shift. Leaving now would cause him to get in some major trouble, but on the other hand…

“Let’s go.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Right now?”

“Right now,” he confirmed.

“You don’t have to finish working first?”

“The guy up front can cover for me,” Percy said, already working up the courage to grab her hand and start pulling her towards the exit. She seemed just as enthusiastic to go with him, lacing their fingers together, sparks of electricity flowing through them.

Annabeth dropped the headphones back onto the metal racks, smiling jokingly when he looked at her. “Wouldn’t want to steal, would I?”

“I suppose not,” Percy said, utterly infatuated. He had just met her, and he was already dreaming of a future with just the two of them. From the way her eyes traced over the slopes of his face, as though burning them into her memory, he knew he wasn’t alone in it.

As they walked out into the New York sunshine, Percy smiled at Annabeth, and thought she looked amazing under the rays of light. She was everything — pretty and funny and nice and flawless — and she agreed to go out with him.

Percy tries not to fall in love, but it was easier said than done when this perfect woman was looking at him with those breathtaking eyes and setting his heart on fire.

(But when she kisses him in the middle of Central Park, he knows he already is. He finds he doesn’t mind).