#brandy and ashe should kiss

[haxzie]

tidbit of my most recent writing

aka creative block delayed my writing development for like 2 years & this this includes my silly little ocs

Brighter than Diamonds

Inside Cher O’Reilly’s restaurant, various ranks of the Deadlock Gang piled in. She had shooed out all the customers and employees within half an hour due to their last-minute call before arrival. Her mint green hair tied-up by a color clashing red bandana was easily spotted by a specific member, Sunni Allen, sister of Brandy Allen. Sunni was the one who called to inform her, as the gang’s leader caught word of a place perfect for a heist—Cher’s fancy word for a thoroughly-planned robbery.

Sunni made her way to the bar, located on the opposite side of the entrance, many of the men nodding to her in respect. She paid no mind because once she reached Cher’s side, she wrapped an arm around her shoulders to give her a short hug. She expressed worry for having their team come on such short notice and, as always, receive her 5% after the heist occurs. Cher waves her off, “Used to it. Miss Ashe always tips me good.” Their conversation continued behind the bar as Cher worked to serve alcohol from the tap to all the seeming drunks under her roof, her girlfriend helping with ease.

The chatter and clinking of beer steins amongst feeble gang members came to a stop as a whistle howled through the air. All eyes in the room were drawn to the front doors. A tall man with sun-kissed skin and a cigar in left hand stood before Ashe, B.O.B., and Brandy.

“The floor is yours.”

“Thanks, Cole.” Ashe parted from the three by her side and walked toward the center of the room. Over the course of about three hours, she explained the task at hand to which she assigned roles and teams to those she believed were most fitting. They would be conducting a 3-day heist at a hotel and casino hosting a jewelry showcase and auctioning in Tunica, Mississippi. The hosts only accept cash for payment, as it is easier to verify if the money customers will use for purchases was laundered or stolen. With the Allen Sisters’s unforeseen involvement with the Deadlock Gang, they would bring the attention to themselves in the casino so their plan goes over smoothly. Ray Letterman and his company based in Virginia have a multi-step process to safely set up and transport their valuables across states because of high organized crime in southern America. Fortunately, the crime rate in Mississippi is low which allows Letterman’s Luxuries to ease up on spending and security for their event, but it will be more difficult for the gang to get away with. Essentially, they will attempt to jack the prices as high as they can before a bidder goes for the bait. They will be going for the money instead of the jewels—no one wants to buy stolen jewels.

They will make millions in less than a few days, but the gang’s excitement had to wait. The event was in two weeks. They still had to travel to Tunica. They needed to get in touch with their contacts in Mississippi. There was still work to be done, but the first thing to do was to round up the team to start packing.

[aladaylessecondblog]

The Sharmat's Lovers (Dagoth Ur/female Nerevarine/Indoril Nerevar)

Author's Note: This is just an excuse for pure unadulterated filth. Sex, oral, fingering, M/M/F, Nerevar has both sets of plumbing because idk

All Voryn's dreams are coming true ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

-------------------------------

It was something that took time to get used to, this strange trio that they had formed.

Sadara had hoped when she was brought back in her ghostly form and restored from her ashes, had seen that hope perish when Vivec returned Nerevar's bones, and had it rise again after a lengthy argument in which she and Nerevar had both stated that the other deserved Voryn more.

And Voryn, oddly, had come up with just the thing to settle the argument.

"Why should I not have both of you? I have two hands, after all."

It had been an odd thought that neither she nor Nerevar had even considered. Each of them had replied, "Why should you want ME when you could have her (or him)?"

And though she had never considered such a thing before Sadara found herself quite pleased with the outcome. She was free to dally with Nerevar, and he with Voryn, and with much discussion they had all grown to rely on the bond between the three of them. After such time in solitude and despair it was wonderful to be so surrounded with love.

Voryn did as he had always done. Nerevar conferred with Gilvoth as to the defense of the place (and of all of the Red Mountain region), and she...well, she tended the home, as she'd wished to for such a long time. It was comforting for her to look after such things, to direct the servants, to see that guests had all they needed. It was wonderful not to have to really worry any longer about things like food, security, or--

"The lady is alone. I believe she was told to avoid this." Nerevar's voice echoed slightly in the large room.

There was, she was sure, no safer woman in all Morrowind than her. No woman better taken care of, fussed over, tended to, doted on.

"The lady was going to have a bath and then a nap," Sadara replied. "Sometimes she thinks her loves worry too much."

"And I think you do not worry enough."

"I spent eighteen years worrying...forgive me for not--"

"I know, dearest. Apologies...given what I witnessed not only in my life but in yours as well...I find it is hard to lay down that anxiety. Every day I expect to wake up and find that all this bliss is nothing more than a cruel illusion."

Nerevar's affection was similar to Voryn's, but where the latter tended to be more silent and grabby in his affection, Nerevar was more inclined to speak his mind and lay his anxieties out. It was a regular habit for some one of them to have a day like this, and for one of the others to comfort and be comforted in turn.

(Nerevar had written a 'holy text' lingering on the subject of loss, the fear of it, and the absolute necessity of enjoying your loved ones as much as possible - for one day, it finished, you may lose them. They were eternal, the people were not.)

"As do I," she replied, relaxing as Nerevar's arms slipped around her. "On the worst days, I simply hunker down and...wait for the feeling to pass."

"Is that why you've hidden yourself from us?"

"You've both been busy today, and it's not as if I can't tend things in relative solitude. We've no guests, and..." she paused slightly at the feel of a kiss in her hair. "...I wish not to burden either of you."

"If there is anything I regret," Nerevar said suddenly, "It is that Voryn got to be the one to deal with Azura. She has been a blight on all of us...whispering poison in our ears, telling us we are nothing without her. Blaming us for every failure in her plan."

"I think I was the main cause of that first failure," Sadara gave a slight laugh. "When I drank that brandy, and..."

"And kissed Voryn. You did what I never had the courage to do."

"Courage had nothing to do with it. I was drunk. I was attempting to tell him that you'd always thought about him in a sexual way, and...being drunk, didn't have the words for it. So I kissed him..."

"And once kissed, the dam of our love burst free."

"You seem to take a more romantic view of the...event, but we weren't of a mind to think too much on that at the time. At least, I wasn't. 'Fucking me like a madman not five feet away from the heart' is how I might put it."

"Quite a colorful way to put it, but having watched it, perhaps you're right. But regardless. It was that kiss, that fucking, that has saved Morrowind. At least if Vehk is telling the truth...the tale he wove is a strange one."

"You were spying--filthy mer! And could we not speak of Vivec right now?" Sadara squirmed, and managed to turn herself around. "Talk of quite literally anything else."

There was a pause--and then they both laughed.

But a moment later Nerevar looked down at her upturned face, and pressed a deep kiss to her lips. The second he parted with her for air she said, "You're as eager as Voryn, aren't you?"

"He wasn't the only one to finally have a drink of the 'waters of relief,'" Nerevar said, "More than four thousand years. Surrounded by beauty, yet unable to touch it. He was imprisoned in a desert and I in an ocean. Water, water, everywhere, and not a drop to drink."

"Then drink," Sadara replied--and this time she was the one to kiss him.

There was a growl, and a moment later Nerevar's hands came up, practically tearing at her robe. The next parting had her giving a laugh.

"You and Voryn are determined to ruin my wardrobe, aren't you? At this rate I'll have to go about in a loincloth like he does..."

"That and the golden adornments...ah, how often we both think of it...but Voryn, well...if he had his way we'd both dress that way. Such filthy dreams our lord has..."

"Easy access," Sadara got out after another kiss. "That's all he wants out of our wardrobe--"

By this point Nerevar had backed her against her bed, and a second later was lifting her onto it. When she lifted her skirts there was another growl.

"I know what you want," she whispered, "You want to make sure I'm good and loud so he'll hear us. So he'll catch us."

No answer. Nerevar didn't even bother fully disrobing, choosing instead to lower his armor-leather pants just enough to free his cock.

"Oh, the things Lord Dagoth would do if he caught us..."

It was so easy to get Nerevar going, so very, very easy. All she had to do was show her eagerness, mention Voryn and the prospect of being caught, and her warlike love would be hard as a rock and ready to go.

Again the press of Nerevar's lips, and the feel of his cock against her soaked center.

(She hardly bothered with underwear at this juncture, Nerevar and Voryn both had a habit of being too impatient to pull them off and often resorted to simply tearing them to shreds.)

"Go on," she whispered, too wet to wait any longer, "Either fuck me or--"

Nerevar cut her off with a swift thrust that buried him fully inside her. He gave a gasp against her lips, and a groan when he pulled back to thrust again. She crossed her legs behind him, ensuring he couldn't fully withdraw.

She tugged at the belt of her robe, knowing he would do it himself if she didn't do it for him. His hands moved up instantly, opening and pushing it back, exposing her entirely.

"Nothing beneath this robe," Sadara grinned, "How does that make you feel?"

"And I thought I was the tease of this little group," Nerevar groaned against her neck. "You--"

"Me," she laughed and pulled him into a kiss.

Nerevar's thrusts alone would have been enough to do the job for her--simply the feeling of his rapid movements, being filled and spread, over and over. But it was not his way, to leave a thing well enough alone, to settle. So when his next thrust had her falling back, he reached down to stroke over her clit.

"You want to be heard, don't you?" he turned it on her, pressing down with such precision that Sadara was keening almost instantly. "Oh, you do, you--"

A hard thrust, a press down. A moan echoed from her lips that was absolutely pornographic.

"Let him hear us, all the way in the Heart Chamber," Nerevar's teasing went on, his hand still moving, "The louder you are, the faster he comes, and the sooner my poor needy incarnate gets what she really wants."

"N...Neverar," Sadara groaned, "How many--times--do I have to tell you that--I DO want you? Do I have to scream it for you to finally understand?"

His name was a prayer on her lips, as much as Voryn's was at other times, and every time she called it, it was louder--louder--!

She fell apart beneath him, around him, riding out the heated waves as long as possible before letting the warm afterglow rise to drown her.

"On the bed," she gestured vaguely, "I know you're not done yet."

"Voryn is right. You are a greedy thing."

Really she was, but the tease and denial made this game of theirs more interesting. Some one or other of them was always teasing, taking it in turns so no one felt too much was expected.

"Not greedy, only eager. But if you don't want to silence me, I could simply leave...collect my things, have a bath...and leave you to be satisfied in other ways."

That lit a fire under him. Nerevar moved onto the bed once he'd shed his clothes, and lay back, making sure he was comfortable. His cock stood firmly at attention, and she moved up, kneeling before it (and him, really).

She lavished it with her tongue, caressed the underside of the head, licked a stripe from the base to the tip...and then against a background of soft moans Nerevar was obviously trying to muffle, her hand's movement went unnoticed. He certainly noticed it when she traced the dampened slit of his cunt, though.

"Sadara--"

She didn't usually press for this--he preferred only letting Voryn touch him there. Not out of some shyness, but he did so love to be bred, and that wasn't something she could do.

"I can stop if you want me to," she replied, stroking briefly at his cock, "But I have one of these too, and...I'd like to see that what I know can...help you too."

"I'm sure it can't be very--"

"I can make you scream," she grinned, and gave the most seductive expression she could manage. "And Voryn really WILL hear us. Because what makes him come running faster than hearing you in need?"

"The both of us, but--" Nerevar had one golden arm up and over his eyes now. "Go ahead, you've made me wait long enough as it is."

Sadara smirked, slowly easing two fingers inside that soaked center. "Hot," she said, "And very wet. You're as eager as I am, aren't you?"

Any reply or retort Nerevar might have made was silenced when Sadara lowered her head, took his cock into her mouth completely, and at the same time buried her fingers in his cunt knuckle deep.

All that passed his lips was a strangled moan.

Not so chatty now, are you? she thought.

As big a game as he talked, he was so easy to reduce to this point. It was so easy to touch him in just the right ways and render him functionally mute.

His hand at the back of her head, the sudden grip of his fingers in her hair, and another groan as he started to buck against her head. Sadara went slack, letting him do it, letting him him have the control he so desperately seemed to crave.

Nerevar seemed to be saying something, but Sadara couldn't bring herself to care what it was. The feeling of his cock in her mouth, the slight saltiness of his pre, the stutter in his hips when her fingers pushed deep enough for her thumb to grind over his clit...

...it consumed her.

There was a high-pitched cry, a last buck of Nerevar's hips--and a shudder as his cock pulsed and filled her mouth. She swallowed down his seed quickly, spilling only a drop--a drop she wiped from her lips as she moved back up.

Her smirk was triumphant...until she felt a pair of hands at her waist.

"I see," came the sudden sound of Voryn's strained voice, "That I cannot leave the two of you alone for any amount of time without returning to a scene of utter debauchery."

Nerevar gestured and gave his reply in an airy voice. "You needed further proof after the last few times?"

Voryn's trimmed claws pricked at the soft skin on Sadara's waist, and she pressed back a bit, hoping to get things moving.

"Tell me, which of us did you hear?"

"Nerevar. Why?"

"We had a bit of a bet going..." Sadara glanced up at Nerevar. "And it looks like I won. I wonder if our dear Nerevar will have anything to say to that. Perhaps he'll just remain silent?"

"Perhaps he'll want to punish you for being so smug." The hands at her waist were caressing now, never going very far, but stoking the flames from her last peak. "Will you, Nerevar? Or will we let this little defiance go?"

"I think not." Nerevar lifted Sadara's chin, and gave a smirk of his own. That was his hortator voice, the one she'd ALSO come to love. Voryn had his thunderous tone of mock-anger, and Nerevar had this. "Voryn, I think we need to remind her not to lord things over those above her. To be a graceful winner...or loser, as it were."

He lay back again, and pulled her forward to lay atop him. His arms quickly moved tight around her, leaving her in just the right position to hear his whisper in her ear.

"Now, my dear, it is time for you to serve. Our lord has had a very stressful day, and he requires a means of...relief."

Oh, to be held like this, to be between them. This, this was heaven, and she needed no other. If it was a dream, all she wished was for it never to end.

"Then," she gave in a slightly edged tone, "Stop playing around and let me--"

"Such bossiness from an outlander...this will not stand. Voryn?"

The thrust that came next was completely unexpected, and had her whole body tense from the sudden intrusion and spread. Either that was part of a game the two others had already devised, or Voryn was skipping a few steps first. But then again, he'd never been a patient mer.

Sadara tried to stifle the moan that the movement forced from her throat, but it passed her lips anyway, and left her clenching at Nerevar's shoulders. "Gods..."

Nerevar tutted at her. "How many times do we have to remind you? There is only one god here, and you serve at his pleasure. You're only lucky he's eager to be relieved, or he would have spent time making you fall apart..."

Another thrust, another outcry--and then a steady jarring of her body as Voryn wordlessly started a brutal pace.

She couldn't speak, could barely think. Her pleasure rose in sharp spikes, each time she was stretched and spread around Voryn's cock. There was nothing of coherent thought at this point, only the eager insistent movement of his hips against hers and the ecstasy that followed.

"We're being so good to you," Nerevar said, drawing her into a brief kiss. "Poor, needy thing...do you know what I've noticed?"

"Wh...wh...oh!..."

"That you have all the same little weak points that I do." he smirked once more, and raised her just enough to start nipping love bites into the soft skin of her neck. The moan that followed had him grinning further, and he dragged his tongue over and around the same spots. "Oh, what a discovery..."

"Nerevar--" Voryn groaned and moved down, pressing Sadara down and leaving him face to face with Nerevar.

"What would my lord have of me, hm?"

(Here Sadara found herself, pressed between two men, two men she'd come to love at different points. One cock inside her, another beneath her and weeping pre onto her belly, and she had never felt so well satisfied as she did right then.)

"If you keep calling him your....oh, gods...your lord, you'll just hurry him into...mmm..."

"Oh no, no, no..." Nerevar laughed, and in a suddenly much darker and more alluring tone, added, "If I wanted to do that..."

A momentary stop, a further press--she couldn't exactly see what was going on, but from the sound of it, Nerevar had finally locked lips with Voryn.

The pleasurable movements slowed as her two loves kissed, but didn't stop entirely. But it left her more coherent than the savage pace from earlier.

"And you say what we were doing BEFORE was pure debauchery..." She could think of no more filthy thing that what was happening right now.

How long they stayed like this, none of them would be quite sure. Hands and mouths and teeth and tongues, stroking, caressing, kissing, loving. By the time Sadara felt her second peak approaching she was sure they'd never be able to top this moment. That nothing could ever be as enjoyable, as warm, as satisfying.

The end nearly leaped into her throat on a deep thrust, and she groaned right into Nerevar's ear.

"Harder," Nerevar suddenly demanded, "It was me that drew you in here, but it'll be her that actually screams tonight."

"Please," she called out, "Please, I'm so close..."

"Let her have it, Voryn," Nerevar said, "All of it. Her end, yours..."

And then a thrust that tore a genuine if well pleased scream from Sadara's lips.

"Are we going to let her take any story back to her forsaken outlander home that does not ensure your reputation?"

Closer, and closer still now.

"Or do you not want her every vein to thrum with desire because of you, o god of the mountain?"

Her eyes were clamped shut, so she didn't see which of them grabbed at her breasts, or her waist, or tilted her head to give them better access to her neck.

It didn't matter.

"Go on," she heard Nerevar whisper in her ear, "Come for us. Come for us."

The first wave of orgasm rose, and crashed on a final thrust from Voryn. Flame burst beneath her skin and spread in pure wildfire through the rest of her body--she screamed out her pleasure into the pillow beneath Nerevar's head. Then, finally, she relaxed.

A final thrust, and Voryn was pulsing and spilling inside her.

They lay there like that a minute or two, relaxing, breathing, recovering, really.

Not until they'd separated from one another and come back together--Sadara was kept pressed between them as they all lay down. Exhausted, but replete.

"If this is a dream I pray I never wake."

"No dreams," Voryn said.

"All of it, every bit...is real." Nerevar added that, and joined his free hand with Voryn's, which lay on Sadara's hip. "And we will NEVER be parted again."

[amuseoffyre]

Every so often I remember how hard film soundtracks went in the mid 90s with some truly bonkers and delightful fusion albums. My two favourites examples are Batman Forever and A Life Less Ordinary. Batman Forever features:

Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me, Kill Me - U2

One Time Too Many - PJ Harvey

Where Are You Now? - Brandy

Kiss from a Rose - Seal

The Hunter Gets Captured by the Game - Massive Attack and Tracey Thorn (The Marvelettes cover)

Nobody Lives Without Love - Eddi Reader

Tell Me Now - Mazzy Star

Smash It Up - the Offspring (The Damned cover)

There Is a Light- Nick Cave

The Riddler - Method Man

The Passenger - Michael Hutchence (Iggy Pop cover)

Crossing the River - the Devlins

8 - Sunny Day Real Estate

Bad Days - the Flaming Lips

I've owned this soundtrack since 1995 and I still listen to it regularly. Special should out to The Passenger. Michael Hutchence was a legend.

A Life Less Ordinary is even less well-known. It's such a bonkers little film, where a pair of deranged angels (played by Holly Hunter and Delroy Lindo) are sent to fiddle around with the love lives of a pair of disparate humans (Cameron Diaz and Ewan McGregor). And this is the soundtrack:

Dead Weight - Beck

Love Is Here - Luscious Jackson

Life Less Ordinary - Ash

Velvet Divorce - Sneaker Pimps

Kingdom of Lies - Folk Implosion

Leave [New Version] - R.E.M.

Don't Leave - Faithless

Oh - Underworld

It's War - The Cardigans

Always on My Mind - Elvis Presley

Peace in the Valley - Alabama 3 Lis

Beyond the Sea - Bobby Darin

Put a Lid on It - Squirrel Nut Zippers

Deeper River - Dusted

Full Throttle - The Prodigy

They're both such solid but such fully weird combinations of songs and I love them.

[rcksmith]

Mine — Kaz Brekker

(photo not mine)

Requests: “9 from the fluff prompts with Kaz brekker please? It could be where they're keeping it a secret and it slips out? Thanks”

“Could you possibly do a kaz brekker and reader imagine where they are both like in their mid twenties. Number 9 from the fluff prompts “So you're saying that girl is your girlfriend?" "No, that girl is my wife”, I could just imagine him with the smuggest grin saying it. Your a very good writer and thank you if you decide to write this.”

“Could I get a kaz brekker x reader secret relationship with fluff prompts 5, 7, 12, and 14 please?”

Fluff prompts:

5. ”Don’t smile at me like that. You know it drives me crazy.”

7. “I feel like i cant breathe when i’m around you.”

9. “So you're saying that girl is your girlfriend?!" "No, that girl is my wife!”

12. “I’m not jealous! Its just...you’re mine!”

14. “I don’t like to pretend we’re not together.”

Couple: Kaz Brekker/ Fem!Reader

Warnings: swearing, mention of fights, mention of post-traumatic stress, fluff too.

Word count: 2k.

A/N: Thank you💖 I hope you guys like. I changed some details a little, hope you don't mind

Normal Rules. Smut Rules.

English is not my first language, so I so sorry if have a mistake.

Requests are open. Love you❤️

— — — —

Fissure. That's what mercenaries, thieves, assassins and his enemies were looking for. A fissure to drive Kaz Brekker to ruin. Burn his empire, wood for wood, until there is nothing left but funeral ashes swept away by the winter wind. Even the most infinitesimal fissure would ensure that his enemies infiltrate, like hungry parasites, into the heart of the dungeon of his deepest secrets. Swallowing, absorbing, any hint of what could do the infamous the Bastard of the Barrel down to his own knees.

And Kaz Brekker feared that if they looked into the most secluded corner of his dungeons, where it was reserved to hide the greatest truths of his soul, they would find the one only thing to beg on his knees for would be something he would do without hesitation.

You.

You were like the last summer solstice in a world ruled by darkness, cold and empty. Which he kept in a chest locked with seven chains.

If he had to describe you with the five senses, Brekker would remind that, when he was in the bitter cold of the ocean, clutching the stiffness of dead and putrefying flesh like a lifeboat, a ray of sunshine, warm as the summer, it opened up through the thunderclouds and came down to his face, warming that spot of skin like a kiss from the sun.

And it would be with that memory that he would describe you.

Kaz Brekker shouldn't have fallen in love with you. He was the person who most understood the disastrous consequences if he let himself get carried away by the way his heart sped up whenever he saw you. If he allowed herself to taste the way all of your heat radiated into his body and made him feel alive. But he fell in love.

Everything was all too much. The feeling of life every time you said his name, like a devotion, something religious, lyrical. The sweetness in your eyes, the warm voice. Everything had been too much.

And what should he do? Tell you he missed you every time you went on a mission? Saying that he were jealous and envy of Jesper because the man managed to make you laugh with a silly joke and hug you tight, something Kaz still hadn't been able to do? Tell you it was almost religious the way he venerated your smile? Of course not. Because all these things would have been sensible, and Kaz couldn't do anything sensible around you.

Because when he saw life offering him, with such joy, the one thing that had been denied him all his life, and that he swore never to crave, his first impulse was anger. Stupid, irrational anger.

So, for the first few moments, his entire reaction to you had been cold, distant, almost avoidant. Because the way his whole body shook in hot spasms when, in that summery tone, you called his name, it was too much for Kaz to handle.

“Kaz!” You call, one night.

He heard your voice from across the crow club, and had to close his eyes tightly at the way his heart leapt in his chest.

"Hey, hey." You appeared beside him, your cheeks chased away by coral red, the happy smile and the sparkle in your eyes as someone who have the path to true happiness. "Jessy said you were wanting to find a new way to invade that bank."

Oh perfect. In the same way his body exalted when he heard the sound of your name and your lips, hearing you call Jesper by that infernal nickname had a much more destabilizing effect. And fierce.

Kaz raised an eyebrow at you, in a nonchalant gesture but inviting you to keep talking.

“I happen to know of an underground path.” For an instant, the pride in your smile made Kaz want to smile too. “You and I can put together a map today and we'll be right tomorrow to go.”

That was one of the times Kaz should have made some dry, disinterested, trivial comment, something that made you not want to spend time with him, something that made you turn around and walk away. He should have turned around and left. He had done this over a thousand times with other people and knew it to be one of the best outings.

Still, the acid comment didn't come and he couldn't turn his back on you.

So, like the idiot he became whenever it came to you, Kaz couldn't help but spend an hour in your company. Even if it resulted in him lying in bed at the end of the day, alone and feeling the guilt gnawing at him more and more.

So, before he even knew it, Kaz was already in his office with you, listening to you chatter about things he knew he should have been paying attention to. But the way the crackling of the fire flames in the fireplace flashed across your face was a distraction of unimaginable proportions.

“Jessy and I…”

“You want to stop.” He found himself saying before he even realized it. “That nickname is already exasperating me.”

“Why? Jealousy?” You joked, oblivious to the truth.

Kaz looked at you like your comment was the most pathetic thing he'd ever heard. He wanted to screaming: ‘I’m not jealous! Its just...you’re mine!.’ But he didn't. Instead, the words that came out were:

“No. It's childish and immature, and it doesn't fit with...”

"What if I call you ‘Darling’?” You rested your chin on both palms of your hand, your elbows resting on his desk in his office.

Kaz's heart skipped a beat.

“That way you won't be jealous of Jessy's nickname and…”

“It's not jealousy!” He countered, and too late realized that he didn't disagree in the first instance about the nickname, but about the green color that emanated from his body.

And you didn't let that go either.

Your eyes took on a caustic gleam that you quickly hid, turning to the map on the table and going back to drawing the paths. “Okay, Darling.”

After that night, Kaz's self-control began to crumble.

He gave you death glares whenever you called him that nickname, but he never dared contradict or scold you. Much less deny it. The truth was, the core of his soul wanted this. He wanted every part of your caress warm as summer. He wanted to appreciate how perfect you looked when you called him that way. As if that nickname was born just to be used between you.

Something unique.

Over time, his body's physical reactions began to be stronger, coercive and overwhelming. Kaz felt dry, burning, and you soothed and inflamed him at the same time. You were the breath of peace, and also a glass of hot brandy.

And everything that he once felt dead, frozen or putrefying, slowly began to blossom, reborn and shine.

"Darling." You said, going behind the chair Kaz was sitting in, submerged in the Krisha security system sheets in front of he. “You've been there for hours.”

He ignored you, though his body was all too aware of yours behind him, the way your breath hit the top of his ear, how your heat hit his back like a high summer breeze. Kaz swallowed hard, ordering his eyes to stay on the pages.

“What are you reading?”

Your voice rang out from the top of his head, and Kaz felt his heart race into a cardiac arrhythmia the second your hands went to the back of the chair and your face tilted, chin hovering millimeters from his shoulder, your nose almost brushing his cheek.

Fucking Saints! You were hot! It was as if you had sun bathed, swam in the flames of fire, and been born into the summer.

Kaz lost his breath. His sanity. His soul.

“Do not do this.” His voice was no more than a whisper.

You looked at him, the furs not touching but breath hitting each other's cheeks. Kaz followed your gaze, and suddenly the world subtly turned hot. Pulsing and muffled.

“What?” You whispered, your heart so fast.

This was the time for Kaz to use the touche in a very valid argument. To make you move away as fast as you approached. To nip in the bud any path this interaction between you could take. He should have said about the touch. But he didn't remember. Kaz didn't remember his limitation, his traumas, his demons.

In that second, of insanity and magic, you couldn't do that just because…

"I feel like I cant breathe when I'm around you." He said.

After that day, Kaz realized that life no longer made sense without having you by his side to share it. Money didn't have the same value anymore if you weren't there, the robberies didn't make sense anymore if he couldn't tell you how it was at the end of the day, or have you by his side to fight.

Very quickly, Kaz Brekker realized that he had lost the battle against his own feelings. Loving you was inevitable. And having you close to him was made as essential as breathing. That's when things between the two of you developed faster, more solid, more right. The weeks turned to months, the months to years, and your relationship fortified as gloriously as the hilt of a sword.

Kaz still had very difficult moments with touching, days when a single brush of fur was unbearable and the mention of a kiss was impossible. But you stayed there. Firm and unshakable. Giving your summer smiles,your warm winks, and his nickname that had the power to soothe every nerve in Kaz's body.

However, the more Kaz understand that he was need you to he still live, the deeper he hid any trace of public affection for you. Any clue that could sparked the theory in someone that you were the reason, for Brekker, for the sun rose every morning. He couldn't bear the thought of losing you. Never.

Kaz Brekker became very aware that his soul was harnessed to yours. And there was nothing in the world that would take you away from he. Not while he lived, and even seven feet from land, Kaz would still find a way to fight for you.

It was a logical decision when he said you two should get married. Kaz was still trying to maintain his serene posture as his soul burned in a fire too eager and excited to make official anything that said you were his. That he had finally managed to have that ray of sunshine in the midst of the atrocious ocean. You, unlike him, exhaled your happiness in excited squeals, little jumps of joy and a passionate, quick kiss on the man in front of you.

And Kaz understood, as perfectly as the sky are blue, that he would do anything, for the rest of his life, to be worthy of that overwhelming happiness that sparkled in yours smiles.

“Don’t smile at me like that. You know it drives me crazy.” He said, feeling himself smile because your happiness for the wedding was exorbitant.

And you, like the little tease you were who loved to make him piss off, smiled even more and hugged him. He love you. Unconditionally.

But, just like the ocean waves, Kaz and you have had your ups and downs. He wasn't a man who had a lot of patience, and you weren't the most obedient, calm woman in the world. You found him exasperating and he found you as stubborn as a door.

"I already said you can't do that!" And there he was, once again, lecturing you because you showed too much affection, in his mind, for him in a public situation.

And, as Kaz fucking Brekker liked to point out, ‘all walls have eyes and ears’.

"We've been together for six years, Kaz!" You tried to keep your blood calm, but you weren't a person to put up with sermons. “Is this going to be our life? Living as if we have the same connection as a boss and an employee?!”

“And what do you want, Y/n?!” He placed both hands on his office desk, looking at you from the other side “Want us to have a party and tell everyone?! Or do you prefer to hang a red target on your chest?!”

"I did not say that!" You were starting to get really angry. “I'm not asking for a billboard saying we're married and you know it! The only thing I'm saying is that you let me choose to sit next to you, take your hand, or tell you I love you when any of us go off on a dangerous mission!"

Kaz shook his head, impassable, his gaze flashing with anger. How did you not realize he was trying to save you?! Save everything you two built, your lives! And all this for what? Walking hand in hand on the street? It was ridiculous!

“This is indisputable!”

“Kaz…”

“I said no!” He slapped his hands on the table.

A less brave woman would have cringed. But not you.

“I don’t like to pretend we’re not together!”

“And I don't like a fucking girl who complains all the fucking time about something I do to save her! But it feels like I've been put up with it for six years, doesn't it?!”

The words hit you like a slap. Crackling, burning and electrifying. You felt yourself holding your breath and your shoulders instinctively tightening back. The room was silent. Loaded with tension, as if lightning had just hit the ground.

You looked at Kaz in amazement. And he pursed his lips when he realized what he'd said.

“Put up with? And you call me ‘fucking girl’ ?” You repeated, your voice low, serious and in a mixture of hurt and outrage. “Good to know.”

You turned your back, walking out of the office and slamming the door behind you hard, making the thud reverberate through the corridors of Kaz's soul.

"Y/n!" He called you, striding to the door "Y/n!"

But when Kaz pulled the doorknob and took a few steps down the hall, it wasn't you he bumped into. It was Nina, trying to hide, in a very terrible way, her curious and shocked expression. In female hands she carried a small stack of documents, probably something important that Kaz needed to check.

He had to check that out. But his eyes, restless and quick, wandered the great hall of the crow club below, watching your figure pass between the bodies, advancing towards the exit.

"Sooo…" Nina started, even though the attention wasn't on her. "Couple fights, right?"

But Kaz didn't think before nodding, trying to get past Nina to catch up with you. But of course the girl wasn't going to let Brekker get away with it that quickly. She was betting with Inej how long you two would pretend to have nothing. And now she was going to get the truth!

"So you're saying that girl is your girlfriend?" The smile of shock and excitement was wide open on her face.

Kaz muttered a curse, gently pushing the girl aside and moving towards the stairs, aiming to catch up with you. But not before answering:

"No, that girl is my wife!"

[simpfiles]

Valentine’s Day (smut) |1.5K|

request. Idk about Valentine day prompts but what if I bring Silco some chocolates I know he likes, and his favorite cigars, and a card? 👉👈 - @will-grammer

a/n. it's about time you get a proper fic seeing how you're the only one who requests silco x male readers from me😘

The chem-barons were more effort than they were worth, the constant bickering and shallow disputes kept them all short of achieving anything worthwhile. Monetary gains and fleeting clout seem to be the end of their ambitions and more frequently than not Silco would emerge from his meetings with them seething with a just-bridled rage, his eyes dark, and lines of worry sharp on his face. You took it upon yourself to calm him down waiting by his office for his return, his cigar box in hand and a glass brandy already poured on his desk. His features never fail to soften at the sight of you, aware of what next would come.

Today was different, however. It starts with the cigar, fatter than his normal brand, bearing a logo he’s not familiar with. “Is this from Noxus?”

You shake your head, flicking the lighter in the shelter of your palm. “Demacia.” He leans towards you, the cigar hanging from his lips lighting with a spark, before turning a soft, glowing amber orange at the end. He inhales deeply, before shifting his lips to blow smoke away from your face. It’s smoother than his brand, a hint of sweetness where he’s used to more natural notes.

“How much did they cost you?” Silco sits back on the couch, head resting on the back at an angle to watch you mold yourself in between his arm and chest. He smiles ever so slightly, you fit like a glove.

“You shouldn’t ask the price of a gift.” you chide, looking up at him. The sun setting behind him amplifies in colors from the stained glass, giving him a soft aura, a halo. You want him inside you.

“Gift?” He shifts in his seat, pausing for a moment.

“For Valentine’s day.” you note the way he presses his lips into a tight line, looking off to the side as if to decide if he should admit to forgetting the holiday, again. “I don’t need a gift back.” you quickly add on, not wanting to add more stress to his day “Being with you is more than enough.” you put your hand on his cheek, guiding him down for a kiss to reinforce your point, feeling his jaw shift as he smiles again.

“Wait here.”

He grabs a decorative box of chocolate on his desk, snuffing his cigar in the ash trade as he opens and reads the card that came your gift to him. Silco can only assume by the way you bristle that you’re growing irritated by having your gregarious attempts at romance returned with nothing more than a half lidded survey of its contents, but you have to understand, he’s improvising.

Returning to you, he opens the chocolates, traying the lid underneath and offers them to you. “Happy Valentine’s day.”

You laugh at the gesture, “I bought those for you.”

“Yes, and I’m using them as part of my gift to you.” His tone is playful and eye full of mirth. “Stick out your tongue.”

You act quick, opening your mouth ready for his blessing and gaining a smug chuckle from Silco.

“Good boy.” he places a square chocolate at the base of your tongue, ordering you to hold it while tilting your chin towards him. “Very good.” Silco rewards you with a firm kiss, his tongue intertwining with yours and crooked teeth sinking in just hard enough to crack the candy shared between you two. A sickly sweet sherbet ganache coats both your tongues. You both taste the same; delicious. A string of saliva connects your lips and you lick yours, causing it to break and give Silco an idea.

He takes another piece of chocolate, this one with a flat base and narrow round top. With a bite it splits it into parts, its filling catching him by surprise when it drips out faster than expected. Forced to act quickly, he paints your lips in a sugary gloss and returns his lips for another tasting. His hand creeps down to your crotch as he sucks on your tongue, sticky fingers, making a mess on your trousers against your swelling cock. His tongue is all consuming as you kiss him back, trying to match his force while he leans you further back into the plush couch. At some point you must have lifted your hips because next thing you know your underwear is past your waist and your cock standing in the air.

Your gasping for air by the time his mouth departs from yours. His devilish tongue pointed and licking traces of filling from his slender fingers. You offer your assistance in the task but he smirks, showing teeth. “You shouldn’t ruin a man’s gift.” His tone is prideful, considering himself so clever for throwing a variation of your words back at you. Then he gets to his knees and dips his head between your thighs.

He selections another chocolate, this time brandishing it to your lips. as you lean forward, with the instructions of biting down. Its filling oozes from its center and he brings it over his tongue, stretched out and ready to receive a waterfall of caramel. He lets it pool in the curve of his tongue, mixing with his saliva before smearing it over the shaft of your cock in one long continuous strip from base to tip.

You yelp, your hands flying to bury themselves in his hair, fingers tightening at his scalp. His eyes widen at the tug, his own cock straining against its restraints as he continues, lathing his tongue over your head and between the slit, thoroughly wetting every inch of your tip. His lips stretch into a teasing smile as he kisses your tip, opening just wide enough to take it partially in, his tongue hangs out, flat against the underside of your cock and you cry out a moan as he sucks and releases with a POP!

“S-shit, Silco.” You lick your lips, leaning back, nearly at your limit. It’s almost pathetic how well he knows your body and the duration you can last. Lucky for him, you’re young and can bounce back quickly, but he still wants to drag this gift of his out.

“Sit up and look at me.” It’s not everyday the most powerful man in Zaun gets on his knees for another. You should show some respect. “Don’t divert them for a second.” A strangled noise comes from the back of your throat, but you comply and lean forward as his hand grips your base and your cock fills his mouth.

You watch with bated breath, fingers winding through his hair once more. Nimbly, you dare to think of thrusting your hips. A slight buck it all really. That’s when you hear him gag and it does something to you.

Taking initiative, you tighten your grip on his hair and snap your hips forward, burying yourself as deep until you know he can taste you and you can feel the back of his throat. His hands grip your thighs for support, breathing through his nose as you face fuck him, his technique not as practiced as yours, his teeth scrape against your shaft at times, keeping you from becoming too rough with him. Fluttering his tongue against the base of your cock, Silco tries to swallow instead of choke but his struggles are evident in his spluttering.

“You’re doing so well!” you praise him, noting the tears that prick his eyes. He can feel heat pooling between his own legs and he attempts to reposition himself to rut against the heel of his boot. Your thrusts speed up, breathing grows ragged, and your cock twitches in his mouth. You’re so close. You can feel and so can he. That’s why he flattens his tongue and tries to hollow out his cheeks a big wider readying for–

The big vein on the underside of your cock pulses against Silco’s tongue and you can’t hold it any longer. You finish in his mouth with a quiver that shakes you to the core, leaving you completely undone.

Your hands fall to the side, your cock already softening inside his mouth. Silco waits for you to pull out, wiping a mixture of dool and cum from his lips with his thumb before flexing his jaw. Standing to full height, he admires your form; spent with your head lull back with a stupid grin on your face.

“That was amazing.” you sigh, completely unaware of Silco’s actions. He takes another chocolate, popping it in his mouth without any fanfare. The taste of your cum still lingering on his tongue. It’s an acquired taste that one day he hopes to savor but for now its bitterness is too much for him. “Thank you so much, Silco. Best gift ever.”

Silco laughs a little, carding away stray hairs that fell out of place, “We’ll see about that. Valentine’s Day isn’t over yet.” and he still has a package in his pants ready to be unwrapped.

[thebadgerclan]

Grateful

Pairing: Matthias Helvar x reader

Summary: The changing of the seasons is a time to be grateful...

A/N: The Fjerdan king is never named, so I picked a Swedish name for him

Vi är alltid dina lojala undersåtar- we are ever your loyal subjects

The entirety of the Ice Court was draped in pale pink, yellow, and green in celebration of Smältningen, The Melting.  It was a day of celebration; when the ice thawed and the sun shone a bit warmer, a show of Djel’s kindness and mercy, the long, often brutal winter dwindling to a close.  There would be a service held on the White Island followed by a feast, during which blessings and prayers of thanks would be offered.

Matthias took your arm as you exited the carriage, pressing a chaste kiss to your temple.  You wore a gown of robin’s egg blue; the neckline swooping just below your collarbones, the sleeves fanning out just below your elbows.  Your skirts were loose and airy, flowing gently with every movement, the garment the essence of spring.  Your hair was pinned back from your face, a pink blossom tucked behind your ear.

“You look beautiful, my dear,” your husband said, and you smiled, clasping your hand in his.  “Thank you, my love.”  He led you into the Ice Court and across the glass bridge, rows of seats set up before Djel’s sacred ash, a preacher at a podium before it.  People filtered in and the service began.  The preacher spoke of Djel’s gift of spring, how it was meant as a reward for enduring the harshness of winter, and that the gifts of the season should be enjoyed with gratitude.

He recited the Prayer of The Waters, during which both you and Matthias bowed your heads reverently, grasping his hand as you prayed.  After the service, King Elijas stepped to the podium.  “My family and I thank you for your presence here today.  We are truly thankful for all of Djel’s blessings and gifts.  Queen Agathe and I are pleased to announce that Rasmus’ health has greatly improved.”

The attendants, the King and Queen’s court and Brum’s inner circle, cheered and praised Djel for the future king’s health, and Elijas raised his hands.  “But as happy as we are for our son, today is not about him.  Today is about the coming of spring and all the blessings that accompany it.  Now, please proceed into the Hall where we have a wonderful feast waiting for you!”

Matthias offered his arm once more as the pair of you entered the large public hall of the palace, where a banquet table laden with flowers and an assortment of savory foods were laid out.  He took his seat at Brum���s side, you at his left, pulling your seat out for you before sitting himself.  The king and queen took their seats, and the king raised his glass.  “As tradition dictates, I will now offer the Smältningen blessing.”

The guests once more bowed their heads, and the king began speaking.  “Djel, we thank you for once more bringing the warmth and light upon us, for banishing the ice and cold from our sacred lands.  We thank you for the bounty upon our table and for keeping us safe through the cold.  We ask that you continue to bless us and protect us as you see fit.  Vi är alltid dina lojala undersåtar.”

You repeated the king’s words under your breath, as did your husband, before lifting your heads.  “Now, let us eat!”  The food was divine, the celebration a reason to be a bit indulgent: reindeer sauteed in brandy, roast pig, herring, mussels wrapped in bacon, freshly baked bread, Djels’ ash baked into the top, and apple cakes drizzled with honey.  Matthias piled your plate with all of your favorites, as did the rest of the married men in attendance.  Even the king prepared his wife’s plate.

“If anyone wished to share what they are grateful for this season, please feel free to share,” Elijas said, sipping his goblet of wine.  Commander Brum spoke first, thanking Djel for his wife and daughter and for his position among the drüskelle.  A few court members spoke as well before Matthias raised his glass, indicating he wished to speak.  “I am eternally grateful for my beautiful wife, Y/N.  She has brought more joy to my life than I ever thought possible, and I eagerly await spending the rest of my life at her side.”

The guests raised their glasses in a toast, and you felt your face heat up as Matthias resumed his seat.  He leaned over and pecked your cheek, smiling softly.  “I love you, Y/N,” he whispered.  “I love you so much.”  “I love you too, Matthias,” you replied, sipping your drink and willing your flush to dissipate.  “Who knows?  Perhaps we’ll have a little one to be grateful for soon.”  You smiled.  “Perhaps.”

[mianavs]

half agony, half hope

“you pierce my soul. i am half agony, half hope.” - jane austen

Oikawa x f!reader, regency!au, angst, romance, hurt/comfort

for @sakeomi​’s the chosen one collab

a/n: fueled by my love for jane austen and a bridgerton binge. some regency/nobility jargon but nothing too fancy. hope you like it :)

a huuuuge thank you to @tetsunormous​ for taking the time to look this over. you’re a gem!

wc: 9k+

Peering out the small window of your family’s carriage, you couldn’t help but scowl at the ridiculously nice weather you were having en route back to the ton. The weather had also been lovely the day you left society which you took as an affirmation that you’d made the right decision in leaving. Now, you didn’t feel that same hopeful sentiment you did back then and had hoped lousy weather would delay your return, but it seemed that your luck with the weather had run out.

The sun shone brightly and was accompanied by the perfect amount of white fluffy clouds amidst a beautiful blue sky. There was a light breeze that kept your bonneted head cool enough to prevent beads of sweat from trailing down your brow, and you were also positive that Henry, your footman, was enjoying the mild weather outside on his box seat as he escorted you from your family’s country estate back to town.

You drew back the small curtain and leaned back onto your cushioned seat before picking up the stack of letters beside you and thumbing through them until you found the first of many unopened ones. Setting aside the others—all mostly from your father demanding your return—you examined all twelve letters that bore an unbroken turquoise seal and were addressed to you from Toru Oikawa. They all had a date scribbled on the bottom right corner, with the first one dating back to six months after you left town. You successfully fought off the urge to open the letters and piled them up with the others before putting them away in a wooden box—a present from your late mother.

 It was hard to believe that a year had passed since you begged your father to let you retire to the country after witnessing an immoral scene no respectable person should ever witness—let alone the fiancée of one of the perpetrators. Looking back, you could firmly say it wasn’t the shame that drove you to abandon society and your fiancé but the heart-wrenching agony you felt from seeing the man you loved with another woman.

While love matches were a rare thing between members of the aristocracy, you had truly believed yours to be one of them, and it all started from the moment you first beheld Toru.

It had been the annual debutante ball hosted by the monarchy, and you, along with a dozen other seventeen-year-old ladies, were making your debut into society. The ball was strictly for the aristocracy only, and, as a result, only members of the nobility were able to mingle with each other.

While on the surface, it was meant to start the matchmaking season by introducing the newest line-up of ladies to the ton’s eligible bachelors and their mothers, there were other activities taking place simultaneously. Racy affairs took place under a cover of darkness in hidden corners or outside in the gardens, and business deals of all sorts were struck up in gambling rooms between men as they dealt cards and downed glasses of brandy.

Of course, being the naïve debutante that you were, thoughts on the covert activities taking place were beyond you. All you could think about was keeping your head held high, back straight, and minding your step as you walked to the dais where the royal family sat, to not trip over the hem of your new silk ball gown.

After a satisfactory curtsy and subtle nods from the King and Queen, you took your place next to your father, the Count. The butterflies in your stomach settled as you watched the debutantes with better curtsies, looks, and family backgrounds get asked to dance by eligible young men. After a couple of songs, apprehension ate away at your calm demeanor as you wondered if standing at the sidelines in the balls to come would be your fate. Beside you, the Count shifted uncomfortably, and you took notice of his knitted brows as he scanned the room for someone before excusing himself and disappearing into the crowd.

Just when you’d resigned yourself to a dance-less evening and twiddled with your dance card, a pair of black boots stood before you and captured your attention. You looked up to find yourself face to face with the man that would become your fiancé—Toru Oikawa, the Duke of Seijoh.

He was everything a young man should’ve been and more. He was effortlessly charming and handsome with his velvety brown eyes that remained fixed on you throughout that evening, tousled brown locks that added to his boyish looks, and a roguish smile that never failed to take your breath away.

Toru remained by your side that entire evening. The two of you spent half of the evening dancing and the other half talking about your interests and hobbies. It didn’t take much for an innocent girl like you to fall for the first man that spared you any attention, so by the end of the evening, when Toru placed a gentle kiss on your gloved hand, you were already half in love with the man.

Toru spent a considerable amount of time wooing you during those two months prior to your engagement in your defense. He called upon your home at least three times a week, during which the two of you split your time in your drawing room conversing over tea, admiring your estate’s gardens, or promenading through the town.

It was during those times that you realized just how popular your suitor was simply from the jealous stares that ladies would send your way. At first, it was easy to ignore them, but as time went on and they grew bolder in their actions, you often found yourself biting back tears during assemblies or rejecting tea invitations to avoid subjecting yourself to their snipes.

While being the object of the Duke of Seijoh’s interest did ostracize you from the other ladies, you found that it was worth it as long as Toru’s charming smiles and warm words continued to fill your dull life with love. That was the belief you held onto up until that fateful morning when Toru arrived with flowers and an engagement ring before getting down on one knee. Besides your initial meeting at the debutante ball, the day of your engagement was the happiest day of your life, made even more special by one of the Count’s rare smiles and an albeit awkward embrace.

Unlike the fantasy you had already concocted in your mind, the reality of your engagement was disheartening to say the least. Toru stopped visiting your home altogether and avoided you at balls and other social events. While you hid away in corners, sipped on a glass of port, and made-up excuses for him, Toru fluttered about the assembly rooms chattering away with friends and dancing with ladies that never failed to mock you afterwards.

During those rare occasions when he graced you with his presence, any complaints you took up with Toru were shot down as petty jealousy. His smile would disappear from his handsome face, and his eyebrows would knit together as if you were submitting him to a torture session by just speaking with him.

“What other proof of my love do you need?” He would ask and raise your ring-clad hand for effect. “You will be my duchess and the mother of my children. That is all that should matter to you.”

You spent the majority of the fall and winter seasons planning for your wedding with only the guidance of the Marchioness of Niiyama. She had been widowed at the young age of twenty and had inherited her husband’s title, but above all, she was Toru’s childhood friend. While you found the Marchioness witty and extremely helpful when it came to wedding planning and understanding Toru, you found yourself missing your deceased mother more than ever and wondered what sort of advice she would give regarding your relationship.

The only time you saw Toru was during the Christmas celebrations and official events where the two of you were expected to attend as a couple. Other than that, you didn’t see or hear from your fiancé and spent your days wondering what went wrong while ignoring the conclusion you came to every time.

Those thoughts would continue to plague your mind until the last ball of the spring season when you decided to take a stroll in the gardens only to find Toru and the person that had been your confidante over the last couple of months—the Marchioness. Her long willowy arms were wrapped around Toru’s frame with her gloved fingers tangled in his brown locks as the two shared a lover’s kiss.

The sight was like falling into frigid waters. A numbness washed over, and you stood frozen in place while the air around you thickened until you couldn’t breathe. There was a disconnect between your body that remained still and your mind that was full of screaming thoughts demanding you move, confront them, or leave the premises altogether. It wasn’t until you locked eyes with the marchioness that the spell you were under broke, and you fled the scene with hot tears stinging your eyes.

That night was the first time you cried in front of your father since the death of your mother. It was also the first time you personally asked him for anything and, to your surprise, he acquiesced.

For the remainder of that night, the house was abuzz in preparation for your departure at dawn. You also didn’t sleep a wink that night and instead gathered all of the letters, dresses, bonnets, and gloves Toru sent and tossed them into the fire. With swollen eyes and still in your ball gown, you sat in front of the fire and watched the items you once treasured burn until the flames died out and only ashes were left.

In the end, you left for your family’s country estate before the rays of the sun peeked over the horizon but not before taking off the ring on your left hand’s fourth finger and leaving it on the windowsill of your bedchamber.

“Apologies for the delay, my lady, but we’ll be arriving in the evening.” Henry called out to you from his seat at the front.

“Thank you for letting me know, Henry.” You replied and continued to flip through the documents you’d prepared prior to leaving your country estate.

When your sorrow turned into indignation, you decided to do everything in your power to put an end to your engagement. What started as a simple letter asking your father to end things with Toru on your behalf snowballed into endless hours of research and lessons on all matters relating to your family’s properties, business ventures, and finances. The catalyst? Your father’s curt reply explaining the details of your engagement contract.

The engagement also includes a business deal the duke struck up with me that will save us from ruin. It cannot be broken off simply because you’ve fallen out of love with him. Stop this nonsense and come home immediately.

Your Father,

Now a year later, you returned with a vast amount of knowledge on your family’s businesses and the large debt accumulated from decades of bad business moves. It was a sheer miracle your family hadn’t lost your properties yet, and it was easy to see why your father had readily agreed to an engagement with someone as powerful as Toru Oikawa.

He had offered your father enough money to settle your family’s debts and then some to invest back into Seijoh’s multiple businesses. While it was a fair enough deal on the surface, you couldn’t help but wonder why Toru had chosen you. If it was purely to find a wife and gain a life-long investor, there were plenty of other families in dire situations with daughters of marriageable age that would’ve fit the bill. Whatever his reasoning, you made it your mission to find out during your inevitable encounter with him.

The tired whinny of the horses woke you from your slumber to an almost pitch-black carriage. Henry rustled outside while you rubbed the sleep from your eyes and straightened your bonnet. The door opened a moment later, and your footman greeted you with a weary smile and an extended hand.

“Welcome home, my lady.”

You took his hand and stepped down in front of your family’s estate, illuminated for the night. Although smaller than your family’s country estate, the imposing white stone building had been your family’s ancestral seat for generations and held memories that you either held near and dear to your heart or buried in the darkest corners of your mind.

“Rest well, Henry.” You said and gave your footman a small smile. “You’ve worked hard.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Henry replied with a low bow before returning to the carriage.

Turning to face your home, the front doors opened, and a blanket of light from home illuminated the pathway before you. Almost immediately, a flurry of maids exited the building and made their way to you, wearing sheepish looks and emitting a cacophony of apologies for not greeting you properly. Walking into your home surrounded by bustling maids and butlers carrying your luggage, you took a deep breath and braced yourself for the mess that awaited you.

While a year ago, the sight of hundreds of lilacs would have brought tears of joy to your eyes, the pungent fragrance of your favorite flower that filled your bedroom made you nauseous the longer you remained. You raised a handkerchief to your face and picked up one of the dozens of turquoise name cards attached to the bouquets that, sure enough, had Toru Oikawa printed in gold.

Crumpling the name card, you turned to your maids. “Get these out of my sight. The smell is making me ill.”

The maids exchanged a confused look before one of them spoke up. “But, my lady, His Grace delivered these himself—”

“I’m well aware of that fact,” you replied, tossing the crumpled name card onto a bouquet. “But I still want them taken out immediately.”

“Y-yes, my lady, right away!”

As the maids went to work, a knock on the door caught your attention, and you found the head butler standing at the door. The sight was one you were accustomed to and, wordlessly, you approached the elder man already knowing what he’d say.

“Greetings, my lady. I hope your trip wasn’t too tiring.” He said with a slight bow

“I’m assuming father wants to see me?” You replied curtly.

“Yes, Lord L/N is waiting for you in his study. Please, allow me to escort you there.”

“There is no need for that. I will see myself there.” Noticing the weary look on his wrinkled face, you softened your tone. “You may retire for the night.”

After dismissing the butler and removing your travel coat and bonnet, you made your way to your father’s study on the other side of the manor. Standing outside the study, you straightened your dress and took a deep breath before knocking once on the large mahogany door.

“Come in,” a low voice rumbled from the other side, and you opened the double doors to reunite with your father.

The Count sat at a table instead of his desk and upon closer inspection, you noticed the array of pastries accompanied by a teapot and two cups. The refreshments caught you off guard, and you stood awkwardly trying to process the situation that was unlike any of the other meetings with your father.

While you were sure some fathers excessively doted on their daughters, the Count wasn’t one of them and only grew more distant after the death of your mother. He either remained locked away in his study or went on business trips. Family dinners happened only once a month, and even then, they were stiff affairs with him asking about your education and you replying with short answers. The only semblance of affection from him came in the form of gifts with short notes delivered to you by the head butler. It was in those notes that your father would awkwardly convey his affection by congratulating you on an academic achievement or wishing you a happy birthday.

“Sit, Y/N,” the Count stated gesturing to the chair across from him. “I had them prepare this fresh for your arrival.”

“Thank you,” you replied and took a seat, settling your hands on your lap.

The Count took a sip from his cup, and when you didn’t partake of the food, he let out an exasperated sigh.

“Must you make things so complicated from the get-go?”

Any fondness you felt at the sight of your father and the display he prepared for you dissipated the moment he uttered those disgruntled words.

“I apologize if my wanting of a respectful husband complicates things for you.”

Your thinly veiled anger was somewhat of a shock to your father, who had never been on the receiving end of it. He cleared his throat and replaced his surprise with a look of disapproval.

“Whatever happened a year ago, I am certain that Oikawa has thoroughly repented. He’s been visiting me over the past six months for news of you since you never replied to his letters. He even spent the entire day waiting for your return.”

Your heart clenched painfully in your chest while a harsh, derisive laugh ripped from your throat. “Yes, I’m sure the lucrative deal the two of you made had absolutely nothing to do with his visits. Tell me, father, how much more did he offer you?”

The Count averted his gaze and lightly shook his head. “You’ve changed so much I hardly recognize you. Was his transgression so great to turn you into this?”

“I doubt whatever I say will change your mind on the matter.” You replied coldly and took a bite from a cookie. “I just hope whatever he offered didn’t affect our agreement.”

He took another sip from his tea and fixed his gaze on you, his own face undecipherable. You steeled your resolve under his scrutiny and held your breath waiting for his answer.

“If you can find another alternative, be it via marriage or not, that will provide our family with the funds needed to get us back on our feet, I will do everything in my power to annul the engagement.”

You exhaled. “Thank y-”

“But you must receive him when he comes tomorrow,” the Count concluded, setting down his teacup.

You finished your cookie and stood up. “I already planned on it. Thank you for the dessert. I shall take my leave now.”

The Count nodded his approval and you sank into a curtsey before turning your heel and leaving your father’s study. Once outside, you leaned back against the large double doors, relishing your small victory against your father.

Despite being completely worn out from the trip, you tossed and turned in bed only managing a couple hours of sleep as thoughts of Toru filled your mind. While it was relatively easy to occupy your mind with other things during the day, he was a constant figure in your head at night that  always invaded your dreams.

Toru Oikawa still resided within your heart, whether you chose to admit it or not, and your father’s revelation of his visits during your time away proved it. It had been a fleeting sensation but your heart had wavered in that moment.

By the time the sun rose over the horizon, you had already bathed, dressed, and sat on your room’s balcony nibbling on a plate of fruit. It was all you could stomach while you waited for Toru’s impending arrival.

“Would you like me to style your hair, my lady?” The outspoken maid from the day before inquired hesitantly.

Raising a hand to your hair, you considered her suggestion for a moment before deciding against it. A year ago, you would have spent all morning primping for Toru’s visit, but the situation was different now, and there was no need for elaborate hairstyles.

“That won’t be necessary.”

You’d just finished your breakfast when you heard the faint whinnies of a horse that only grew louder. Rising from your seat, you were able to make out a male figure on horseback wearing a navy-blue tailcoat that approached your home. As the gentleman drew closer, his wind-swept brown hair came to view, and that was all you needed to verify his identity.

You wrung the cloth napkin in your hands before dropping it on your plate. “It seems we have a visitor to greet.”

The reunion between you and Toru was one that you’d played out in your mind many times over the course of the year. You’d memorized impassioned speeches and even practiced storming out of the room, yet nothing could have prepared you for the torrent of emotions that washed over you the moment you stepped into the drawing room where Toru waited.

He was on his feet as soon as you entered, tugging on his silver waistcoat as his eyes swept over your form. It had only been a year yet Toru seemed to have aged five. While still handsome, his boyish looks were gone and replaced with a weariness beyond his twenty-three years. Instead of the air of confidence he once gave off, the Toru before you appeared hesitant and—dare you say it—ashamed.

It wasn’t until his brown eyes locked onto yours that a glimmer of the light that used to radiate within his orbs appeared, and you felt your legs tremble with every step you took. A ragged breath left his lips that broke into a hesitant smile before he took a step forward that turned into another until he was able to take you into his arms.

“My love,” he breathed into the crook of your neck. “You’re back.”

You couldn’t breathe or move, as he tightened his hold around you. All you could do was stand there and feel every shallow breath he took as his entire body trembled against yours. He held you with a desperation that made your chest tighten and throat close up.

“I-I thought I lost you, Y/N,” Toru murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I swear to you that I’ll do everything in my power to make it all up. I’ll make you the happiest woman alive and you’ll never regret giving me this second chance. Oh, my love, I’m so happy you’re back that-”

Every word he spoke was like a needle poking and prodding at you until the pain became too much and you broke free from the trance you were in. A snarl ripped through your throat and you pushed Toru away with all of your strength.

“Let. Go!”

He stumbled backwards, steadying himself with a chair, and looked back at you as if you’d struck him across the face instead of breaking free from his suffocating hold. For a moment, you almost felt guilty for rejecting him when you saw the distress in his eyes, but the memory of his betrayal resurfaced and anger took ahold of you once more.

“You’re gravely mistaken if you think I have forgiven you, Your Grace. You and the Marchioness have shamed me in the worst possible way and I refuse to submit myself to a life of misery by your side. If I am meeting you today, it is only to put an end to this engagement. I’m sure you and your lover can find another girl to fool.”

Your voice quivered and tears stung your eyes, but you kept your head held high as the words tumbled out of your mouth like water bursting from a dam.

The color drained from Toru’s face as he stared at you aghast. His mouth opened and closed a multitude of times before it settled into a thin line. He tore his eyes from you, running a hand through his hair before a defeated sigh escaped him.

“You didn’t read my letters, did you?” He asked, facing you once again with the gleam of unshed tears in his eyes.

Your throat constricted painfully but you answered him anyway. “No, I didn’t and I refuse to do so. I’ve had enough of your lies and false proclamations of love-”

“I do love you!”

Toru’s declaration came out hurried, ragged, and desperate. It reverberated off the walls of the drawing room and echoed in your ears eliciting a shallow gasp from your trembling lips.

“I fell in love with you over the course of our courtship.” He admitted, gripping the back of the chair until his knuckles turned white. “It wasn’t what I expected. You...weren’t what I expected. Before I knew it, I found myself wanting to be by your side. You’re so beautiful, intelligent, and devoted and the moments I spent with you were the happiest I’d ever been in my entire life.”

“Why me?” You asked the question that had been on your mind for months, unable to wait any longer. “Why did you pick me?”

Toru’s shoulder’s drooped and dejection replaced desperation. “Your father’s title, your family name that is as old as the royal family itself, and your financial situation were all factors that singled you out as the best candidate.”

“Did…the Marchioness have any say in the matter?” Your voice was so quiet it wouldn’t have surprised you if he hadn’t heard it at all. There was a long silence and all you could hear was the drumming of your heart against your chest. Just when you were about to repeat the question, Toru spoke.

“She was the one that brought up your name.”

His words were like a slap to your face.

“Leave! At once! I cannot stand being in the same room with you.” You glared daggers at the man not caring if he was a duke and you the daughter of a mere count.

“Please allow me to explain the situation! It’s not what you think—”

“There is nothing to explain, Your Grace. Our relationship is over and if you don’t annul our engagement then I will find a way to do it myself.”

Your threat washed away the obstinacy in Toru’s eyes and a haunting hollow look glossed over them. His hand released the chair he’d been holding onto for the majority of your encounter, and he dragged his feet towards the door.

He surprised you by stopping beside you, and for a moment, you believed he would take you into his arms once again and beg you to forgive him. Only, he didn’t.

“Read the letters I sent you. They contain everything I’ve ever wanted to tell you. Only then will I agree to put an end to our engagement.”

His words haunted you throughout the day up until the evening when you sat at your desk and traced the turquoise seal on one of Toru’s letters. It would have been so easy to break the seals and read through the letters but the thought of falling prey to his pretty words stopped you.

The following morning, the plan to end your engagement and save your family from ruin started with a package from the investigator you hired back in the country. Within it you pulled out pages and pages of information on all of the families of the aristocracy. The reports included the names and ages of the members, the business endeavors of each of the families, and the properties they owned. Other details were also included like their financial status, list of acquaintances, and town gossip.

Over the course of a week, you were able to go through each report and compile a list of potential families you could strike up a deal with. The longer you delved into the background of every family on that list, the shorter said list became until one last name stood out amongst the rest—Kageyama.

According to the report, Viscount Kageyama had been successful in his business endeavors over the last couple of years and it was all thanks to his prodigal son. At the young age of twenty-one, Tobio Kageyama was racking up accomplishments left and right with no sign of slowing down. With a military background like his father, he was an excellent athlete and hunter and won almost all of the competitions he participated in. It was his eye for business ventures and investments, however, that caught your attention and made him a possible marriage candidate.

Over the past three years, he’d managed to turn his family’s failing businesses into prosperous ones and used those profits to invest in other groundbreaking ventures. That was the sort of advice you and your father needed to turn your debts into profits and it just so happened that Tobio wasn’t engaged to anyone.

You found that odd.

For a young man of his age with an acceptable family background and a natural talent for business to be without a fiancée was unheard of. The mothers of society would never let a man like him slip past their radars so you sought to find out why.

Rummaging through his family’s report, you searched for the list of acquaintances hoping to find a mutual one that might give you more information on him. Your eyes stopped on a last name that you’d recognized from an invitation to a tea party that would take place in two days’ time.

Turning away from the document, you called out to the outspoken maid that always seemed to be in the room when you needed her. “What is your name?”

“It is Akane, my lady.” She replied with a deep curtsey. “How can I be of service?”

You smiled, thoroughly pleased with how quick-witted she was. “Send word to the Yachi estate letting them know I will be attending Lady Hitoka’s tea party.”

Akane’s eyes flitted to the table then back to you before a small smile played on her lips. “Right away, my lady.”

Hitoka Yachi was somewhat of an outcast in polite society despite her caring and gentle personality. Her mother was an outspoken countess in her own right that had married for love and, and as a result, Hitoka was an heiress—something that was frowned upon by most. The two of you had bonded over the fact that you both had lost a parent at a young age; she had lost her father and you’d lost your mother.

Over the course of the year, you’d exchanged a letter here and there with Hitoka, and she’d been kind enough to reach out when you returned. While you initially hadn’t planned on attending social events until you’d broken your engagement, you figured rekindling your relationship with Hitoka while garnering information on her friend, Tobio, wouldn’t be too bad.

The day of the tea party, you dressed in a simple cotton dress with small flowers printed on the fabric and had Akane sweep your hair into a simple updo. Since the death of your mother, maids had come and gone under the head maid’s strict supervision, but none of them had stood out like Akane. You found her a smart and observant girl that worked as your eyes and ears around the estate. For that reason, you decided to keep her close and had her accompany you during your outing.

The Yachi’s manor was located in the outskirts of town and gave off the appearance of a large country home while less than an hour away from town. It was a beautiful home surrounded by gardens that, in the spring, bloomed exquisite flowers of all shapes, shades, and sizes.

You were escorted to the rose garden by one of the manor’s butlers where Hitoka and another young woman were already seated at a table filled to the edge with pastries, bite-sized sandwiches, fruits, and a porcelain teapot with matching cups and saucers.

“Y/N!” Hitoka exclaimed and leapt to feet and took your hands into hers. “Oh, it’s been far too long!”

“It’s nice to see you again, Hitoka,” you replied earnestly. “Thank you for your wonderful letters this past year. They were a great comfort to me.”

A pretty blush dusted her cheeks. “I’m glad my silly letters had such a wonderful effect.”

She drew you to the table where her other guest was standing by. Upon closer inspection, the young woman’s distinct black shining hair and stormy blue eyes triggered your memory and her name resurfaced just as Hitoka introduced you.

“Kiyoko, this Y/N L/N.” Hitoka said, gesturing to you. “Y/N, this is Kiyoko Sawamura.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Kiyoko.”

“Likewise, Lady Y/N.” She replied, her voice quiet but firm.

The three of you took your seats and Hitoka took the lead in the conversation cluing you in on what they’d been discussing. You caught a couple of words here and there but your main focus was on the woman to your left.

Three years ago at her debut, Kiyoko Sawamura had been declared a diamond of the first water by the Queen herself and had caused quite a stir amongst all of the eligible bachelors at the time. As the only daughter of the Duke of Karasuno, not only was she stunningly gorgeous but she came from a noble family whose wealth and power surpassed even that of the Oikawa’s. Her engagement to Yuji Terushima, heir to the Marquess of Johzenji, had been the announcement of the year—at least until the annulment three months later.

Rumors ran rampant that summer over what had actually happened but they all lead back to a cheating scandal involving Yuji and a maid from his household. Of course, Kiyoko faced the brunt of the ordeal since Yuji fled society like a coward along with his maid who ended up pregnant with his child, but she never succumbed to the pressure and kept her head held high with the support of her family. The last piece of gossip you’d heard regarding Kiyoko was that she’d found love with the son of Baron Tanaka.

To say you admired the woman was an understatement; she was everything you wanted to be but never could. Where she had braved society, you had fled to the country for a year like a coward.

Hitoka’s cheery voice broke through your cloud of dark thoughts. “…he’s been trying to get Tobio to attend more social events for the past two years, and he finally succeeded! Tobio will be attending Viscount Udai’s ball this Saturday.”

“I told you if anyone would be able to convince him it would be Shoyo. After all, they are best friends whether they admit it or not,” Kiyoko replied before taking a sip of her tea.

“Tobio Kageyama will be attending a ball?” You muttered, mostly to yourself but Hitoka heard you and responded.

“Yes! Are you acquainted with him, Y/N?”

“No, I am not,” you admitted sheepishly and made up an excuse on the spot. “My father mentioned him the other day and spoke of his achievements.”

“He is very talented when it comes to making money, but I just wish he would let people see the other sides of him. He’s actually a kind person underneath his gruff exterior,” Hitoka lamented before changing the course of the conversation.

“Will you also be attending the ball with His Grace?”

You plastered a smile on your face and prayed it looked genuine. “I’m not sure if Toru will be able to attend but I certainly plan on it.”

Despite your relationship with Hitoka, the real reason behind your leave wasn’t something you disclosed to her or anyone else for that matter. You had already dealt with enough ridicule from being Toru’s slighted fiancée and had no desire to add more fuel to the fire by revealing the details behind his betrayal.

“He must be awfully busy these days. It’s been months since he has attended any large social gatherings.”

Your friend’s revelation was shocking to say the least, and the smile on your face faltered. Kiyoko’s sharp gaze immediately zeroed in on your face, but her scrutiny only lasted a second before it was gone.

“Ruling over a duchy is no easy feat. My father is very strict with my brother’s education.”

“Oh, how is Daichi these days? I saw Yui the other day at the modiste and…”

Hitoka’s chatter faded into the background and her revelation of Toru’s absence in society echoed in your head. You had expected Toru to take advantage of your absence to the fullest and yet he hadn’t. A single thought amidst the storm in your mind stood out amongst the rest, and your heart wavered.

Maybe he’s truly become a changed man.

And yet, the cursed image that had been branded in your mind returned and dashed away that hopeful thought, replacing it with a more cynical one.

Or maybe he’s just showing his devotion to his true love, the Marchioness.

For the remainder of the gathering, your mind continued to drift to and from the conversation until the refreshments were cleared and the sun began to set. After bidding the ladies farewell, you returned to your carriage with Akane following closely behind you.

“Akane, do we still have some of the tea leaves I brought with me from the country?”

“Yes, my lady. I daresay there is enough to give away.” Akane replied and you smiled before turning to face your perceptive maid and ally.

“Good. Have some packed and sent to Lady Hitoka and Lady Kiyoko.” You paused before adding, “and save some for yourself. You’ve earned it.”

While you could have easily waited until the Viscount’s ball to be introduced to Tobio, time was of the essence and you needed to set your plan in motion prior to meeting him. If everything went as planned and Tobio proved to be receptive to an agreement—be it one of marriage or not—then the ball would be the perfect place to present your terms and come to a verbal agreement.

With that in mind, you started drafting a letter to Tobio introducing yourself as Hitoka’s friend and provided him with a brief outline of what you wanted, offered, and how it would benefit him and his family. You reread the letter thrice and debated including the possibility of a marriage between the two of you. From what you’d gathered, Tobio Kageyama was a straightforward man that valued honesty, so you added it in while making it clear that it would be one of mutual respect. You knew it was risky sending a letter to a man who was no better than a stranger but it was a risk you were willing to take.

The couple of days prior to the ball you spent preoccupying your mind with business and family matters to steer your mind away from Tobio’s pending reply. It wasn’t until a day before the ball that Akane interrupted you to bring you your correspondence. There was a sealed letter and one short message that you picked up and read without a second thought.

 I will not ask to escort you to Viscount Udai’s ball as I do not deserve that honor. I only ask that you not deny me the first dance as your fiancé.

Yours,

Toru

 As much as you dreaded the idea of being in the same social function as Toru, let alone dancing with him, you had appearances to keep up and would have to permit it for propriety’s sake. You tried not to dwell too much on his intimate farewell address and shifted your gaze to the sealed letter, which upon closer inspection, had the Kageyama family crest pressed into the navy-blue wax. With trembling fingers, you broke the seal and unfolded the paper, ever eager to read its contents.

 Lady Y/N,

I was very surprised when I read your letter simply because I did not know who you were. Now that I am more familiar with you and your family, I am interested in your offer and would like to speak with you more at Viscount Udai’s gathering.

Until then,

Tobio Kageyama

 A sigh of relief left your lips. Your gamble had paid off and Tobio was considering your offer. If you played your cards right during your meeting then it would only be a matter of time before you would be free of Toru Oikawa while saving your family.

Your eyes stole a glance at Toru’s note. While you should have tossed the note into the fire, your fingers ran over the dry ink until they stopped at the word before his name. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you took his note and placed it inside the wooden box that contained his other letters.

According to Akane, Viscount Udai’s ball was rumored to be the grandest event of the season and when you stepped out of your carriage with Henry’s help and peered up at the bustling and glowing manor, you found no fault in her statement.

The ballroom was brightly illuminated with chandeliers of glass. Curtains and elaborate tapestries of white and gold lined the walls. White flowers of all sorts hung from the ceilings, lined the doors, and wrapped around columns. The room was something out of a fairytale and the people that filled it had all dressed the part. Glancing around the room, you searched for a familiar face only to hear your name called.

“Y/N!”

Hitoka stood on the other side of the ballroom surrounded by Kiyoko and other gentlemen you didn’t recognize. One of the gentlemen turned his head in your direction and stopped when he saw you. Approaching the small party, your attention remained fixed on the man whose midnight blue eyes were glued to your face with an intensity that unnerved you.

Hitoka’s gloved hands reached out to yours and drew you into the circle of people. Now facing the gentleman, his gaze softened slightly before it shifted to Hitoka.

“Y/N, this is Tobio Kageyama. He’s the man I was telling you about the other day.”

Hitoka’s hand patted Tobio’s upper arm before addressing him. “Tobio, this is Y/N L/N. She’s the friend that just arrived from the country.”

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lord.” You replied demurely and sank into a curtsey.

“Likewise, my lady.” Tobio’s reply was stiff but his bow was even stiffer and earned him an elbow to the ribs from the shorter man beside him.

Introductions to the other two gentlemen were made and you learned that the shorter man next to Tobio was none other than Shoyo Hinata, a famous jockey and son of a Baron. The man with a roguish grin next to Kiyoko turned out to be her fiancée, Ryunosuke Tanaka.

At that moment, the musicians took their seats and readied their instruments while the room exploded with young men and women finding their partners for the first dance. Your eyes swept over the room in a cursory glance, and to your relief, Toru was nowhere to be found.

Kiyoko and her fiancée left to the dance floor first. They were soon followed by Shoyo and Hitoka but not before the former shot Tobio a pointed look and gestured over to you with a tilt of his head. You found the jockey’s not-so-subtle indication amusing but played off having seen anything. Tobio cleared his throat and you turned your head to face him.

“May I have this dance, my—”

“No, you may not.”

Toru’s voice rang out from behind you. It had a hard-edged quality to it that you’d never heard and sent shivers down your spine. Before you could turn around, his hands settled on your hip and hand. The intimacy of the gesture left you stunned and unable to reject him.

“My fiancée has already promised me her first dance.”

Toru’s warm breath tickled your exposed neck and set your face aflame. Tobio shifted his weight and the action garnered your attention. His brow was furrowed as his eyes searched yours for an explanation you couldn’t give him.

Still in your stupor, Toru drew you away to the dance floor. You opened your mouth to say something but the music started and the couples around you bowed and curtseyed in greeting before they began to move.

The muted chatter around you, the soft music in the background, and Toru’s eyes, darker than usual, drinking in your appearance left you speechless. He looked as handsome as ever in his black tailcoat, golden waistcoat, tousled chocolate brown locks, straight nose, and a pink inviting mouth. Completely mesmerized by him, any ill-will you bore him became non-existent. You drowned in his dangerous pools of brown that disarmed you and left you bare. His touch burned through the fabric of your dress and gloves, branding you with his hands.

It was like the first time you ever danced with him only it wasn’t. Where butterflies had once fluttered about in your stomach, waves of something now swirled within you and pooled at your core. It was terrifying and yet you wanted more. So when the piece came to an end and Toru’s ragged breath fanned on your face, you tilted your head hoping he would close the gap.

Except he didn’t. You didn’t let him because across the room was the face of the last person you wanted to see—the Marchioness.

Her face held no malice as she watched you but she looked almost relieved and it shook you to your core.

“My love.” Toru’s voice came out as a hoarse whisper. “W-what is it?”

You didn’t answer him. Your eyes remained fixed on the marchioness. Her brow furrowed ever so slightly before turning towards one of the doors. She took three steps before turning back to face you and then she continued until she disappeared from the ballroom.

Toru reached for your hand but you side-stepped him and dashed out of the room; your name blending in with the music and chatter the further you got.

The corridors were dimly lit compared to the ballroom but you could still make out the marchioness’s silhouette in the distance. Her pale face turned to you before walking further away and entering a room. You bounded down the hallway until you reached the room and found the marchioness standing before a large French window. The room was dark except for the moonlight that spilled in and illuminated the center of the room.

“Close the door.”

You hesitated before reaching for the double doors and pushing them until you heard a click. Turning around you found the marchioness already watching you. She was as beautiful as ever with her porcelain skin, golden curls styled fashionably, and rosebud mouth. Her cat-like eyes softened in a way you’d never seen before—not even when she pretended to be your friend and ally.

“Why did you appear before me? What do you want?”

“Technically you appeared before me. This is my home after all,” She replied, a hint of mirth in her voice.

You staggered back. “W-what do you mean?”

“I remarried and am now Viscountess Udai.”

“I-I don’t…why?” Your feet took you forward until you were an arm’s length away from her. “What about Toru? I saw you with him…the two of you…that day.”

She sighed and turned her head, fixing her eyes on the wooden desk beside her. “That is the reason I had you follow me here. It’s high time I confess my sins to you.”

Her eyes looked back at you and the whirlwind of emotions swirling in them left you stunned. In the months you got to know her you knew her to be a charming but cold woman, so seeing her so vulnerable shook you to your core.

“Since I was a girl, I had always envied Toru. He had two parents that adored him and did everything in their power to ensure his happiness. My parents were the exact opposite and sold me off to the highest bidder when I was just sixteen. My late husband was a beast of a man that was forty years my senior. He had poor health but an even worse temper and wouldn’t hesitate to beat me until I passed out from the pain. It was then that Toru lost his parents in an accident, and I started to use him to make myself feel better. I tried manipulating him into thinking I was the only person who could be by his side. That I could be his friend, lover, and family. It worked for a while but when Toru started drifting away from my hold…”

Her voice that had been growing thicker with emotion broke down. Sobs wracked from her body as she slipped off her black lace glove. Under the moonlight you could make out pale scars on the underside of her forearm.

“I started to hurt myself and that kept him by my side until he met you.”

Your chest tightened painfully and tears stung your eyes but you didn’t let them fall.

“He needed a wife to fulfil his mother’s wish and I picked you for him. I believed he would remain loyal to me, but I was wrong. Day by day, Toru fell more in love with you and left me behind. When he received your father’s blessing to officially propose, I was so desperate to hold on to him that I lied to him. I promised to let him go after your marriage if he neglected you during your engagement. But that night in the garden, he declared his unyielding love for you, and I did everything I could to kill that love.”

She wiped away her tears while you let yours fall. She took a couple of deep breaths whereas a ball lodged itself inside your throat and blocked the air.

“I dare not ask for forgiveness. I only ask that you not blame Toru for my sins.”

Unable to utter a word, you managed a solemn nod before turning your heel and leaving the room. The darkness of the corridor left you hollow, the noise from the ballroom rang painfully in your ears, and the air around you was stifling. Everything about the place was suffocating, so instead of returning to the ball, you rounded the corner and left.

Upon exiting your carriage, you ignored everyone and bounded up the stairs to your bedroom before locking the door and forbidding entry for anyone. Heaving from the exertion, you lunged for the wooden box on your nightstand and set it on your desk with a thud. After taking a seat, you lit a candlestick and took out the first of twelve letters.

With trembling hands, you finally broke the turquoise seal and unfolded the paper to read Toru’s side of the story.

After you read the letters once, you sobbed into your hands until the candlestick burned out. You reread them and cursed yourself for being so oblivious—so blind—to the pain in his heart. The third time, your heart swelled with affection for your father who did everything he could to ensure you would be happy with Toru prior to allowing the proposal to take place. The fourth time, you pulled out a piece of paper and wrote to Tobio rescinding your offer and offering your most sincere apologies. By the time you finished rereading the twelfth letter for the fifth time, the birds outside were chirping signaling dawn.

You stood up abruptly and glanced out the window to find the rose-colored light of the sun’s rays peeking over the horizon.

I have to see him.

After washing your face, you discarded your ball gown in favor of a simple cotton dress and a woolen shawl. You picked up the letter addressed to Tobio and opened the door.

Akane, who had evidently been sleeping at your door, tumbled backwards and rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

“Oh! A-apologies, my lady, but I waited to see if you needed anything and…”

You crouched down and helped the girl up to her feet. “Thank you, Akane, for everything you do. You are my most treasured ally.”

Her caramel-colored eyes welled up with tears that she wiped away with her sleeve. “H-how can I help you, my lady?”

You handed her the letter. “Have this sent to the Kageyama estate as soon as possible. Also let my father know that I will not be cancelling my engagement.”

Akane’s eyes lingered on your coat and a smile played on her lips as she replied, “right away, my lady.”

Outside the confines of your home, you breathed in the cool morning air and bolted down the white stone steps, setting off for Toru’s estate. Trudging through the grass and kicking up the rocks of your front lawn, you were full of energy despite not having slept a wink. The negative emotions that had weighed you down since your engagement were lifted and all you could think about was Toru. You wanted to drink in the sight of him, touch his face, run your fingers through his hair, and wrap your arms around him never to let go.

Your front gate eventually came to view, but before that, the backside of a man standing near your family’s fountain appeared and your breath caught in your throat.

Tall, broad shoulders underneath a black coat, and wind-swept brown hair, you knew who it was before he turned around.

Toru’s velvet brown eyes widened and his lips parted at the sight of you. He looked perfectly disheveled in his plain white shirt, unbuttoned, and exposing his chest, and grey trousers that looked like they’d seen better days. Like a moth to a flame, you drew closer until he was in front of you.

“I-I had to see you,” he admitted. “You disappeared from the ball and—”

“She told me…what actually happened.”

His eyes widened. “I must tell you—”

You reached for his hands, not able to hold back any longer. “You already have.” You brushed your thumbs against his knuckles and felt his pulse quicken. “I read your letters…multiple times.”

“I’m sorry, truly,” he breathed.

“I know, and I’m sorry as well. I should’ve given you a chance to explain. I should’ve read them sooner.” You released his hands and stared into his eyes, lips trembling. “If I’m too late an—”

His mouth descended upon yours in a kiss that silenced the words on your tongue. His oh-so- soft lips felt like satin on yours and you melted into his arms that wrapped around you and drew you closer to him. The swirling heat in your core returned and you wrapped your arms around his back, eager to see where the sensation led you.

Toru broke away from the kiss first, leaning his forehead against yours and taking in shallow ragged breaths. A whine escaped your lips and the embarrassing noise set your cheeks aflame. Toru laughed and pressed a chaste kiss to the tip of your nose.

“Patience, my love. We have the rest of our lives for this.” He assured you and drew you into a loving embrace.

His sweet words sounded like a promise to your ears and tears of joy prickled your eyes from simply imagining your future with Toru, the man you loved and had never stopped loving.

[sirtwentyofhousegoodmen]

Arcturus's birth XD

December 19th, 1900

"Keep up that tapping and see what happens, boy. Married man or not, you're still my son—and not so old I won't put you over my knee."

Sirius' head shot up at the rebuke, and, his cheeks flushed red in mortification.

"Apologies, father," he said, uneasily, taking a not insignificant sip of brandy, and promptly choking on it.

"Oh my," Sirius wiped off the droplets of brandy from his sleeve, "That'll put hair on your chest, eh?”

“The way you’re drinking it, you’ll have a Persian rug on yours by the day’s end—Do you want your son’s first impression of his father to be that of a lush?”

“Father, his son won’t bloody remember any first impression,” Arcturus groused, far too impudently. His second son, still holding that grudge over his parents deigning to conceive him after his elder brother, was in something of a mood today. The brandy hadn’t helped much to curb his tongue either.

Phineas narrowed his eyes. “Speak to me that way again, boy—Go on, do it.”

Immediately looking contrite upon realizing he’d actually said that out loud, Arcturus bowed his head. “Forgive me, father—I’m afraid the brandy’s taken hold of my tongue.”

“See that it doesn’t take hold of any more of you.”

His son gave him a sharp nod, obediently putting down his glass of brandy onto the table.

Idiots.

As if on cue, the drawing room door opened to reveal Belvina, his only daughter, as well as the only one of his children he actually liked. Well, Cygnus was passingly tolerant on occasion, but other than that the boy was dimmer than a burnt out lamp.

His girl, he thought, his chest swelling with pride as she walked in—Only fourteen and she’d grown as beautiful as her mother, and just as dutiful. Ursula would’ve been proud, God rest her soul.

“Papa,” Belvina leaned down to kiss him on the cheek, then proceeded to do the same with all her brothers, though far less enthusiastically. His children got on with each other about as well as he did with the underbred professors he was forced to employ at Hogwarts.

“Bev,” He smiled up at her, indulgently. “Any news from upstairs, dearest?”

Belvina shrugged, haughtily. The girl seemed to find the mere idea of Sirius’s wife a grave offense against their family, and had remained cool and detached from any talk of the pregnancy. “As far as I know, nothing. Just more moaning and groaning from Lady Gamp.”

“Don’t call her that.”

At the retort from her eldest brother, the girl of fourteen turned her nose up in a perfect imitation of her paternal grandmother. “I’ll call her what I please, seeing as this is my house, after all. She’s only a visitor.”

Sirius sputtered, indignant. “She’s giving birth to my son!”

“I wasn’t aware that made her a resident of this house,” The girl replied, smirking in that way she knew got Sirius’s back up.

“Still, dear,” Phineas said, as if every word were being forcibly pulled from his mouth—he hated having to defend the sickly girl his son shamed them all with, but whether he liked it or not, she was the wife of the family heir. That earned her some measure of respect, however miniscule it was. “Hesper is your brother’s wife—meaning she’s part of the family.”

Belvina, embarrassed at the rare rebuke from her father, however light it might have been, pouted.

“Just go upstairs and play with Phin, Belvina,” Arcturus said, ashing his cigar. “All this smoke can’t be good for a young girl such as yourself.”

Belvina huffed, lazily twisting a black curl around her finger as she indecorously plopped down onto a wingback chair. “All he wants to do is read that muggle rubbish those mudblood friends of his gave him—and even if he didn’t, he’s eleven. Not a terribly interesting age, I’m afraid.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “You’re fourteen.”

Phineas chuckled, warmly. “An old soul, our Bev,” He leaned in close to Arcturus, who jumped as if he’d only just remembered his father was sat next to him. “Go upstairs and tell Phineas that the next time I see him reading something, it’d better be his schoolwork. Don’t think I’ve forgotten that ‘A’ in transfiguration.”

Arcturus nodded, curtly, before shooting up from his seat and briskly making his way out of the drawing room. He’d be married soon, his second son—the marriage contract with the Yaxleys had been finalized only last week. He wasn’t overly fond of his intended, but at least he was doing what he was told. If Phineas had to deal with another scandalous marriage this lifetime, he’d wander into the forbidden forest and let whatever manner of eldritch beasts lurked in those woods put him out of his misery.

Before long, the doors of the drawing room once again opened, this time to reveal the portly healer that had been assisting with the new heir’s birth.

“Well, Mr. Black—congratulations are in order: You have a son.”

Sirius shot up from his seat on the chaise, sending his glass of brandy toppling to the floor, where it shattered into hundreds of pieces. Belvina, seeing this, rolled her eyes before brandishing her wand and muttering a quick reparo.

Sirius, too ecstatic over the birth of his son to notice either of these things, rushed to the healer’s side. “Hesper, is she—“

“The birth went swimmingly—about as well as these things go, in my line of work.” The healer smiled, kindly. “Mrs. Black is fine—tired, of course, but the process was much less difficult than we thought it would be for her. All she’ll need is a few day’s bed rest.”

Someone could’ve walked up to his son and told him he’d won all the gold in the world, and the smile on his face wouldn’t have been comparable to the one he was sporting now.

Phineas pursed his lips—At least Sirius was happy with his wife, questionable match aside. And the girl had given them an heir after only two years of marriage.

He shook his head at the abnormally softhearted thoughts—his first grandsons’ birth must have been making him especially sentimental.

“Congratulations, my boy,” Phineas graced his eldest son with a rare smile, raising his glass of brandy to him. “Now, what are you still doing in here? Go see to your son!”

His eldest didn’t need to be told twice, and he all but sprinted from the drawing room, leaving only Phineas and Belvina for a few minutes of an actually comfortable silence, until Arcturus came back with an irate Phineas in tow.

His youngest scrunched up his nose at the smell. “Do you need to smoke those every time one of us is born?”

Phineas shrugged. “It’s part of being a man, boy. It’d be prudent of you to educate yourself in that instead of whatever muggle dreck you’re engrossed in.” He smirked when he saw Belvina nod in approval at his words from her seat, sparing her younger brother a smirk of superiority.

His namesake rolled his eyes, imprudently. “It’s not dreck, father—it’s Blake.”

Phineas raised his eyebrows, surprised—the name was known to him. “Poetry? Well,” he shifted in his seat, “I suppose there are worse things. Still, you’ve no business getting wrapped up in poetry of all things when you damn well know you’ve schoolwork to do over Christmas break. I should know,” he took a sip from his glass, “I am your headmaster, after all.”

The younger Phineas snorted. “As if I could forget.”

Before he could even form a response to that supremely insolent reply, Sirius chose that moment to peek his head through the doorway, his newborn son in his arms.

“Everyone,” Sirius said, practically preening, “I should like you all to acquaint yourselves with my son: Arcturus Sirius Black.”

Arcturus—the elder now, apparently—who’d been moodily poking at the ash that had gathered with his cigar, spun around to face his elder brother, his eyes almost comically wide. “Arcturus Sirius?”

Sirius smiled at his younger brother—for all Arcturus’ resentment of his elder brother, Sirius had never minded overmuch, even sympathizing with him to a degree. “Yes, ‘Rus. I named him for you, my dearest brother.”

Arcturus, still gaping like a fish, could only open and close his mouth repeatedly. “I—You—Why,” he let out a harsh breath, then flushed scarlet to the tips of his ears, clearly beyond uncomfortable. “Thank you, Sirius. I’m...honored,” he finally said, though it sounded more a question than a statement.

Belvina, meanwhile, had taken advantage of her older brother’s stammering and gone to stand beside Sirius, evaluating the newest Black with her sharp eyes. In the light of the fire, he could see them soften slightly, and she even graced her nephew with a small smile when he let out a slight coo.

Sirius, called to attention by his son, finally took notice of his sister and started slightly.

“Merlin, Bev—announce yourself next time, why don’t you?”

Belvina shrugged, carelessly, before looking up to meet her brother’s eyes. “Well done, brother—every inch a Black, he is.”

Sirius blinked, then smiled, his face not dissimilar to a master carpenter’s when congratulated on his newest project. “Thank you, Bev. He takes after his mother more, though,” The fact seemed to please his son even more, even Belvina’s slight sneer at the mention of his wife wasn’t enough to dampen his spirits.

“Father, Phin—won’t you come meet little Archie?”

Phineas stood up from his chair, and after directing a glare at him—got his insolent namesake to do the same.

Peering down at the bundle in Sirius’s arms, Phineas smiled—a perfect Black specimen, indeed. The boy’s face was red and his features had yet to make themselves known, but the grey eyes and the thin wisps of black hair were more than enough to tell who he was. Rather strangely, the boy barely fussed—aside from the occasional coo, he didn’t look to be on the verge of tears at any moment. In fact, if Phineas didn’t know any better, he’d say the child was outright scowling.

“How odd,” Phineas Nigellus said, continuing to stare down at the strange babe.

“Is he always this quiet?” His youngest son asked, petulantly.

Sirius raised an eyebrow, dryly. “I wouldn’t know, Phin—I’ve only known him for ten minutes, after all. But he is rather quiet, isn’t he?” He turned to his father. “Would you like to hold him, father?”

Phineas Nigellus nodded, and accepted the boy into his arms, with the added benefit of his eldest having the temerity to try and instruct him on how to properly hold him.

As if he hadn’t already had five children.

“You’re an odd one, aren’t you?” Phineas Nigellus told the scowling boy, then, while he was brushing his finger alongside his cheek, the boy opened his mouth and clamped down on it—hard.

“Merlin’s beard!” Phineas Nigellus cursed, to the immense amusement of his sons if the childish snickering he heard around him was any indication. Hell, even Belvina was laughing.

Sirius, on the other hand, was mortified, and moved to take the boy from his father’s arms while the Black patriarch nursed his pride.

“The boy bit me!”

Sirius’s face was pale as a ghost. “Father—I’m so sorry, I’m sure Archie didn’t mean it. He’s only a baby after all.”

Phineas Nigellus narrowed his eyes, still smarting. “I suppose,” he spat out the words with the utmost venom, and he could swear the boy was actually glaring at him. “Be sure to teach the runt some manners—or he’ll run roughshod over you and that slip of a mother he’s got.” He glared at the baby in Sirius’s arms. “Impudent whelp.”

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Tuesday 24 January 1837

8

1 ¼

No kiss A- took 2 teaspoon of Epsom salts in ½ glass tumbler of hot water with a teaspoon of brandy and seems very much better this morning – soft hazy morning F42 ½° at 9 am – breakfast at 9 25 – A- read French Mr. SW- came for the coal-plan just before breakfast, but I did not see or hear more of him – at my desk a little while looking over Holt’s account received 31 August last – out before 11 – a little while with the gardener and Joseph Booth thinning out young oaks in the walk – then at Mytholm with Robert Mann + 3 (his son David Samuel Booth and Jack Green) getting stone for the rough walling near the glen bridge – Robert thought George Beech would be well paid at 13/. per week – 12/. as much as he deserved – the Manns have men pulling up (at the vent pits) at 2/. a day and work 12 hours per day – then looked about (with Mawson) at the Stump X Inn, and about the old Staups barn – and for site of cottage in the garden – M- would get the stone down from Northowram at 4/. per rood – he said 2 rooms (chamber height) and a back place should let for £5 a year – would like the cottage to be built because Longbottom would not then have make a footpath from Staups across Mawsons field to the garden – M- seemed as if he would like me to build 3 or 4 cottages on the site of the old barn – would be built for £70 each and let for £5 a piece – then took M- to see the Lodge road and tell me what he would do it for – explained about the Godley road-drift – M- thinks both the town and the commoners will be willing for me to do it – I said M- must explain at the Towns’ meeting to be held on Thursday – they ought to help me – I only asked them to fill and cart me the stuff from where the miners bring it out to form an embankment just below the Lodge – M- said the filling would be worth per yard cube 2 ½d and the carting as much = 5d per yard cube - £15 would do the town’s job – pointed out the way to get the stuff up from the road – a good burr wall (3ft. wide in the bottom) to be brought up along with the stuff – the stone for it to come from Mytholm quarry – M- would get them (face-measure of the wall) at 8d. per square yard and cart them at the same = 8x2x7 = 9/4 + 3/6 per rood (7 yards long x 1 yard high) = 12/10 per rood M- would cover the Lodge road (four yards wide) with 10in. thick of rubble

at 15 /2 per rood forwards

that would take (about 7 ½ yards cube) of rubble per rood of 7 yards long x 4 yards broad and the stone at the delf = per yard cube 6d.

ditto carting = 1/. and breaking 8d   = 2/2.

2/2 x 7 ½ yards = 16/3

we calculated that the small stone and rubbish from Staups old barn would do about 9 roods and these nine M- would do at 11/. per rood – M- would do the back Lodge road 4 yards wide and 12in. thick of rubble for 17/. per rood – would do all the drains (10in. drains) at 4/6 per rood – said I would give him an answer in writing before I left home, if I considered for him to have the job –the roads to be done in June – and thought of covering them (4in. thick) with [?] the summer following (1838) – on leaving M- (about 2pm) with the gardener planting fine young oaks in the glen above the bridge, and planted 2 young maples and one stripling mountain ash on the home embankment above the rock-bridge, - till came in at 5 25 – dressed – spoke to George Beech – his expense coming here 25/. – told him to consider whether to stay or not and let me have his answer on Thursday morning – I should not give him more than 12/. a week for the next six months – and then 13/. a week if I heard of good report of him, and I should not exceed 13/. per week till I was satisfied he was worth more – dinner at 6 40 – tea, instead of Halifax bad coffee – Note from Mr. Parker with Mr. Graham’s receipt for the £500 and asking particulars of the little marsh farm in order to make out the lease – Letter again that I sent back last night directed to ‘Mrs. E. Lister Halifax’ ‘no such person in H-x try Shibden hall’ written in red ink – opened the letter – not for me – from the legacy office – claiming legacy duty on the property of a W. Lister and calling attention to their letter to the party sent last July – I have nothing to do with all this – read tonight’s London paper – finish soft hazy day – tho’ a hour’s rain or more from about 11 ¾ to 1 or a little after – F40° at 10 ¾ pm had just written so far at 11 ½ pm

[banashee]

I wasn't tagged but @sinister--potato said who feels like it should join in so here I am. 😁

Rules: you can usually tell a lot about a person by the type of music they listen to. put your favourite playlist on shuffle and list the first ten songs then tag ten people!

And once again I'm having too much fun to stop at 10.

Also I'm tagging whoever wants to do this, as well as you Folks (no pressure tho)

@stufenlosregelbar @asamandra @hopelessly-me @lilolilyr @spectralarchers @cruciatusforeplay

1) The Longest Johns - "Ashes"

2) Wardruna - "Helvegen"

4) Lebanon Hanover - "Hard Drugs (Qual Remix)

5) The Last Dance - "Frozen"

6) The Devil and the Universe - "Black Harvest"

7) The Weekend - "Blinding Lights"

8) Boy Harsher - "Pain"

9) Clan of Xymox - "It's all a lie"

10) Bauhaus - "Telegram Sam"

11) The Mechanisms - "Laid in Blood"

12) Lacuna Coil - "End of Time"

13) New Today - "Savior dot com"

14) Frayle - "If you Stay"

15) Lebanon Hanover - "Gallowdance"

16) The Beauty of Gemina - "Trapped"

17) The Mechanisms - "Sigyn"

18) Project Pitchfork - "Drums of Death"

19) The Real McKenzies - "Old Becomes New"

20) The Mechanisms - "Sunrise"

21) Lebanon Hanover - "Dark Hill"

22) Clan of Xymox - "Stranger"

23) Sunrise and the Banshees - "The Killing Jar"

24) The Cure - "Hey You"

25) Faith and the Muse - "Plaguedance"

26) The Sisters of Mercy - "Body and Soul"

27) Lebanon Hanover - "Petals"

28) Lebanon Hanover - "Du Scrollst"

29) Rammstein - "Sonne"

30) Fields of the Nephilim - "Last Exit for the Lost"

31) The Beauty of Gemina - "Kingdom of Cancer"

32) Brandi Carlile - "What can I say"

33) The Wailin' Jennys - "Keep me in your heart"

34) This Cold Night - "Self-deception"

35) Project Pitchfork - "Contract"

36) Bootblacks - "Gone"

37) Murder by Death - "The Big Sleep"

38) Wind Rose - "To Erebor"

39) Siouxsie and the Banshees - "Cities in Dust"

40) Amon Amarth - "Live for the Kill"

41) The Invincible Spirit - "Push!"

42) Clan of Xymox - "Weak in my knees"

43) The Mechanisms - "Pellinore and the beast"

44) Ashbury Heights - "Hollow"

45) Lady Gaga - "Dance in the Dark"

46) Paralysed Age - "Days that are gone"

47) Paradise Lost - "Symbol of Life"

48) The Longest Johns - "Wellerman"

49) Creux Lies - "Virginity"

50) Whispering Sons - "Waste"

51) New Today - "Girl High"

52) Editors - "No Sound but the wind"

53) She Past Away - "Sanri (Clan of Xymox Mix)

54) Xmal Deutschland - "Incubus Succubus II"

55) Project Pitchfork - "Timekiller"

56) Lebanon Hanover - "Hollow Sky"

57) The Last Dance - "Winter"

58) Selofan - "Black Box"

59) Specimen - "Wake the dead"

60) Then Comes Silence - "Animals"

61) The Sisters of Mercy - "Burn"

62) The Beauty of Gemina - "This Time"

63) Depeche Mode - "No More"

64) The Beauty of Gemina - "Haddon Hall"

65) The Devil and the Universe - "Belief Manipulation"

66) Melodicka Bros - "Enjoy the Silence (way too loud)

67) This Cold Night - "Time Bomb"

68) Switchblade Symphony - "Bad Trash"

69) (nice) The Mechanisms - "Rose Red"

70) Faith and the Muse - "Patience Worth (Piano Version)

71) Diva Destruction - "The Broken Ones"

72) Diva Destruction - "Dance Remix of Trees"

73) Lebanon Hanover - "Hall of ice"

74) Generation X - "Dancing with myself"

75) Creux Lies - "Tsavo"

76) Wind Rose - "We were warriors"

77) The Sisters of Mercy - "Dominion/Mother Russia"

78) Faithful Dawn - "She Falls down"

79) The Longest Johns - "Geberal Taylor"

80) The Real McKenzies - "The Ballad of Greyfriars Bobby"

81) Drab Majesty - "Forget Tomorrow"

82) Deine Lakaien - "The Executioner"

83) Clan of Xymox - "Louise"

84) The Last Dance - "Desperately Still"

85) The Cure - "Plainsong"

86) Clan of Xymox - "She is falling in love"

87) Soft Kill - "On the inside"

88) Amon Amarth - "The Hero"

89) Drab Majesty - "Kissing the Ground"

90) Cold Cave - "Life Magazine"

91) The Sisters of Mercy - "Marian"

92) Assemble 23 - "Outsider"

93) Nightwish - "Dead Boys Poem"

94) Dynazty - "The Man and the Elements"

95) The Real McKenzies - "Too Many Fingers"

96) Lebanon Hanover - "Gravity Sucks"

97) Specimen - "Lovers"

98) Jeremy Renner - "Stereo Love"

99) Queen - "Bohemian Rhapsody"

100) Social Station - "All I ask"

101) die ärzte - "Geisterhaus"

102) Social Station - "Endlessly"

103) Kirlian Camera - "Celephias"

104) ES23 - "Only Melodies Remain"

105) Wardruna - "Kvitravn"

106) Volbeat - "The Devils Bleeding Crown"

107) Faith and the Muse - "Rise and Forget"

108) Sopor Aeternus - "Beautiful"

109) Faith and the Muse - "The Woman of the Snow"

110) Wardruna - "Thurs"

111) Sopor Aeternus - "Goodbye"

112) The Sisters of Mercy - "Train"

113) This Cold Night - "Dog"

114) Paradise Lost - "Primal"

115) Danheim - "Hringras"

116) Amon Amarth - "On a sea of blood"

117) Vandal Moon - "Computer Love"

118) Paradox Obscur - "Broken Lies"

119) Paralysed Age - "Your coldest smile"

120) Whispers in the Shadow - "The Rites of Passage"

121) Delphine Coma - "Is this forever"

122) Brandi Carlile - "I'll still be there"

123) She pleasures herself - "The Weeping"

124) The Devil and the Universe - "Elousa"

125) Ashbury Heights - "Cry Havoc"

126) The Beauty of Gemina - "June 2nd"

127) Hapax - "A Tank for Alex"

128) Clan of Xymox - "Heroes (Cover)"

129) Faith and the Muse - "A Winter Wassail"

130) Lacuna Coil - "Kill the Light"

131) The Beauty of Gemina - "Suicide Landscape"

132) Bootblacks - "New Lines"

133) Deine Lakaien - "Because Because"

134) Clan of Xymox - "All I ever know"

135) The Beauty of Gemina - "Wonders"

136) Lebanon Hanover - "No one holds hands"

137) The Mechanisms - "Underworld Blues"

138) Faith and the Muse - "Scars Flown Proud"

139) die ärzte - "Der Graf"

140) Faith and the Muse - "Denn die Toten reiten schnell"

141) Whispering Sons - "Fragments"

142) Inkubus Sukkubus - "Memento Mori"

143) Wardruna - "IngwaR"

144) Boy Harsher - "Come Closer"

145) Danheim - "imar"

146) Drab Majesty - "Hath no Form"

147) Echoberyl - "Into the beyond"

148) Inkubus Sukkubus - "Beltaine"

149) Volbeat - "Mr. & Mrs. Ness"

150) Clan of Xymox - "Home sweet home"

151) This Cold Night - "Circuits"

152) Alien Sex Fiend - "Now I'm feeling zombified"

153) Spear of Destiny - "Liberator"

154) The Last Dance - "World Down"

155) Diva Destruction - "Subterfuge"

156) Esoterik - "Set Fire to me"

157) Tribulation - "Cauda Pavonis"

158) Esoterik - "Cup of Life"

159) Leo - "Monstermash (Metal Version)

160) Epica - "Our Destiny"

161) Nightwish - "Wishmaster Live"

162) Lebanon Hanover - "Your Fork Moves"

163) Brotherhood - "Rain"

164) Twin Tribes - "Upir"

165) Kamelot - "Under Grey Skies"

166) Paralysed Age - "Nocturne"

167) She Past Away - "Ritüel"

168) Twin Tribes - "Avalon (Bootblacks Mix)"

169) Bella Morte - "Dead of Night"

170) Drab Majesty - "Entrance and Exits"

171) Pink Turns Blue - "Your Master is calling"

172) Soviet Soviet - "Ecstasy"

173) Suspiria - "Graveyard of the undead"

174) The Cure - Just like heaven

175) Kamelot - "Abandoned (live)"

176) Amon Amarth - "Blood Eagle"

177) The Sisters of Mercy - "1969"

178) Pink Turns Blue - "Walking on both sides"

179) Shad Shadows - "The Grace"

180) Plastique Noir - "Rose of Flesh and Blood"

181) Epica - "Unchain Utopia"

182) Pink Turns Blue - Missing You

183) The Last Dance - "Regret"

184) Rosetta Stone - "Come Hell or high water"

185) Beast in Black - "No Easy Way Out"

186) Bauhaus - "Hollow Hills"

187) Breaking Benjamin - "Breath"

188) Vandal Moon - "We are electric"

189) Lyca - "Drifting"

190) Lebanon Hanover - "Bring your own wine"

191) Saigon Blue Rain - "Pearly Haze"

192) The Other - "Skeletons in the Closet"

193) Eluveitie - "Belenos"

194) Box and the Twins - "Lovesong for a Ghost"

195) Wind Rose - "Diggy Diggy Hole"

196) The Cure - "A Forest"

197) The Other - "Back to the Cemetery"

198) Storm Weather Shanty Choir - "A Hundred Years"

199) Box and the Twins - "Gravity"

200) Ash Code - "Empty Room"

[septicstories]

A/N: For some unfathomable reason, I get some fantasy BNHA vibe from the song, Ophelia by the Lumineers. not even the lyrics. Like, the instrumental. It also, for some reason, gives me such an intense feeling of nostalgia that it sort of makes me want to cry? And I don’t know why? Actually wait. Seeing that this song is from the same guys who performed “Ho Hey” that makes a bunch of sense. Okay, anyways, I’m just gonna write a Kiribaku fantasy thing. Just some fluff, nothing super major.

I, I, when I was younger

“Kacchan! Quit running off! Your mother is bound to be worried sick!”

“Shut up, Deku! I’m gonna be fucking fine! C’mon!”

“Kacchan!”

The two young boys ran through the forests. Katsuki had recently turned twelve, given his first sword. Nothing fancy, just a small cutlass. In a week, he’d get his very first tattoo. But only if he collected an animal’s blood. 

Easiest way to do that?

Kill it and bring it back to his village.

I, I, should have known better

“Uh, Kacchan? Do you see that?” the younger green haired boy asked.

Katsuki glanced in the direction, seeing that there was a pair of bright red wings popping out of the bushes.

“Is that a dragon?” the green haired boy whispered.

“No one’s ever had dragon blood for their tattoo before!” Katsuki whispered back with a feral grin.

The grin was odd and misshapen, something he didn’t do often. It hadn’t quite grown on the ash blond yet.

“Oi! Dragon! Show yourself!”

Katsuki took his cutlass, slicing through the bush. As the leaves and branches from the bush fell, the front of the dragon was revealed.

And I can't feel no remorse

A black haired boy looked up at him with big red eyes. A pair of horns protruded from his forehead, their base a bright red. A tail stuck out of the other side of the bush, also bright red.

“Sorry! No hurt, please,”

Katsuki dropped his cutlass to the ground.

A dragon shifter.

They were a rare species, only two thousand known in the world throughout time. 

“Are you hurt?” the green haired boy popped up beside Katsuki.

“Uh... wings. Stuck. Help?”

“Come with me afterward,” Katsuki said firmly.

“Huh?! Kacchan?! What are you doing?”

“Shut the fuck up, Deku,”

The boys freed the dragon shifter before Katsuki led him back to his parent’s castle.

“Oi, hag! Bring us a medic!” Katsuki yelled into the castle, kicking a door open.

“For fuck’s sake, Katsuki! Did you hurt Izuku aga--”

Queen Mitsuki entered the room, ready to whoop her son’s ass, only to find her son and the boy she called her nephew in perfect health. A third boy with dragon wings, scales, and horns, however, was not.

“Oh. Uhm... hello,” she said calmly.

The dragon boy gave a bow as Mitsuki called for a few medics.

And you don't feel nothing back

“Kacchan, it’s so weird for you to help someone like that. What about your tattoo?”

“Dumbass. Don’t you know that dragon shifters are a rare species? If I fucking killed one, I’d die, for sure. I’d be hunted down. And it felt... different. Like I couldn’t kill them, even if they weren’t a dragon shifter. I... they feel different,”

Katsuki sat outside of the infirmary where the dragon boy stayed.

Behind the door, the shifter had sat, listening. That was something he was good at. Listening. He didn’t know what most of it meant. He didn’t speak their language. Hell, he rarely spoke.

But hearing what the ash blond boy had to say made him feel weird. His tail thumped against the cot he sat on, a happy chirp leaving his mouth.

When Katsuki came back to see the dragon shifter, he was pounced on, happy chirping noises escaping his mouth. 

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Master! Teach fight!”

“What?! Master?”

“You save me. I stay until I save,”

Katsuki sat there, baffled. A dragon shifter wants to be his? And a cute one at that?

“So, you wanna know how to fight, huh?”

I, I, got a new girlfriend

“No fucking way, really?” Katsuki was snapped from his memories by Sero gawking at the drunken purple haired bard.

“Mhm! She’s super duper pretty,” she slurred happily. “She’s a princess!”

“Congrats!” Mina, the pink haired barkeep said with a smile.

“Oh, it’s Princess Yaoyorozu, right?” Tenya asked, sipping lightly from his glass of wine.

“Mhm! Momo is so great,” Jirou beamed.

Katsuki rolled his eyes, scoffing at Jirou’s words.

She feels like he's on top

The dragon prince-- no, king-- had changed greatly since he met the dragon shifter, Eijirou.

Katsuki’s original kingdom was attacked, his family and his people killed. It was bloody and traumatizing. He actually needed saving from Eijirou.

But he never left.

And I don't feel no remorse

“Oh! Katsuki!” Eijirou tugged on the king’s cape. “Look! Miss Frog brought her wife!”

He looked behind the bar to see Ochaco and Tsuyu, smiling sweetly at each other.

“Get a room!”

Denki and Sero laughed beside Katsuki before Ochaco flipped him off.

And you can't see past my blinders

“Ochaco, relax, kero,” Tsuyu mumbled.

“Yeah, Katsu’s just jealous that he can’t have what we have,” Ochaco said with a smile, pressing a kiss to her girlfriend’s nose.

“You want to be a lesbian?” Eijirou whispered to Katsuki, who choked on his brandy.

Eijirou frantically waved his hands. “Sorry! Hurt?”

Whenever Eijirou found himself flustered or speaking quickly, his speech would go back to the broken language he used when he was a child. It got his point across, it just wasn’t the most eloquent.

Oh, Ophelia

“I’m fine, shitty lizard,” he mumbled. “No, I don’t want to be a lesbian. I don’t like women. I would just want to date someone and... be happy with them, you know?”

“Oh! Dragons do that! We bite the neck of our mate, give our mate a mark!”

“What, some sort of binding mark?”

Eijirou nodded happily, a small chirp leaving his throat.

You've been on my mind girl since the flood

“Why hasn’t Ei gotten drunk?” Mina asked.

“Dragons don’t drink. Alcohol to them is like feeding chocolate to a dog,” Katsuki scoffed. “Figure you would’ve fucking known that since he’s declined your alcohol consistently for the past several years,”

“Mhm! Alcohol killed my family,” Eijirou said with a soft smile.

“Oh,” Denki murmured.

After the sudden dark turn, it was quiet. But only for a moment.

“Hi, Kacchan!”

Katsuki rolled his eyes, turning to the green haired boy, who had Prince Shouto walking behind him.

“Done fucking the prince yet? Or are you still his spite boyfriend?” Katsuki snarled.

“How dare y--” “Shou, it’s okay,”

“Ah? Having the lapdog shush the prince? Doesn’t that deserve some sort of punishment?” 

The shit eating grin on Katsuki’s face grew as Izuku’s face flushed at the word.

“Don’t be rude,” Eijirou hissed, smacking Katsuki’s shoulder. “Sorry for Katsuki. He is drunk.”

Oh, Ophelia

“Ah, it’s alright, Eijirou!” Izuku said with a grin.

“The master disobeying his dragon? Doesn’t that deserve some sort of punishment?” Shouto asked, giving a smug ass grin.

Katsuki’s grip on his glass tightened, the glass making a creaking noise.

“Shou!”

“What does he mean by that? I did not do anything wrong, did I? Did I go against a human rule again?” Eijirou whispered.

“No, Prince Shouto’s just being an asshole,” Katsuki mumbled.

“Stop being mean!” Eijirou said before pouting a little. “You’re better than that,”

Katsuki felt his heart clench at his oddly adorable dragon servant.

Actually, was servant the word to use? He didn’t feel as though Eijirou was his servant or inferior to him. Much more like a friend. 

One day, hopefully more.

Katsuki groaned, smacking his head with the heel of his palm. He needed to stop thinking like that. Eijirou would be a friend and nothing more.

Heaven help a fool who falls in love

So maybe Katsuki did end up falling in love with his dragon shifter friend. What did it matter?

He wasn’t going to act on his urges to kiss him, hold him, tell him he loved him- no! That’s preposterous! 

From time to time, he wonders what his mother would think of him if she saw him now:

Sitting in a bar as a dragon king, making fun of the prince of another kingdom, sitting beside his dragon shifter friend who he also held high affection for.

He was fucked, wasn’t he?

“Why did you hit yourself? Was there an insect? I could have gotten it for you,” Eijirou asked.

“You are not eating a fucking insect off my head again,”

“It was one time!”

“One time too many!”

I, I, got a little paycheck

“Anyway, Katsuki, we didn’t come here to hear endless innuendos,” Shouto sighed, pulling out a silken sack.

It jingled happily as it was dropped in front of Katsuki.

“We came here for the--”

“Yeah yeah, you came here for the head of that beast. I know. Ei, you got the satchel?”

“Right here!” Eijirou said, holding the heavy satchel, dripping in black blood. “The head is in a bag inside of the satchel. So grab the bag inside. Do not wear white gloves, I suggest black as that is the color of their blood,”

“Thank you, Eijirou,” Izuku said, giving a quick bow as he replaced his white gloves for black ones.

Katsuki was handed the sack and he popped it open.

“Ei, coin toss,” he growled, taking a golden coin and flicking it behind me.

Coin toss is what they’ve done to see if the money is genuine. Katsuki toss a coin behind him, Eijirou nibbles on it for a second, and then he gives it back if it’s good. If it’s bad, he eats it.

If he eats even a single coin, he has Katsuki’s permission to beat the shit out of them.

You got big plans and you gotta move

“Must you do this every time?” Shouto asked

“What, you give us a shit coin?” Katsuki asked, flipping Eijirou the next coin.

“No’ ye’,” Eijirou said, catching the coin between his teeth. “All solid,”

“Good. And yes, we fucking do, asshole,” Katsuki scoffed. “You could scam us out, and we’d have to kill ya for it,”

“Be nishe, Katshuki!” Eijirou said before slipping the coin out of his mouth.

And I don't feel nothing at all

“Hey guys, we’re gonna go head toward the inn! Heard they had a bonfire going! We also need to drop off our horses,” Sero said with his signature grin.

“Yeah, yeah,” Katsuki scoffed.

After quickly checking the rest of the coins and making sure they were genuine, Katsuki closed the silken sack.

“Thanks,” he grumbled out.

“Sure thing, Kacchan! It was a pleasure to work with you!”

“Fuck off!”

And you can't feel nothing small

“Hey, Katsuki?”

“What is it?” Katsuki asked, turning to Eijirou.

“I want to show you a place,”

“Oh yeah?” Katsuki had a smirk cross his face. “Where to, Shitty Lizard?”

“Come with me!”

Eijirou and Katsuki left the bar, leaving a few gold coins with small dents in them on the counter.

Eijirou stood behind the building, removing his clothing as not to rip them before Katsuki placed them in the satchel.

A few moments later, the redheaded hybrid became a full dragon, and the two tore up into the sky at vicious speeds.

But once they were over the clouds, Eijirou slowed to a glide.

“Nice job on speed. Doing better,”

A deep rumbling chirp came from Eijirou as they continued to soar above the clouds, Katsuki relaxing happily on Eijirou’s back.

Honey I love you, that's all she wrote

The duo began their descent, landing at the base of a mountain as Eijirou shifted back.

“So, what did you want to show me?” Katsuki asked, handing Eijirou his clothing.

“Top of the mountain,” Eijirou said, yanking on his clothes.

Katsuki blinked for a moment. “Then why the hell didn’t you fly us up there?”

“The path there is very pretty too,” Eijirou said, making Katsuki huff.

“Fine. Whatever. Let’s fucking go,”

Oh, Ophelia

The boys began their hike up the mountain. Nothing too rigorous, but still harder than a simple walk. Not like the two minded, though. They’ve grown used to things that take up far more energy than a hike.

“So, where exactly did you bring me?” Katsuki asked, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“Oh, we are climbing up a mountain. I cannot remember the name at the moment, so my apologies,” Eijirou chuckled, tugging at his scarf a tad.

“Fucking great. Any sort of civilization nearby?”

“Uhm... I believe there is a village that sits on the shore,”

You've been on my mind girl like a drug

Katsuki put a finger in his mouth, and after a moment, he pulled it out and held it to the sky.

The light breeze hit his wet finger tip, only a small part of it being cold.

“We in the East?”

After a moment, Eijirou nodded.

“Yes, yes!”

“And there’s a village by the water?”

Oh, Ophelia

“Yes, you will see it once we reach the top!” Eijirou chirped.

“So does the name Tuft Mountain ring any bells?”

“Oh, yes, yes!”

“And you wanted to show me the peak of Tuft?”

“Mhm!”

Heaven help a fool who falls in love

Katsuki knew what Eijirou was doing.

Anyone with half a damn brain cell knew what he was doing.

Oh, Ophelia

“YOU’RE FUCKING TAKING ME TO LOVER’S POND?!”

You've been on my mind girl since the flood

“Hush, hush! You’ll disturb the wildlife!” Eijirou said, thankful for the dark of the night that covered his flushed face.

The two reached the peak, and Katsuki’s eyes widened.

Oh, Ophelia

The pond was surrounded by gorgeous flowers and other wild grasses, waving in the breeze nonchalantly.

Fireflies dotted the sky, their little lights glowing up against the water’s surface.

The pond itself was an irregular heart shape, yet it was naturally formed.

Heaven help a fool who falls in love

Legend says that those who sit at one side of the pond will have their soulmate appear at the other side.

This could take minutes, hours, days, months, weeks, even years.

The pond is for those who are willing to wait for their soulmate.

Oh, Ophelia

Eijirou went and sat at one end of the pond, and waited.

Katsuki felt a tug.

You've been on my mind girl like a drug

As though he was being forced closer to the pond.

His head foggy and walk awkward, his body slowly made it’s way to the other side of the pond.

Oh, Ophelia

The two boys gawked at each other, vermilion and scarlet eyes locking, jaws dropping.

Katsuki knew what had just happened and knew what he’d done, but he hadn’t felt as though he was in control of himself.

A smile bloomed on Eijirou’s face.

He covered his mouth with his hands as tears clumped up in his lashes.

His tail thumped on the ground, wings beating, and sobbing chirps of joy escaping his mouth.

Katsuki felt his eyes water as well as he grinned.

Heaven help a fool who falls in love

A/N: Okay! Thank you so much for reading this! I sincerely hope you enjoyed it! I just get sudden impulses to write, so I do, and then you get this. Ooh! I’ve also never done this before, but I’m gonna start a tag list! I’ll do this for every story! I’ve only got one person and my beta readers, but feel free to ask to be on the tag list! You’ll get a notif for any oneshot I post! Or story! If you want to see my artwork, then please make that specification. So I’ll tag you in both or one or the other. Okay? Okay!

Tag list: @king-queenie, @violet-fandom, @siivermoon​,

Okay! That’s all! Thank you!

[ghostxofxartemis]

May I have John/Ashely at a party for the Kissing Prompts, please? If you're still taking them?

Of course you may! I always love writing these two cinnamon buns! 

Available on AO3 | From this prompt here... inbox always open just let me know it’s from this list. 

The After Party

Ashley's arm was wrapped around Shepard's waist, as much for supporting him as it was to be in close proximity to him; his arm was wrapped around her shoulder. The last month and few weeks had been long and agonizing. The recovery from surgery, the physical therapy, the psychological exams he wanted to scoff at, all had been so taxing on John. He was a man of action, he couldn't sit long enough without feeling agitated. He needed to move. And hospitals had a way of making sure you did just the opposite. 

Now, as they walked back to the Normandy, a huge grin on his face, he was happy. The war was over, his girlfriend, his crew… family were all okay, and here he was, taking command of his ship once more. The thought excited him. There was just something about being out there in space, helping and protecting others he found so rewarding. He ran his hand against the hatch door.

"Skipper?" 

"Hmmm?" He looked at Ashley, their smiles met, but there was concern in her eyes.

"Thought I lost you there for a moment. You okay?" 

John's smile widened. "Everything is perfect’" he said as he brushed his lips against Ashley's forehead. He really meant it. 

“I could use a drink. I do believe there is a freshly stocked bar down on the crew deck.” A coy smile tugged at Ashley’s lips which only caused John to laugh as they walked to the elevator lift.

“I do believe we have a score to settle. I mean… I did save the Galaxy, so that gives me a few points towards being the best human Spectre… but if you do want me to drink you under the table tonight…” He half-smirked. Ashley rolled her eyes, elbowing him in the ribs. 

“Ow.” He complained slightly, as he rubbed his ribs with his hand. Ashley snorted as she pressed the button to deck three.

“Oh suck it up, princess, you’re fine.” Ashley rolled her eyes.  

“You didn’t…?” He wasn’t sure he had heard right.

“Oh! I did!” Ashley gently shoved him out of the lift and towards the lounge.

The door whooshed opened as they neared it, Shepard was immediately greeted by the crew who had gathered and already started drinking. He was surprised to see even Jack and Miranda had made their way in here. 

James raised his glass, “Hey hey, the man of the hour is here!” 

Traynor was the first one to get up from where she sat on the ledge of the couch to come give Shepard a hug. “Welcome back, Commander!”

“It’s good to be back,” Shepard said as he let go. 

Cortez was standing at the bar; he popped open the champagne bottle pouring it in glasses. 

Miranda was the first one to take up a glass. Amused, Shepard chuckled as he and Ashley approached the counter to take a glass themselves. Miranda was usually the last person to loosen up. 

“Still trying to be normal?” He smirked. 

“Starting to get the hang of it,” Miranda mumbled with a sheepish look as she reached for Jack’s hand and intertwined their fingers. Shepard arched an eyebrow, his smirk now turning into a full grin. Boy, did he ever call it. Though, he never had expected for them to act on their feelings. 

Jack punched him in the shoulder. “Shut up, Shepard!” 

“Should start a dating service, Shepard. The Normandy seems to be a hookup site rather than an Alliance vessel,” Tali said as she sat on the bar tool. She grabbed the tripled filtered Turian brandy and poured herself a glass.

“You’ll be the first to know, Tali,” Shepard quipped as he reached for a glass of champagne. 

“I’m good,” she said as she gulped down her drink through her ‘induction port’. 

“Never mind that. Cortez, line up some shots will you. Reaper metal asses have been sent back to whatever black hole they came from. Time to fucking party!” Jack demanded. 

                                                             ~n~

The bar was littered with all types of different glasses. Shepard had lost count of how many shots and drinks he had, but one thing he was certain about, he felt a lot better than most of the crew. Courtesy of Cerberus upgrades. He could definitely confirm they were still intact and fully functioning. Catalyst be damned for lying to him.

Ashley had met him drink for drink until she felt like the contents were coming back up rather than staying down, so she admitted defeat to their challenge, which she didn’t take too lightly. 

A couple of the crew members were snoring away on the couch, some had called it a night and headed to the crew quarters. While others still danced away to the blaring music in the middle of the lounge, others were playing poker at the table, or gathered around the bar for more shots. 

It had been a good night. It was certainly nice to see everyone let their hair down, so to speak, knowing that there wasn’t a battle waiting for them the next day. For the first time in over three years Shepard actually felt relaxed.  

Shepard was in the middle of taking his shot when Ashley came up behind him, wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders. 

“Ash, you want one?” Cortez asked her. 

“Nope. I think we can all say Shepard can drink me under the table.” She shook her head, her eyes a little wild, unfocused. She was slightly unsteady on her feet.  Shepard chuckled. 

“For that, he can give me a dance though,” she wiggled her brows.

“Ash…”

“Just one. Come on.” She tugged at his arm, and he acquiesced following her into the middle of the room. 

Ashley wrapped her arms around his neck, his around her waist. 

“I don’t really care for the dance. I just wanted you for a moment,” Ashley whispered in his ear.

“Impatient are we?” He chuckled as he leaned in closer to her. 

“Just a little,” she admitted as she started closing the distance.

“Is that what I’ll get to look forward to everyday?” Shepard quipped.

“Maybe.”

“I don’t think I mind at all,” Shepard said as he closed the distance between them, planting his lips on hers as they gave in to each other. His hands travelled up her waist to eventually rest on each side of her face to keep her from pulling away. He wanted to keep feeling her soft lips against his for as long as he could. Knowing he had to behave in front of the crew drove him crazy. So many things he wanted to do right now. 

Ahsley’s lips parted his as she bit down on his lower lip, pulling it between her teeth before she pulled away. 

“I don’t think I mind either, sir,” she said coyly, as her eyes showed all the intent behind her words, before closing the distance once more. 

Pulling away, Ashley took his arm and winked at him as she led him out of the lounge.

John smirked, he guessed he wasn’t the only one after all with such thoughts in mind. 

[etoileholland]

I'd gladly surrender myself to you, body and soul

 Anonymous asked: I’ve always loved this idea. A lonely Tom wanders into an old jazz club where reader is a last minute substitute sultry singer. The two lock eyes and reader makes the first move by getting flirty during her song and Tom is desperate to find her after the show.

Pairing: Tom and female reader

Word count: 3.8k

Warnings: none

A/N: I loved this idea too, thank you so much for requesting it! I really hope you enjoy it and I hope I did it justice. As always, let me know if you want to be added to the taglist.

Also the songs I used in order were: Crazy He Calls Me by Billie Holliday, Autumn Leaves by Nat King Cole and Why Don’t You Do Right? by Benny Goodman (all song lyrics are italicised)

Tom solemnly walked down the streets of Greenwich Village in New York, his coat collar popped to attempt to conceal his face, which also helped provide some warmth against the chilling autumn wind. It was nearly midnight, and Tom was enjoying some solace in a city that never sleeps.

He hadn’t wanted to be bothered by anyone, while at the same time wanting people to care. Since fame, he’s grown increasingly lonely as people cared less about him and more about the idea of him.

Looking up at the vast skyscrapers and massive apartment buildings that lined the streets, he wondered how many of their inhabitants felt as lonely as he, a thought he pondered for a while.

Tom took solace in knowing that many of the loneliest and most talented people have spent time and come from this city, and somehow that was a comforting thought. In the distance he heard some smooth jazz echoing in the streets, and as he walked down Seventh Avenue, the music grew louder. A few blocks down, he was standing in front of an old jazz club- its name, ‘Village Vanguard’. The name of the club was illuminated in a red neon glow that was a stark difference to the noir of the night sky.

Hesitantly, he gently pushed open the red doors and was met with an intense red lighting illuminating the club, the smell of cigar smoke lingering in the atmosphere. The club was intimate, maybe only fifty seats, and on the wall were photos of famous jazz musicians who’ve performed here. He wandered over to the bartender who was talking to an older gentleman about something pressing. He took a seat right nearby the talking strangers, slightly eavesdropping in on their conversation.

“What do you mean he’s out sick? I know that kid is lying to me.” The older gentleman stated. He was a hefty gentleman who spoke with a dangling pipe in his mouth, not caring that small particles of ash floated downwards onto the bar table. He wore a gold ring on his pinky and had a deep bellowing voice.

“Listen, all I know is he texted me and said he can’t make it, but he knows of a replacement. He called her a ‘throwback to the golden era of jazz’, with a voice as sweet and sultry as honey. He promised he wouldn’t let you down.” He poured some scotch into a glass, added ice and slid it over to Tom.

“Um how did you know-”

“I have a gift, I know what everyone’s usual is without even knowing them.” The bartender interrupted, his gaze shifting back to the older man.

“He better not be lying to me, that idiot kid. God if he weren’t my grandson I would’ve fired him immediately.” He downed his drink and looked at Tom, who instantly tensed up.

“Where are you from kid?” The gentleman puffed on his cigar, allowing the smoke to sit in his lungs a second before blowing it into the bartender’s face.

“London.”

“So what brings you here to New York, Londoner?”

Tom took a second to contemplate the man’s question, deciding whether or not he should tell the truth. “I was looking for a change of scenery, I suppose. And tonight I was wandering around for a bit and stumbled upon this place.”

“Well you stumbled into the right place, ya classy man. Ya like jazz?” He asked as he took another puff of his cigar.

“I’ve heard some songs but I’m not the most avid listener.” Tom swirled the glass in his hands, the ice clinking against the glass.

“Oh after this you will, jazz has to be listened to live, you see. You need to feel the energy coming from the percussions and brass, and bask in the aura. It’s an otherworldly experience.” He patted Tom on the back and he nearly choked.

“I’ll take your word for it.” Tom added as he downed his drink. The bartender was quick to pour Tom another drink, sliding it over to him.

“Where is this replacement, huh?” The man asked as the bartender pulled out his phone. “Should be here any minute according to him.” He stuffed it back in his pocket before resuming his work.

The front door swung open and Tom, along with everyone else, looked at the figure who sauntered into the room. You were wearing a long evening gown and heels, neck adorned with jewelry. Your hair was up in a vintage updo with little tendrils of hair framing your face. The men howled and whistled at you, and you playfully rolled your eyes. Your eyes then scanned the room as you looked for the owner of the establishment that your friend described to you. Deciding to ask the bartender, you moseyed over to him.

“Excuse me; I’m looking for a gentleman named Tony. I’m the replacement singer for tonight.” Your voice was low and sultry, matching the ‘honey’ description. Tom was mesmerized by your plump red lips, and he couldn’t tear his gaze away.

“Well you found him, I’m Tony.” He grabbed your hand, lightly caressing it before kissing the top of it. Your gaze met the bartender’s as he slid a drink over to you.

“Hmm, gin and tonic, how’d you know?” You took a long sip while the men gazed at you, the bartender raising an eyebrow. To say you were entrancing was an understatement, and they all watched your lips hug the rim around the glass. You finished the drink and set the glass on the bar table.

“You never did tell us your name.” The bartender smirked, your lips curling up slightly. “Y/N.”

A beautiful name for a beautiful girl, Tom thought. You noticed him looking at you and you smiled.

“You never did tell me your name, darling.” You looked right into Tom’s eyes and smiled, making sure to emphasize the last word.

Tom gulped, attempting to match your sultry and seductive energy. “It’s Tom.” He took a drink of his scotch and your eyes glinted in the red lighting.

“Enchanté, London boy.” You winked, playfully tilting your head to the side. Tom looked at you curiously when you guessed where he was from, and you smirked. Already loving the attention that he was feeding you, you made sure to keep his focus solely on you. Returning your gaze to Tony, you let out a breathy sigh before asking, “Well, when do I go on?”

“Right now princess, go talk to Big Louis over there on the piano and let him know you’re ready.” The men watched you walk away, making sure you were out of earshot before speaking.

“Say, if I didn’t know any better son, I would think you’ve already fallen in love with her.” Tony remarked, swirling his drink in his hand before taking a sip.

“Maybe so.” Tom stated as he leaned onto the bar table.

“I hate to break it to you but you have no chance.” Tony paused, looking over his shoulder as if he expected someone to be eavesdropping in on their conversation. “I’ve heard my grandson gush about her nonstop but they never got together. This is the first time I’ve ever met her and I now see why he chased after her pathetically.” He paused, taking a sip of his brandy.

“Apparently, at least according to my grandson, she doesn’t bother finding love. She knows that there’s no man good enough, and she’s right. Look at her and tell me there’s anyone worthy enough to love that.” He downed his third drink of the night and motioned for the bartender to pass him a glass of water.

Tom, looking down at his hands which were clutching the glass, began to ponder what the man said. He wondered if the man was right, since his grandson apparently is quite familiar with you. The way you looked at him though said otherwise, and he held onto the tiny bit of hope that maybe you were as mesmerized by him as he were you.

The men watched you saunter over to Louis on the piano, lightly placing your hand on his back as you whispered in his ear. You bent down slowly and you felt the gaze of fifty people on you. Louis got up from the stool and you sat down, adjusting your dress and checking the microphone.

“Hello cool cats, how’s the night been treating you?” You spoke in your signature low voice as the room exploded in whistles and hollers. You smirked and looked coyly at Tom, who began to blush. You composed yourself before speaking again. “I’m only here for a short time tonight but trust me, I’ll make it worth your while.” You breathed, the men in the crowd whistling loudly. “It would be wrong if I didn’t perform a song by the one and only Billie Holliday, so ladies and gentlemen, here’s ‘Crazy He Calls Me’.”

You rested your fingers over the keys and mentally prepared yourself to sing in front of an already captivated audience. Your fingers glided over the keys with ease, making it seem effortless.

“I say I’ll move the mountains, and I’ll move the mountains, if he wants them out of the way.” You sang softly. You looked over at Tom who was leaning back against the bar table, arms crossed as he watched you sing. You lightly bit your bottom lip, which drove the men wild.

“Crazy he calls me. Sure, I'm crazy, crazy in love, I say.” You began to improvise the notes slightly, embellishing it as you went along. You looked into the crowd, quickly meeting Tom’s gaze again before looking down at the keys.

Tom instantly knew he was already madly in love with you. His mind wandered to what Tony said earlier about you not deeming any man worthy enough for your affection, but Tom was determined that he would be the one who could change your mind.

He observed the way you looked at him with a glint in your eye, a smile always leaving your lips as your eyes studied his face. He was hoping and praying that you were as captivated by him as he were you.

As you wrapped up the song, you made sure to sing the last verse straight to him. There was something that drew you in about him, and you were desperate to get close to him.

“I say I'll care forever, and I mean forever, if I have to hold up the sky. Crazy he calls me, sure, I'm crazy, crazy in love am I.” You embellished the last few notes on the piano and the room erupted with hollers, whistles and even love proclamations.

As the room filled with applause, you stood up from the piano stool, bowing as you basked in the attention. Licking your lips, you looked over at Tom, who had a grin on his face. You smiled back at him, clearing your throat to prompt the audience to settle down.

“I could use a drink right now, how about a scotch on the rocks?” You said into the microphone, making sure to look over at Tom who now had a smirk on his face. That was his drink of choice, and to make sure he knew you paid attention to detail, you ordered the same thing he had. Tom winked at you which illicited a small giggle. The bartender, whom Tom discovered was named Lionel, swiftly prepared your drink, leaving his workplace to bring it to you.

“Merci, darling.” You whispered, taking a long drink from the glass and setting it gently on top of the grand piano. He swiftly made his way off stage, heading back to the bar to continue preparing drinks for the audience.

Tom watched the way your lips went around the rim of the glass, observing how you lightly smack them after every sip. He was well aware of the fact that he was making his attraction obvious to you, but in that moment he didn’t care. He only wanted you, now more than ever.

As you lightly tapped on the microphone to ensure that the attention was back on you, you spoke to the audience. “This song means a lot to me, and hopeful it’ll mean a lot to you as well. It’s autumn here in New York, and the song is fitting for reminiscing a love no longer in one of the most beautiful seasons here.” You began to play the first notes of the song; the trombone player following your rhythm.

“The falling leaves drift by the window, the autumn leaves of red and gold. I see your lips, the summer kisses, the sun-burned hands I used to hold.” The rawness and pure vulnerability in your voice when you sang the lyrics made Tom’s heart sink. He couldn’t fathom the idea that someone would love you, and then leave you. It was evident from your voice that you were missing someone, the sheer thought of it alone was heart wrenching.

“Since you went away the days grow long, and soon I'll hear old winter's song. But I miss you most of all my darling, when autumn leaves start to fall.” You slowed your playing as the violinist took over, playing their solo as the song came to an end. The audience paused a second before applauding, as a man in the front row wiped away a stray tear from his cheek.

“I’m sorry there’s not one dry eye in the room.” You joked. The man in the front row let out a little sob as others laughed lightly.

The audience watched as you made your way from the piano over to the microphone in center stage.

“I’m gonna finish off tonight with a rendition of one of my favourite Benny Goodman’s songs. Also, a large thank you to ‘Swinging Louis’s Big Band Orchestra’ for accompanying me tonight.” You clapped as you watched the ensemble stand up, bowing before taking their seats.

Looking over at the players and giving them a little nod to signify you were ready, the cellist began to play as you slowly swayed your head to the beat.

You glanced over at Tom, blowing him a kiss and stifling a laugh as his face turned beet red in a matter of milliseconds. Everyone in the crowd turned their heads to see who you were giving your attention to, looking at Tom, then shifting their focus back to you.

“Maybe I was wrong kid, you might just have a chance with her.” Tony remarked as he slapped Tom on the back.

“My heart is sad and lonely, for you I sigh, for you dear only. Why haven't you seen it? I'm all for you, body and soul.” Your gaze pierced through Tom and he smiled. He knew that you were his and he was yours, he felt it in his bones. His eyes trailed down your body, gaze stopping right where your gown’s neckline plunged. You, noticing where his gaze rested, retaliated by putting your hand on your chest and moving it slowly up to your cheek. His face turned red when he saw you wink at him.

“My life a wreck you're making, you know I'm yours for the very taking. I'd gladly surrender myself to you, body and soul.” You finished the song and the room erupted into a loud fit of applause, whooping and whistling, and even some roses being passed to you by men in the front row. You bowed, slowly making your way upstage as someone asked for your autograph.

“I’m not famous sugar.” You laughed but the man shook his head. “Trust me you will be.” He handed you a napkin and a pen. You walked over to the piano so that you would have something hard to write on, autographing it for him as you lightly kissed the paper which left a red lipstick stain below your name. Handing the napkin back to him, he blushed, grabbing your hand and placing a light kiss on the top of it. Now blushing, you spoke into the microphone one last time to wrap up the performance.

“I appreciate everyone allowing me to play tonight. Go find someone to love and have a good night.” More applause filled the room as you walked off backstage.

As the applause died down, Tom looked over to his right to ask Tony where he could find you. When he saw a vacant seat next to him, he began to panic. He didn’t even notice that Tony was no longer sat there, but then again, he was so entranced by you that he didn’t pay attention to much else.

He glanced over at Lionel who was pouring a glass for the gentleman who had asked for your autograph.

“Lionel, where would Y/N be?” He asked with a hint of urgency in his voice. Lionel pondered it for a second and pointed at the back door. Tom nodded, hopping onto the stage and going through the back door. He hesitantly made his way down the corridor, careful to not make any sounds that would draw attention to himself. His ears perked up when he heard your voice, conversing with Tony who was discussing your pay. Peeking his head around the corner from where he stood, he listened some more as he then heard Tony give you an offer he thought you couldn’t refuse.

“C’mon princess, the crowd loves you. Just think, you could play here every weekend and make a ton of money.” You scoffed and Tony rolled his eyes. “You could easily become famous, you have an amazing stage presence and you’re clearly talented. Come on Y/N, take the offer.”

“Listen Tony, tonight was fun but I only did it for one night. After a while I would inevitably lose my charm and people wouldn’t come to see me anymore, so I better quit while I’m ahead.”

“You and I both know that wouldn’t happen, you could easily be as famous as Holliday, or even Fitzgerald. You can’t try to tell me you don’t have that kind of talent in you.”

You paused for a minute, pondering the idea once over in your mind.

“I’ll think about it, but for right now I still stand behind my answer. Singing will become a chore and then I’ll be miserable.” You crossed your arms in front of your chest as Tony let out a sigh.

“Alright, there’s no reasoning with you. The offer still stands though, so one day when you change your mind you can let me know.” Tony said as he watched you walk out the back door of the club, the door slamming shut. Just then Tom turned the corner to follow after you, and he and Tony met face to face.

Tony looked at Tom sympathetically, and spoke. “Kid, I know you like her but she’s stubborn.” He paused a second, wagging his finger as a thought flashed over him. “On second thought, I can tell that you are too, so if you want to chase after her she went out that way and walked down Waverly Place. While you’re at it try to convince her to change her mind, will ya? You and I both know she’s extremely talented. Now go.” He pointed towards the door and moved out of Tom’s way.

“Thank you.” He replied quickly, bolting out of the building as he looked for you. He ran down the street and stood at the intersection of Waverly and 7th Avenue to try to find you.

A fair distance away, he saw you walk towards an apartment building, calling your name as he watched you stop in your tracks. Turning your head around to see Tom running towards you, you waved to him and waited for him to catch up.

“Y/N, you were amazing.” He breathed heavily, fatigued from nearly sprinting.

“Thank you Tom, I really appreciate that. It was nice to know you were in the crowd.” You looked him up and down, noticing his broad shoulders and his slightly tousled curls.

“Why won’t you take the offer though?” He asked, out of breath as he bent forward and rested his hands on his knees.

“Oh so you heard that?” Tom only nodded as he began to catch his breath. “Personally, I would love to perform every weekend, but I don’t want the fame. Contrary to what you might believe, and what you’re accustomed to,” she poked his chest softly, “I’m not in it for the fame. I just want to enjoy what I’m doing, and not make it a chore.”

Tom stood there slightly dumbfounded at what you had just said, and let out a small laugh. “You know, that hit close to home. That’s the whole reason I ended up in New York, for the anonymity. Being famous is exhausting and right now I’m sick of it.”

“I think it would be torturous to be famous.” You remarked, and Tom agreed. “Oh yeah, it definitely can be.” Playing with your apartment keys nervously, you stuffed them back in your coat pocket and looked up at Tom, who was looking at you.

“Where did you learn-” Tom began to ask but you interrupted him. “Self taught.”

“Wow.” He gasped. You gave him a half smile and looked down at the ground. “I would love to teach you, if you’d want.” You said which caused Tom to smile. “I’d love that.”

You both stood there in silence, unsure of what to say next. The air was brisk, and the city was quieting down. After a minute, you decided to speak.

“Hey since it’s late I should probably get going, but-.”

“Wait, would you-”, he exhaled, “want to go out with me? At least, until I inevitably have to go back home to London.” His hand reached for the nape of his neck and rubbed it, the other stuffed into his pocket as he awaited your answer.

Blushing, you bit your lip and looked at him coyly. It was evident that he was becoming flustered as you stood there, silent.

Taking a step forward, you placed your arms around his neck, lightly pressing your chest to his. He hesitated before putting one hand on your hip, the other on the small of your back.

You leaned your face closer to his and closed the gap between you two. He kissed you back; his lips were soft, still tasting vaguely like scotch. After a minute you were the first to pull away but he pulled you back in, kissing you more passionately.

“I would love to go out with you, London boy.” You whispered against his lips as he kissed you again.

——

Additional A/N: I don’t give enough credit to my best friend/beta reader @scarletxwidow​ for always helping me revise and edit all of my stories. She deserves the world and please go send her some love. Also to everyone who has sent in a request, thank you and know that I am working on them 💛

mes anges (taglist): @sunflowerhollands @fangirlwithasweettooth @lmaotshollandd @musicalkeys @taciturnspidey @graceluvsyouu

[lady-divine-writes]

Good Omens - “An Enchanted Gift” (Rated NC17)

Summary: Anathema gives Aziraphale and Crowley a special gift - a homemade bottle of a holiday drink with some very peculiar side effects. (2299 words)

Notes: Written for the wonderful @theantichristmaszine  :) Warning for sexual content.

Read on AO3.

Crowley’s flat is positively a picture, fit for printing on a Christmas card.

Fire roaring on the hearth.

Garland and tinsel draped over anything that doesn’t move.

Fairy lights brightening the dark corners, wound around the rubber tree and the Chinese Evergreen, weeding through the leaves of the dieffenbachia.

A host of red velvet, gold taffeta, and white satin ribbon hanging from the ceiling till no white marble can be seen.

And at the center of it all, a tree - an honest-to-Satan floor-to-ceiling pine that Crowley had tromped into the forest and tore out of the ground himself with his own two hands. An ax would have been simpler. Heck, he could have snapped the thing back to his flat, trimmed and mounted, ready for decorating. But his method seemed so much more festive considering he’d been bellowing holiday carols the entire time.

He let angel take the lead decorating. Aziraphale had a merry time covering the thing in frosted globes, glass candy canes (since the real ones didn’t last long enough to hang), gingerbread men (only slightly nibbled), reindeer, clove oranges, crocheted white-lace snowflakes, and other ornaments of the like, purchased from artisans all around London.  

Crowley had gone so far as to include a manger scene for the benefit of his angel-in-residence. However, instead of hanging the Archangel Gabriel using the provided hook, he hung him over the birthplace of the Lord by a noose. Aziraphale giggled when he saw it but recommended fixing it - to ward off bad karma or something along those lines. Not wanting to sully his spirits listening to a lecture about tempting fate (which is all Crowley does), Crowley remedied it.

He replaced Gabriel with a vintage Troll doll key chain Pepper accidentally forgot at Aziraphale’s bookshop.

“There! Top notch replacement, if I do say so meself! Looks just like ‘im!” Crowley declared, gesturing to the absurd trinket with its vibrant purple hair.

“And which part, might I ask, looks just like him?” Aziraphale had asked.

“The head! It’s huge!”

Demons aren’t much for celebrating. But this year, with everything Crowley had to be grateful for, he honestly couldn’t help himself. At its root, Christmas is about love.

Family.

Birth.

A chance to shed the skin of past sins and start anew.

This year, Crowley couldn’t see letting Christmas pass unacknowledged.

“You know, I may not be a connoisseur of holiday shindigs,” Crowley says, leaning back on the floor and gazing up at the spectacle that is their cheerfully burdened tree, “but I would say tonight has come pretty close to perfect. Wouldn’t you?” He rolls onto his hip, beaming at Aziraphale seated not too far from him, a loopy grin nudging his mouth up at the corners.

“Indeed.” Aziraphale lifts his bottle of Burgundy, prepared to propose a toast. It comes up off the floor far too quickly, an indicator the thing has been drained dry.

“Looks like we finished that one.” Crowley looks left and right in search of another, but doesn’t see one. “Augh! Don’t tell me we went through them all! I’m sure I had another three at least!”

“Don’t fret, my dear,” Aziraphale says. “I may have just the thing.” He crawls over to the tree on hands and knees and rummages underneath. A second later he crawls back out, accompanied by a rustic-looking green glass bottle and a triumphant little, ‘A-ha!’ “This comes courtesy of dear, sweet Anathema.” He presents the bottle to his demon for approval. “She said she made it with love.”

“Really?” Crowley snorts while Aziraphale uncorks the bottle. “And what ingredient is that then? Wolfsbane? Mandrake root?”

“Honey, I think.” Aziraphale gives the mouth of the bottle a sniff. “Maybe blackberries?”

“The important question is - is it alcohol?”

Aziraphale brings the bottle to his lips and knocks back a gulp, coughing at the finish. “That it is.”

“Give it here then. I’d like to partake of some love, too.” Crowley indulges, tilting his head back and taking a huge swig. He smacks his tongue, then licks his lips, shivering when a wave of heat enters his bloodstream and works its way down his spine. “Wow. That’s tasty.”

“Isn’t it? If being a witch doesn’t work out for her, she should definitely take up a career distilling.”

“Love, you say?” Crowley peers into the bottle, pondering the ingredients as the drink settles onto his taste buds. “Do you think that’s something she orders by the pound, or gathers under the full moon?”

“To be honest, I have no idea---oof!” Aziraphale sways, planting a hand flat on the floor and locking his elbow to keep from toppling over.

“You alright, angel?” Crowley snickers. “Having a bit of trouble holding your drink?” His forehead wrinkles with concern when Aziraphale doesn’t recover right away. “That’s not normally like you---”

Crowley’s teasing cuts off when Aziraphale’s mouth crashes into his - hot, demanding, tasting of mulling spices, apples, sour plum, and brandy. It takes Crowley a moment to realize Aziraphale is kissing him.

Then another for him to start kissing back.

This isn’t just any kiss. It’s the kiss he’s been longing for. The kiss he’d feel on his lips every time Aziraphale looked his way and smiled. It’s the kiss he thought about the century he slept. And even though there have been many kisses between them, Crowley ranks this as the first.

Because it’s the kiss of dreams.

Aziraphale inhales sharply and backs away. “Oh! Oh, I’m sorry, my dear! I don’t know what came over me!”

Crowley looks him over curiously, waiting for an explanation, but Aziraphale doesn’t seem to have one. Aziraphale loves kissing, but he doesn’t go about it this way - doesn’t rush in, doesn’t take what he hasn’t asked for. “Turn about’s fair play, I’d wager.”

“What do you …?”

Without another word, Crowley sneaks a hand behind Aziraphale’s head and kisses him back.

Another kiss follows. Then another. With each one, the room becomes inhospitable - too warm, too stuffy, too difficult to stay in wearing all their blasted clothes! Aziraphale tries to relieve the pressure at his neck, but he can’t seem to manage his buttons, so Crowley helps him undo those. Likewise Crowley’s zipper becomes uncooperative, so Aziraphale tasks himself with unzipping it. Article by article they tear through until the two become too frustrated to care about the inevitable paperwork and snap off the rest.

Crowley kneels behind his angel, completely naked, kissing every spot he can get his lips on. And God, how it tingles! No. How it burns - each touch of his lips to Aziraphale’s flesh sending surges of razor sharp and magma hot straight from Crowley’s mouth to his groin.

And he wants more.

He wants it everywhere.

He wants it scalding his throat, searing his lungs, consuming him from the inside out. Let it dissolve him into ashes that blow away on the wind, let him die in an orgasm of violence and fire and angelic light.

As long as it comes with Aziraphale.

What a way to go.

“I have to have you, angel,” he moans. “Now. Right now.”

“Are you … are you sure? We’ve always said that we wouldn’t allow alcohol to make us amorous.”

“I don’t feel drunk. Do you?”

Aziraphale focuses inward, taking stock of his corporation. “No,” he says, surprised considering the bottles of wine they’d polished off before they started in on Anathema’s gift. “I don’t. Not at all.” Aziraphale locates an empty bottle and concentrates, tries to push the alcohol of the night from his system, but nothing appears. Not a single drop. “Far from it, it would seem.”

“That’s right. We’re not drunk. We’re completely in our right minds.”

“I wouldn’t say …”

“I want this, angel!” Crowley pleads with a sense of urgency. “Don’t you?”

“Yes, I do. More than ever,” Aziraphale admits.

“What do you want me to do?” Crowley whispers, voice husky with a lust he has inspired in others but has never once felt himself. “Tell me.”

“Make love to me?”

“How?”

Aziraphale peeks over his shoulder, grinning at his demon chomping at the bit. “You seem to be in the perfect position. I suggest you start there.”

Aziraphale expects Crowley to mock his snark, but he doesn’t, diving immediately back into the task of kissing across Aziraphale’s shoulders, lingering over the joint where his wings would connect if he let them out. Crowley swirls over it with his tongue, painting overlapping circles, and Aziraphale sees stars. They’ve made love in this position before, and Crowley has kissed every inch of his back, but he’s never spent so much time on this particular area.

The decadence of this sensation should be criminal.

Aziraphale feels Crowley’s hands on his body everywhere at once - massaging his muscles, fondling his cock, scissoring him open. Could Crowley be using magic to pleasure him? That’s not something they’ve ever done before due to the implications of Hell finding out. But seeing as Hell is no longer a concern, that puts every card at their disposal.

And thank God because this they need to do again!

“Aziraphale,” Crowley utters as he enters him, his angel’s name like sugar in his bitter mouth, and fuck!

There it is.

When he enters him completely.

The fire.

Inside his angel.

And Crowley has become its fuel.

“Oh, Crowley …” Aziraphale shifts his weight onto his palms and leans forward, raising his rear in the air. “Oh, yes. Just like that, my dear …”

“Like this, angel?” Crowley pulls back, then thrusts hard - harder than he would normally, sending Aziraphale swiftly to the verge. With Aziraphale’s grunts of ecstasy mirroring the rhythm of Crowley’s hips, Crowley knows that regardless of anything, this he cannot stop.

It would be unforgivable.

“Yes!” Aziraphale whimpers, bracing against the marble floor with knuckles white. “Yes! Crowley, yes!”

“Yes …” Crowley echoes beneath his breath, a lightness settling inside his mind, siphoning his ability to think. He’s done too much thinking already. Now is not the time for thinking. Now is the time for serving. The time for feeling. And what he feels is soft beneath his hands, tight around his cock, a quest for satisfaction, for completion, wrapped in a braided rope of love, love, and more love. So much love it fills his flat from corner to ceiling, leaves its mark on the walls and on the doors.

And on the marble beneath them when Aziraphale, spiraling out of control, comes unannounced on Crowley’s living room floor.

“Oh,” he squeaks with embarrassment though he knows Crowley would say he shouldn’t be. “I apologize, my love, but I seem to have sullied your floor.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” Crowley says, snapping his fingers and cleaning the mess as he shudders through his own orgasm, which had snuck up inside him and granted him release less like an accomplishment and more like a reward for what he had done for his angel.

“Well,” Aziraphale manages even though he’s breathless, which isn’t a bother for him. “That was … interesting.”

“Just interesting?”

Aziraphale blushes. “More than interesting. But I would hate to think that was all because of the drink.”

“I wouldn’t say it was. I think the brew just sort of lowered out inhibitions. Enhanced the experience.”

“Do you think that was meant to happen? I find it difficult to believe that Anathema of all people gave us some sort of love potion as a Christmas present.”

“Not sure. Could be a side-effect of being witch made. Probably affects us more because we’re occult.”

Aziraphale rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue Crowley’s word usage. “Or … what if it’s something worse?”

“Worse?” Crowley arches an eyebrow. “What worse?”

“What if it did what it was meant to, but it was supposed to be a present for her young gentleman?”

“Ugh! Aziraphale! Don’t!” Crowley groans, wrapping his arms around his angel and holding him tight. “You’re going to put me off!”

“Sorry,” Aziraphale chuckles, hugging Crowley’s arms about his waist. Locked in the cozy cocoon of Crowley’s embrace, a thought pricks Aziraphale’s brain.

There is a secret third possibility.

A week or two ago, Aziraphale went to Tracy Shadwell’s place for tea and rum cake. While he was there, he’d confided in both Tracy and Anathema that as much as he loved his sex life with his husband, physical intimacy had become somewhat of a chore. Not because he didn’t love it, which he did, but because Crowley seemed stuck on every love making session between them being more romantic than the last. First came the champagne, then the candlelight (so much candlelight …), massages with complicated names, and, as of late, dramatic musical choices. It’s nice, the care Crowley puts into being his lover, but it also puts a tremendous amount of pressure on Aziraphale to keep up appearances.

Makes the whole ordeal feel like a performance.

Some nights, by the time they get to the good stuff, Aziraphale is ready to hit the hay. Seeing as he despises sleep, that’s awfully telling.

Aziraphale has come to the conclusion that, often times, he’s just … how did the youths say it … down to fuck.

So this drink may have done exactly what it was meant to, and he and Crowley may have rightfully been its intended targets.

But Aziraphale isn’t about to tell Crowley that.

“What should we do now? Should we lock it away or …?”

“Seems to me there’s only one thing we can do …” Crowley looks the bottle over, gauging the level of the liquid still inside. He grins, the firelight flickering in his eyes, making him look more wicked than Aziraphale has seen him in decades.

And he takes a hefty swallow.

[platypanthewriter]

A Strategic Proposal 1/6

Renamed from Indecorous Proposal

Part One/Part Two/Part Three/Part Four/Part Five/Part Six

“Hey,” William Hargrove III asked, leaning in close.  “So which of my many virtues did you fall for first?”

“Oh, no,” Steve laughed, sticking to the point of the thing, which wasn’t Billy’s gleaming curls, golden tan, soft smile, or the way his muscles filled his soft-looking linen shirt.  “You need to refuse.”

William--Billy, Steve remembered--blinked at him, his wide grin fading.  “What?”

“Refuse the offer of marriage,” Steve repeated, ignoring a pang of guilt, and trying to look under the tent flap for any nosy people’s shoes.  

“...refuse the offer of marriage,” Billy said again, turning away to pour himself a drink.

“That brandy is for celebrations,” Steve sighed.  “It’s expensive.”

“Why did you make me an offer of marriage,” Billy asked, after throwing back the whole, albeit small glass.  

“I needed to convince Her Majesty I wasn’t ailing for love of her—”

“So you have need of me,” Billy said, to the glass.  “I can help you—”

“I’m surprised she believed me, honestly,” Steve hissed, waving his arms.  “We’ve barely met—” 

“...we’ve met,” Billy said.  “Several times, do you not--we were at school together.  We danced at her coronation.  I was in the hunting party that went north, we rode together for weeks—”

“That was you?” Steve frowned at the wall, trying to remember anything other than his heart feeling like it was slow-roasted as his queen married another.  Billy poured himself another drink, and Steve grabbed his shoulder.  “Look, do the honorable thing, just leave—” his head snapped sideways with the force of Billy’s fist, and he staggered, more startled than hurt.  He stalked back to Hargrove, raising a hand to strike back, then halted, as Billy leaned heavily on the little table for brandy, and took a long shuddery breath.  

“I told everyone I would accept,” Billy laughed, tossing back his second brandy.  He sat heavily right on the ground.  “They’ll—”

“Why would you...” Steve sighed, and Billy shrugged, his eyes downcast.  “Eugh,” Steve groaned.  “You’ll have to say you changed your mind.  Tell them I’m unmarriageable.”

“Everyone said how lucky I was,” Billy laughed again.  “They told me how polite I ought to be.  I’ll never get another offer like this, after all--Sir Steven Harrington, friend and protector to Her Majesty—”

“If money is your concern, I can ease that particular problem,” Steve bit out, and Billy made an odd noise in his throat, staring up at him.

“That--that was not the difficulty,” he said hoarsely, his smile going a little feral.  “No.”

Steve began, guiltily, to wonder whether Billy Hargrove had some kind of dream he was quashing--to guard the queen, perhaps.  Something Steve’s offer would have enabled him to do.  “I didn’t--I didn’t mean to trick you,” Steve sighed, leaning back against the table, and Billy laughed for a third time, his gaze on his outstretched boots.  “Why would you even think I was in earnest?!” 

“I apologize for my lack of humility,” Billy said, smiling, and took a deep breath.  He closed his eyes, and took another.  “I’ve half a mind to accept anyway.”

“What?!”  Steve whispered.  “No!  You can’t marry me for--for no reason!”

Billy’s smile widened, but he didn’t look happy.  “You shouldn’t lie about some things, you know?”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Steve growled back, grabbing the glass from Billy’s hand as he waved it, shrugging.  “Why would you even—”

“How’s it going in here?” asked Her Royal Majesty, Queen of the Cities on the Wheel, Nancy, Steve’s ideal love, walking into the tent.  “I hope you know your own luck,” she told Billy, raising her eyebrows.  

“Wait,” Steve said, “Wait, wait, ah—”

“Of course I’ll cherish him,” Billy laughed, looking less like he was smiling, and more like he was baring his teeth.  

“Don’t be an idiot, man,” Steve breathed, and Billy smirked.  Steve shot him a glare with all the fury he could summon, hoping to leave a pile of ashes in the man’s chair.

“You’re willing to sign, then,” Nancy said to Billy, unfurling a gilt scroll with a narrow-eyed glance between them.

“I hope my esteemed beloved isn’t jumping before he looks,” Steve hissed.

“I’m sure such an honourable knight has only my happiness in mind,” Billy shot back, his smile widening, though his hand shook as he dipped the pen in the inkwell.

“Perhaps we should...walk together...a moment—” Steve waved a hand at the door of the tent, half frantic, half determined to get Billy Hargrove alone, to throttle him.  “Before making any rash decisions—”

“Don’t question your good fortune,” Nancy told Steve, her eyes softening.  “You are loved by many.

Steve stared at her smile, remembering how relieved she’d looked when he’d told her he loved another--that she wasn’t breaking a love for the ages in her marriage for peace.  She’d looked too relieved, he’d thought, staring up at ceilings over the months, and she looked it again now, pressing his fingers around the pen.  He looked over at Billy, who was pouring another drink--and then back to Nancy, his first love, and, he suspected, his last.  

He signed the contract.

Nancy clasped his and Billy’s hands together, and pushed them out of the tent to a rousing cheer--to Steve’s horror, his entire cacophony of squires had assembled, along with his fellow knights, and what looked like Billy’s family, and a whole entourage from the woman Nancy was marrying for the good of the country.  Everyone cheered, and he smiled, for them.  

“This is...fast,” he hissed to Nancy, out the side of his mouth, and felt Billy’s grip nearly crush his fingers.  

“I would have thought that’s what you wanted,” she whispered back.  “You’ve kept this awfully quiet.  If you want the pomp and circumstance, we can do a ceremony when we reach the capital.”

He did the math.  “Six months,” he said, his shoulders relaxing.  Surely, he thought, he could find a way to wriggle out in six months.

“It’s official, of course,” she said, smiling as though he’d find that encouraging, and his heart plummeted like a rock down an empty well.  “Signed and witnessed by the queen.  You’re husbands.  Would you like to go to your rooms now?”  She leaned in, her grin going mischievous.  “They overlook the gardens, not that you’ll likely spend much time on the balconies.”

Billy laughed, rubbing his eyes, and Steve wondered wildly what he expected to get out of the arrangement--court standing, perhaps.  The ear of the queen.  In his rush to ease her mind, he thought numbly, he’d probably introduced a traitor to her court.  

“I will be sure to appreciate the roses,” Billy told her, smiling at her around Steve.  “Pretend with me, my love,” he hissed at Steve, who sighed, and smiled.

“Give me a few rounds of combat with her, at least,” Billy hissed, as they walked across the grounds.  

“What?” Steve asked, alarmed.

“Let me win you.  Let me try,” Billy whispered, banging their shoulders together, and Steve bit his lips together and nodded, rolling his shoulders in a shrug.

“There’s no other knights in this tournament,” he sighed, and Billy slid their fingers together, squeezing.  

“Then I have a fair chance,” he whispered back.

 Billy drank that night until Steve wondered whether he’d drown.  He was so soused Steve half-carried him to their room under the wary eye of Her Majesty, her stony-faced beau Barbra of Holland, and their bard, Jonathan Byers.  

“Is he...well,” asked Steve’s love, as the man he was now bound to in soul and body tried to start a fistfight with a suit of armor on the wall.

“He’s happy,” Steve gritted out, certain of that even if he couldn’t imagine why a man would marry someone unwilling, and then act as though he was, in fact, the injured party.  

“He wanted you to ask him to dance,” remarked his queen, glancing his way, and Steve groaned.  

“Which I did, if you’ll recall, despite Robin’s return with news.”  He’d done his best to play the role--leaning close as Billy rambled, returning sloppy kisses to his hair and ear, and even hand-feeding the drunken creature morsels of food when he’d dropped his knife under the table.

Billy had drawn Steve’s fingers into his mouth, his eyes fluttering shut, and Steve had had to yank his hand back and stomp Billy’s foot hard under the table.  Billy had only leaned closer, licking his lips as he ran his fingers up Steve’s thigh, and Steve felt a chill, suddenly, as the air of the Great Hall hit the sweat running from under his hair.  

That night, Steve fully intended to slam a door in Billy’s face, but he ended up pinned against it, Billy’s bulk heavy against him, Billy’s mouth hot and insistent when Steve was tired and cold.  

Steve let himself be pushed back on the bed, let urgent, shaking fingers strip off his clothes, and clutched at Billy’s curls as they tickled his thighs, Billy’s hot tongue flat along the underside of his cock.  He covered his face as he came down his new, unwanted husband’s throat, his eyes stinging in the knowledge that somewhere else in the palace, Nancy was relieved.

Billy pulled back once Steve had come, scooting to sit on the side of the bed, and Steve fought off his exhaustion, sniffling back tears, to wave him over.  

“Come here,” he said, beckoning.  

“Always fair, is Steven Harrington,” slurred Billy, his laugh a little bitter, and Steve rolled away, sighing.

“Don’t, then—”

Billy’s weight slammed into his back, nearly rolling Steve onto the floor.  “No, no, do as you will.  Have your way with me—” he trailed off, biting his lips together as Steve rolled on top of him.  

“Will this do?” Steve asked, gripping the man’s prick, and Billy nodded, staring up as Steve rubbed his thumb over the tip.  Billy’s hips rocked up, his eyelashes fluttering as he moaned, and Steve felt some small satisfaction as he worked the interloper in his bed into shuddering pleas.  Once he was finished, he climbed off, and went to wash his hands, blowing out the lamps and crawling back in to lie along the edge of the bed.  As he began to drift off, he felt a soft brush at his nightshirt, and then a stealthy squirm up behind him as Billy settled to breathe against his shoulder.  

Steve readied himself to throw a stray arm off, expecting an attack for long minutes after Billy’s breathing had steadied and slowed.  He sighed, turning his head against the pillow.  Why did he force my hand, he thought, dimly furious under the wet weight of knowledge that it didn’t matter who he married, if it was not to be one he loved.  

He didn’t know much about the Hargrove holdings.  He hadn’t felt he’d have to learn.  He’d find they were short on money, he suspected, or favor, or had a scandal in the family.  He almost hoped for the last--it seemed more human, somehow, to trap someone in a marriage to save a family reputation than for simple greed.

 The next afternoon, Steve began to remember who Billy Hargrove was.  He was deliberately annoying, dragging Steve’s attention away from Nancy--and Steve let him, turning when he felt a presence at his shoulder, and listening to whatever half-baked tirade Billy began to get his attention.  ‘Began’ was the key word, because when Steve turned to listen, and asked questions, Billy trailed off into anything that came to mind, his smile startled.  He was obnoxious and out of place, but when Steve’s mind strayed to his queen, it was a balm to hear Billy Hargrove in his ear, his warm breath incorrectly identifying game birds.

“Do you hunt at all,” Steve laughed, his cheeks sore from the unaccustomed smile.  “Badgers do not fly.”

“Tell me everything,” Billy whispered back, his smile soft as he watched Steve lean against the stone wall of the stables, unsteady with mirth.

 When Billy mumbled to a halt in the training yard, his whole mind on Steve’s hands in his, Steve began asking questions back--details on the ridiculous-sounding stories Billy had begun, to make Billy’s eyes and smile widen in surprise.  

“Tell me more of this lamia,” Steve would whisper, as Billy licked his lips, gazing at Steve’s.  

“A--a horrid.  Beast,” he stumbled, then laughed.  “There are records.  It slaughtered four towns, and cracked the bones of many children before I slew it.”

At this, none the wiser, Steve had pulled him closer, whispering, “A feat indeed,” against Billy’s lips.  After that every time Billy spoke he described a stronger, faster, more brutal monstrousity, until Steve began to recognize the look, and knew to cup the back of Billy’s neck and kiss him ‘til they ran out of breath.

When they were silent in attendance at functions, and Billy would reach over to tuck Steve’s hair behind his ear, Steve mouthed ‘Thank you,’ to watch Billy’s eyes widen, and his grin grow smug.

 As the days turned into weeks, Steve began to consider trusting the man who had refused to release him from marriage, and eventually he sought news from Robin.  

“I haven’t heard much,” she said, frowning over at Steve’s husband, who had stripped his shirt off after sparring, dumped a bucket of water over his head, and was turning this way and that in ridiculous postures, glancing at Steve.  

“There must be something,” Steve said again.  “I begin to think my humble savings and respect were his only goals, but if it be worse—”

“You think all of...this,” Robin waved at Billy, shivering, and watching them, “--is pretense?”

Steve sighed, put his hand to his mouth, and whistled to watch his moronic husband laugh.

“...if it be a show, it is a good one,” Robin said, wrinkling her nose.

“I would like to believe he is...odd,” Steve tried, squinting.

“Mercurial?” she suggested, laughing.  

“To agree to marry a stranger,” Steve nodded, and Robin frowned at Billy again.  “If he is...of inconstant mind,” Steve said softly, “--if he is...fickle, it does not inspire trust.”

“...no,” she sighed.  “No.  You are...confident his...admiration is feigned?”

“I…” Steve considered the boy he remembered in the man before him.  “He was a bully, in school.”

Her gaze at Billy sharpened, and she leaned her head close to speak.

 When they parted, Billy dashed up, tossing his arms around Steve’s neck.  “How does fair Robin?” he asked.

“Gathering intelligence on you,” Steve told him, and Billy let go, then ran to catch up to Steve’s gait.  

“Why?” he asked.

Steve snorted softly.  “Why would you insist on marriage to one who dislikes you, and asks only for escape?”

“Why make an offer of marriage to one you despise,” Billy asked, slamming their shoulders together.  “You can’t think this was some sort of plan.”

Steve dropped an arm around him, squeezing him close.  “I never despised you,” he muttered, stumbling at the awkward way he held Billy against him, but he didn’t let go, and Billy didn’t squirm away.  

When they closed the door to their rooms behind them, Billy was pink-cheeked, his gaze wandering from Steve’s lips to his eyes.  

“May I kiss you,” he asked, “--though neither of us are drunk?”

“You may always kiss me,” Steve told him, realizing it was true as he pushed his husband against the door, at ease with the familiar warmth of Billy’s moustache and warm muscles in a way he’d never been in Her Majesty’s arms.  There was no tension with Billy, only heat, and their throaty laughter as they tried to disrobe without lifting their fingers from each others’ skin.

They made it to the bed, finally, rocking against each other as the bells sounded for midday.  When they finished, as ever, Billy flopped across Steve’s chest like a fish--limp and clammy--but his smile was so smug and bright Steve allowed it, sliding his fingers through Billy’s sweaty curls.  

 “How did you come to pick my name,” Billy whispered, turning his head to kiss the edge of Steve’s hand.  “Surely there was someone you...admired, at least—”

“I needed someone she didn’t know,” Steve sighed, and billy nodded, aware as ever that the everpresent ‘she’ in Steve’s head was his queen.  “Someone she’d believe I knew.”

“And you wrote the school?” Billy asked, laughing.  “Dear Harrow, please supply a list of suitors for one Steven Harrington—”

“When I claimed to be--unbothered,” Steve laughed, his stomach sinking at the memory, “--when I suggested there might be...another, one I had hesitated to make my feelings known towards out of—”

“My name was mentioned,” Billy sighed.  “Not by you.”

“By several people,” Steve agreed, remembering Sir Hagen’s rolled eyes, and his squire’s teasing.  He stroked his thumb along Billy’s cheek, in hopes of lifting his shuttered expression.  

“And you wrote,” Billy laughed hoarsely.  “Lies, to trick me.”

“I didn’t!” Steve cried, grimacing.  “My love letters are read aloud to laugh at, usually, I didn’t think I’d win your heart.”

“They were laughable,” Billy agreed, his eyes wet, and Steve punched his shoulder, then squeezed him tightly, and kissed his ear.  

 Steve was grateful, guiltily, that it had been Billy.  Billy Hargrove, loud and brash, earnestly ready to return a love Steve had never felt.  “I’m sorry to have hurt you,” he whispered into Billy’s curls.  

“I never thought I’d hear from you again, after the ass I made of myself in school,” Billy laughed.  “Let alone an offer of marriage.”

Perhaps he could grow to be satisfied with Billy in his arms, Steve thought, kissing his husband until the man returned nearly to clay in his arms, and then rolling him to make...love, Steve thought, watching Billy curl around his hands, panting.  “I--I am glad to—” Steve began, and Billy looked up, hazy-eyed, then moaned under Steve’s mouth.  “I am relieved it was you,” Steve murmured against Billy’s neck, and Billy laughed, but his face heated under Steve’s kisses.  

“I am glad you never read the replies to my letters,” Billy whispered, smiling.

“Why?” Steve asked, wondering whether they were still at the bottom of his wardrobe where he’d flung everything that arrived during the queen’s endless series of marriage ceremonies.  Billy leaned up for a kiss, and Steve reminded himself to dig out the letters, now months old.  “I think I will love you,” he told his husband, who made a weird noise mid-kiss.  

“Don’t take on an impossible challenge,” Billy mumbled, sighing.  “You can’t help seeing the truth of me, any more than I could resist riding to you on the strength of a few dishonest letters.”

“No, I--I am beginning to, I think,” Steve told him, lifting his husband’s head to frown into his eyes.

Billy bit his lips, searching Steve’s face and smiling a disbelieving and unsteady smile.  “I won’t hold my breath,” he whispered, and Steve groaned, and stuck out his tongue.  

 Robin pulled him aside again after he gave up on pushing around the remains of a late dinner.  “He was...badly treated at home,” she said.  “Passed over for honors.  His training was...biblically harsh.”

Steve’s heart leapt, and he remembered the letters--Billy was a better liar than he was, he suspected, but there might be truth in them, if what Robin had found was all there was to find.

“He would be valuable as a dissonant,” Robin said.  “He may be bitter.  Thank you for bringing this to our attention.”

“He is, some,” Steve acknowledged, giddy with the news that Billy might be exactly as he appeared, and in love with him.

“He used your proposal as an escape strategy,” she emphasized, and Steve nodded, dismissing the alarming images of Billy with ties to hostile countries, or a secret background in assassination.

“I knew it was something,” Steve assured her, proud, and she punched his shoulder so heavily he staggered into the wall.  

“He pretends affection,” she hissed, and Steve bit his lip, thinking, then shook his head.

“No, he feels some...warmth, towards me,” he said, remembering Billy’s cautious smile that morning as Steve pulled him in for a last kiss.  

“Some...warmth,” Robin repeated, and Steve waved her away, running down to find Billy in the training yard, with designs of knocking him in the mud, and washing him thoroughly later.

Part One/Part Two/Part Three/Part Four/Part Five/Part Six

[punkandsnacks]

Between Wolves & Doves, Chapter Three; Hunger.

Author: @punk-in-docs​ & @adamsnackdriver​

Also on AO3-

Trigger Warnings: !!! Violence and gore in this chapter !!! As-well as stalking, dub con and mentions of attempted sexual assault. Hungry horny vampires gotta eat somehow right?

Synopsis: Vampire!Kylo x OC love story. Inspired by BBC’s Dracula. Also inspired by Austen’s Pride & Prejudice.

He’s been stalking this earth long since civilizations can possibly fathom. Before records even began. He sneers at the fact that this pitiful young world has only just begun to see his reign of it.

He’s dined with moguls, emperors, princes. He’s consorted with bloodthirsty ruthless Queens in their courts, and whispered into the ears of powerful King’s, whose names still echo through millennia.

In his myriad of centuries gifted to his immortal self he’s been many many things. He’s been a lowly pauper. A crusading knight. An assassin. A sell sword. A soldier. A wanderer. A simpering suitor and a voracious unyielding lover. Aimlessly lost in time- besieging this earth. Ripping it apart and drinking what’s left.

He was made in the hinterland between snow and dirt and pine trees. Crusted with ash and blood and gouged from battle. Born anew. Sired from the hell-mouth of war. He was made in 789 AD.

He’ll come undone, one bitter winter night, in England, in 1816.

~ ~ 🥀  ~ ~

When the coach door enclosed him in darkness and silence at the end of the evening, he tosses his head back to the scarlet velvet wall behind him and sighs out a deep releasing exhale. One of gladness.

 It felt like the most cleansing breath he’d taken all damned evening.

 Polite society hereabouts was exhausting- he rather preferred the one of years past.

 The coach lurches away. Hooves clip on the icy midnight road, splashed in watery silver moonlight and mushed grey snow.

 He listens to the glorious sound of his driver steering the horses to take him away from that stuffy ballroom and all its conceited occupants.

 His body rattles and shifts on the softness of the upholstered bench with the rickety rumbling and turning of the carriage wheels. He lets it ground his restless temper.

 He tries to recall the differences of when he last stepped foot on this island. What he’d said to Miss Ashton was no incorrect lie. He hadn’t been on these shores in an age. Not in 600 years atleast-

 The last time he was here was during the crusades.

 Everything was truly different in comparison. Back then he’d donned a hauberk chain-mail coat, with a conical helmet and a kite shield. He’d come here armed with only a horse, a long bow, a lance and his mail armour.

 He’d been a Knight back then. In the third crusade of 1189. Fighting under the blood soaked banner of an Christian king to reclaim the Holy Land from a Sultan. He forgets the kings name, theres been so many he’s served. The lionhearted one perhaps? Faces and names of mere humans fade back into his mind like fog.

 He’s seen so many lives begin and end. Even kings fade eventually. Too many mortals to list.

 He remembers how hospitality and society was vastly different then. It was peasants and lords. Not all these lords, and dukes and earls and titles.

 He recalls the wide unpolluted pure of cobalt sky and meadows of yellow daffodil flowers stretching on for miles. The kiss of their innocent nectar in the air. Exotic new spices, cloves and saffron and salt, animal sweat, dung, and musky furs and hides.

 Salt of the earth humble houses were squat little wood straw huts. Dominated by the reaching slanted cold shadows, that came from the immensity of the rich grey-stoned castles.

 People revered one God and their masters. Kylo was a knight. He was as good as both.

 He has memories of great fine feasts with roast suckling pigs or boars turning on the great hall spit over the fire. The glaze of flame crackled pork skin and the dirt of ash. He recalls to this very day the sweet honey spice of mead on his tongue.

 He remembers gorging himself on that honey-wine and devouring still bleeding slices of roast venison. That juicy ichor dripped down his chin. He ate meat off the bone like a starved dog. Drank flagon after flagon of barley ale to celebrate war and shedding the blood of the infidels.

 He’d greedily dined with the Lords at their courts, scarfed down their hospitality like a beast. Then he’d gone and ripped apart a peasant or two in the forest afterwards.

 Blood pulsing with matter and protein, and stomach groaning full with wine and blood. The next day when they found the decimated bodies they blamed the innocent deaths on the wolves. How appropriate-

 He can remember this country in the spark of its infancy. He was there to see it born.

 He was in Runnymede in Surrey in 1215, outside the fringes of the very room, watching, as the band of feuding Baron’s made the unruly King sign the Magna Carta. The cornerstone of British law. The first time a higher power was held accountable.

 And now look at the pitiful state of it-

 He’d been in the ballroom tonight of this grand house when those higher powers had sneered at his choice of footwear behind their snifters of French brandy and their fans. Foppish young ladies and men and all ignorant as to their place in the world they think they improve.

 He was there at the very inception of all the powers and laws these vapid people obsess and fuss over. The one that gave all those preening lords and ladies their cursed little country and their dignity.

 Maybe if he were a nicer, more patient man he could settle for people flattering him and wheedling him with idle compliments at every turn. Maybe if he were more vain, and knew his own handsomeness, he could accept those honeyed words. The sickly ones that rotted in his ears. If he was like them he could indulge their meaning.

 He’s not like them. He never will be. And he’s glad of it.

 He’s older. Laughably older. He’s a warrior. He’s seen every facet of life and history and war imaginable. And they are all nothing but specs of insignificant dust to him.

 They think they matter, when all they do is fuck and breed and drink and dance. They marry well, and produce offspring to hold up their fetid titles, and stately homes. Then they die. And the next generation begins the same thing all over.

 Some of those ignorant men tonight had the sheer nerve and effrontery to sneer up at him. Thinking he was so foreign and unfamiliar that he wouldn’t find the insult in their sniping adulations. The way they dug at his incorrect attire, his gloves, his boots. His dark clothing and his longer unfashionable hair.

 Were he in a less forgiving mood he would have snapped a few necks in that room tonight. Stopped a few hearts from beating by breaking the ribcage open and reaching in with his bare hands.

 He could’ve- it was vastly too tempting. But he had to assimilate to this petty crowd and open bloodshed wasn’t the way to do so. He has to remember rules and politesses about where to stand and what to discuss. It’s infuriating-

 He reaches a leathered hand to his neck and yanks open his neatly tied cravat. Jerking it lose from his neck so he could take a damn breath. Shoves the tie pin from it deep in his pocket.

 Irritation pounds at his temples reminiscent of a headache; his throat is crackling and sore-dry.

 He’s imbibed many glasses of Portuguese port and piddly French red wine. The crushed grape of its taste still sits on the back of his tongue and it’s simply not enough.

 He needs to feed-

 Aching to feel the blushing heat of it drool down his chin. Frothy pink where it blends with his drooling mouth.

 He’s been hungry ever since Miss Ashton crossed his path that very afternoon. Her blooming innocent scent unfolded for him like the rarest flower.

 That lavender oil and clary sage essence of her fragrance. He likes her eyes. So shy and soft. Grey like Howlite.

 People say they couldn’t see beauty in pale eyes but he very much disagrees. Pale. Like the pearled moon, like clouded open skies. Like the gentle purity of creamy rose petals.

 That girl he glimpsed tonight was shades away from the shy creature he saw walking along a pale road. With a crease of concern on her brow.

 Arms and hands aching with strain and numb from her labours and holding that basket.

 Even in her ill fitting coat and her cracked shoes and worn dress he’d seen more of her. More of her obvious true beauty.

 Her hair this afternoon was riotous and wild and he so likes wild things.

 Tonight she’d been trussed up, and decorated and tamed in a flimsy silk gown and made to look like every other girl donned in their best. To parade in the ballroom like a swan showing off its feathers.

 Or like a snowy little dove-

 He smiles to himself. Time was - back in some far less strict age - he’d have cleverly concocted some excuse to get her alone at that ball tonight.

 A darkened room for a lovers tryst. A room out of use and earshot of everyone where he could be her lover just for the night. Where he could kiss her senseless. Sate the craving.

 Crowd her to the wall of some parlour, tear those silly slippers off. Rip those papery silk skirts right up the middle. Make her cry out in pleasure on his cock. Make her thighs shake with rapture that makes her sweet core drip right down to the insides of her stockinged knees.

 He’d feed on her too. Oh, he’d make a feast of her. Make her last.

 The little delicate morsel she was. What a mouthful. He’d mouth everywhere. Her gorgeous breasts, her neck, devour between her thighs at a place where he’s certain no other man has ever been.

 Shove his muzzle in her neck and lick the sweat off her soaped salt skin. Taste that awful cloying fragrance she put on. Growl at her that she should never bother with scent again to entice him. He didn’t want the citrus rot of perfumery and flowers.

 He wanted her. Her bare skin. He wanted the clean pure innocence he smelt off her from his carriage that afternoon. Her skin. Body. Her unguarded neck.

 He’d bite and suck and feed. He’d feed as they are joined as one with him slipped up inside her. And he’d happily watch that white white dress turn crimson garnet.

 He damns civility. He growls and tears the infernal cravat right off his neck. Not only is he raging hungry, but he’s now got an appetite for things that just blood won’t sate.

 His appetites for Miss Ashton.

 He balls up the cloth of his cravat and shoves his deep in his coat pocket. His shirt neck now gapes wide open. Down is pecs. Almost to his chest. Baring him to the cold that he’s too deadened and numb to feel.

 When the coach bumps over a rickety track in the road, he gazes out the window, feeling the chilled glass brush his icy hands. Even through his thick skinned leather gloves. Lined with silken rabbit fur. An irony when his hands were ones that didn’t even need keeping warm.

 He peers out the tiny icy slither of the window pane in the door. See’s that they are now heading through some tiny hamlet. One far from home. Somewhere quiet where there’s a quaint roadside tavern under the heavy bruising of a night sky.

 A run down roadside coaching inn by the looks of the squat old building wedged into the earth, compressed under a heavy blanketing snow. The roof sags in the middle. There’s tiles missing. A wonky chimney which coughs and chokes out little smoke.

 The crusty paint peeling sign above the door announces it’s called ‘The Horse & Wagon’ In faded wheat gold paint. He sees the small square spits of Tudor windows to the front are glowing with candles and many men are crushed within. Drinking away their riches. Or drowning their sorrows. Escaping their nagging wives or their crying children. Getting away from the responsibility of all the hungry mouths they had to feed.

 He pounds a big rattling fist once on the carriage roof. Careful not to plough his ravened fist through the wood. He could tear it apart like brittle match wood if he wanted.

 The coach shudders, whip cracks, horses whinny and snort in protest. Kylo wets his lips and climbs out down the coach.

 “Going in for a drink. Don’t wait on me.” He instructs. His driver tips his hat and the carriage churns up wet and muddy snow as it lurches away.

 He strides to the warped door and shoves it open. Creaky and shuddering old thing. The aroma of the dingy place hits him like being cut down by stampeding stallion.

 The decay of sweat. The heat and filth of working men. Body odours. Stale ale and musty unclean floors.

 His heavy treads from his expensive boots skid on the muck lining the grey flagstones as he steps in. As tall as the door, and more so, he had to stoop to get in. His shoulders too wide for the tiny door.

 The bar is crowded with labourers and farm hands. They have their backs turned to him. But the miserable portly barman assesses Kylo with offence and derision as he comes in. With his probable educated accent and his fine clothes.

 This was normal men’s refuge from their masters or the fine men and lords they serve. The scowl on the tubby mans face tells kylo this.

 In a previous life, any man looking with such open derision at his lord and master rightfully entitled them to be pilloried for a month, or flogged until he can’t stand, Kylo thinks.

 He looks around the dismal offering of this atmosphere. Settles on a table in the mouldy walled corner. Damp dripping from the sagging ceiling over the exposed stone.

 The tables are wonky chunky oak ones. The only light in the place are from melted and misshapen candles in brass black stands on each uncleaned table. Kylo sits with a full vantage of the bar. Next to the fireplace. Soot and ash spewed all over the floor. Crunching and crushed under his boots.

 A waify little barmaid appears in a dirty donkey-brown wool dress. Her hair the shade of red rust scraped back off her face in a low bun. Stained chemise under her rumpled dress.

 She still had the flush of youth in her cheeks. The baby-weight of it on her face too. She was still a girl and yet she had to work serving the foul pigs in here. He pities the poor thing. She couldn’t have been more than fourteen. And he knew men lost to drink could turn truly vile.

 “Serve the gentleman, Maggie.” The miserable barkeep growls. She does as she’s bid. The way he says ‘gentleman’ was as if the word turns his stomach.

 Kylo’s sat in shadow in his corner. Fully confident the girl can’t see him. Doubtless she’s had to approach more rowdy awful men than him. She doesn’t seem scared. Why should she be? She doesn’t know she’s approaching a man who’s scarier than all the rowdy and randy drunk men she’s seen, put together.

 She focuses her innocent little brown eyes at him. He sees the flush on her cheeks. And the dew of labour on her chest. There were splashes of drink sullying her crumpled linen chemise sleeves. She’s soaked in sweat and smells of drink and dirt. “What can I get you, sir?” She asks. Her accent was low born.

 “Ale.” Kylo asks for. All the alcohol this place would serve is spirits or beer. No cordials, port or madeira to be found in here. This isn’t the place for that. This is the place to get drunk quick - he hopes.

 She nods and scampers back over to the bar. She brings him back a filthy tankard of ale that he doesn’t even dare touch.

 He reaches his pocket and gives her two silver shillings. She turns away but he stops her by grabbing her wrist. Bones grate under his leather palm. Turning back she looks afraid.

 “Please, sir-“ She tries to protest.

 Kylo reaches out again and puts three crown coins in her hand. She looks at him with surprised wet eyes. Bordering on offence at his insinuation. This was an inn. There were rooms upstairs- she thought he wished to buy her time.

 “Nothing like that.” Kylo assures her with a cross frown. He prefers his partners willing. Not paid.

 “That’s for you and your family.” He nods to the bar. “Not for him.” He states firmly.

 She smiles and quickly pockets the coins. He likes travelling with coins in his coat. Knowing what he could idly spare to a deserving soul could feed a family in reduced circumstances, for an entire week.

 She walks away happily from his table. He slouches back in the shadows again.

 He lets the fetid ale sit in front of him and suffers this putrid place so that his dinner might show itself soon.

 He listens to the men cackle, hacking booming laughs, share stories and jokes, and drink and stoutly ignore him. Which is what he wanted. He planned for that. It always serves him and his appetite well.

 He waits and watches. As any good hunter does. And he’s one of the top predators stalking this earth-

 He was the second vampire ever made. The only devil worse than him is the one who made him. And the only one Kylo’s maker bows down to, is the original demon himself who bought them all into creation. The one who fell from heaven.

 He continues his waiting game.

 Eyes slipping over every man. Watching them imbibe. Watching the sense drain from their thick heads. Watching. Looking. Searching. Wondering who who who it will be.

 He doesn’t have to prey for very long. He never had to in filthy, discarded and squalid places like these.

 Kylo’s eyes zip to the bar where some letching man now has his hands tugging at the bar maids skirts and trying to get her in his lap.

 The assailant was young. Not very handsome. Ruddy faced. Tanned. A farm hand at his best guess. Broad backed with a square jaw and wheaten hair. Kylo leans forwards in his chair. Eyes churning. Stomach calling.

 She wrenches her skirts away from him and gives him a stout slap across the face. Before scurrying away scared, heading out the door at the back to fetch the things her boss barked at for her to go get.

 His friends all jeered and laughed and told him he got what was owing to him.  A red welt spreading across his face.

 Kylo’s stomach knots up in anticipation.

 The affronted farm hand sloshes down his pint. And starts after the girls retreat. Kylo slips out the front door with a smirk. And a belly full of rage.

 His feet crunch on the snow. Where he stands. He rips his gloves off and shoves them in his pocket. He’s a feeling he’ll need his bare hands soon. Nails already growing sharper. The promise of a hunt hangs in the air. 

 He slips around the side of the tavern. To the ale barrel store out back. He’s nearly there to the out sheds when he hears it. The crack of a slap harshly ringing the air, whimpers. Gasps of pain. Pairs of feet shifting in the snow.

 He rounds the corner. Silent as his shadow trailing behind him.

 He sees the farm hand with his hand over the girls mouth. Crushing her to the tavern wall by the back door. Hidden by the barrels, boxes and crates stacked all around. He’s trying to stuff his hand up her skirts again.

 “Give us a kiss, lass. You know you want to-“ He smirks.

 Hunched over the poor girl. Leering at her. Snarling that no one makes a fool out of him. Her eyes are so wide and terrified. Whites of them and sticky in the dark night air, like pearls.

 Kylo can’t stop the low growl slipping from his throat. The natural part of him- the animal- slipping free.

 He marches over with his blood raging fury through his body. Temples pulsing with strain and need. He fists a hand in the boys collar and yanks him back, slamming him up into the wall instead. See how he likes it.

 He holds with death. He doesn’t hold with rape.

 Not in any sense. Not to young girls with their whole lives ahead. He was born and bred in a time when women were revered as highly as men. They were treated and respected as equal. Not handled and oppressed, bred and showcased and sold like livestock.

 He turns the letch to face him. Marvels in the scared screams that come from his mouth. He likes hearing how horrible he is in his most feral state.

 His eyes are glowing gold now. Golder than coin. Golder than sun and wheat and everything precious.

 Only he looks terrifying. Gold eyes. Edges rimmed with raw red.

 The girl cowers on the snowy floor next to them. Tears streaming down her innocence puppyish face. One cheek reddened by a slap from a harsh hand. Kylo looks down at her. The farm hands feet dangled high off the floor, kicking at him.

 “Run along girl. Go home.” Kylo warns. Looking down at her. She scrambled back and heaved herself up to stand on shaking legs. 

 “W-What are you gonna do with him?” She asks. Edging away down the wall.

 “You don’t wish to know.” Kylo smiles squeezes the guys throat. Spit splutters out his mouth. He gurgles on his shouts of terror.

 She scarpers away in the snow. It clings powdery wet to her skirts and she run’s around the building and off into the dark. He’s not worried for her safety now. She won’t encounter a more dangerous creature than him out there tonight.

 The man before him whimpers. Kylo rakes his eyes over his face. Rubs his thumb along the pulsing jugular in his neck. His sharp nails quickly piercing the skin. Notes of hot sweet copper and pennies bloom up in the air.

 “Please. D-Don’t hurt me please-please sir.” He begs.

 Why do people think begging will save them? Like any amount simple pleading will keep them from harm. It won’t even scratch the surface.

 “I’m giving you a little taste of how scared that girl was when you followed her out here. Not very palatable is it? You beat her with your bare hands. You caused her pain. She suffered you. Now you’ll suffer me...”

 “And I will make sure it hurts.” Kylo’s promising with mirth in a savage whisper.

 When he smiles there are two glimmering sharp fangs where his pointed canines used to sit. Gleaming wet in the light. The farm hands eyes are shrieking with fear.

 Kylo strikes quickly and cleanly. Hands fisted into this grubby workers clothes. He growls as his teeth sink and he tears through the flesh like the skin is no more to him than wet paper being gouged at by knives.

 He groans as he drinks. Laps it down. As the hot viscous filled his mouth and slid warm down his throat to his belly like a trail of fire.

 His blood tasted of apples and coins. Sharp and bronzy bitter.

 Kylo can feel it smeared over his mouth. Slipping down his chin. Onto his chest and staining his open shirt. He’s crushing the man’s windpipe in his free hand. The other planted to the wall. He feels the wretch twitch and sag under his hands as he slowly eats away his life.

 The part he always likes the best- when the fight drains away and the muscles loosen. And everything unwinds. That’s when the blood comes quicker. Thicker. Less of it being pumped around a panicked body.

 There’s no panic anymore. There’s nothing. Not even life.

 He greedy with meals. He drinks until he’s had his fill and his appetite is about as large as his body.

 He feasts until blood is staining his hands. His chest. And smudged all across his chin. He even saw some drop on his boots. His teeth are stained crimson and his belly heavy with the bliss of being so full. He hadn’t fed since he arrived here. It’s nectar euphoria flushing into his blood.

 When he’s had enough. He easily drags the bloodless corpse away from the tavern.

 Discards his useless body in a nearby icy ditch at the side of the road. He reeked of Gin. And Kylo thinks it a fitting end that it looks like the drunkard stumbled into the path of an oncoming carriage and got torn and crushed to bits under the wheels.

 He kicks snow over him and leaves. Sucking the blood off his fingers as he walks.

 He’s not sure how or why. But he finds himself knowing to head through the woods. The opposite route to home. Trekking through snow in his leather boots. Forest and ice brushing at his wool jacket shoulders from the low hanging branches in the trees. Wisps of snow land in his hair. Floating all around and catching on every gnarled bark of each tree.

 He finds he ends up in the oddest of places. Westwell manor.

 He looks up at the large block of the Manor house. Gold brick. White sash windows. An ivy smothered roof. Cracked roof tiles that had seen better days, freckled in melting snow and moonlight. Just like the snowy gardens.

 He stands shaded under the old horse chestnut tree, and looks up to the one room, high up in the house. In the middle. There’s a candle glowing amber in the window. Turning the glass into a sheet of apricot cornelian standing stark in the bruised black night.

 He just wants a glimpse. He’s aching for it- he thought it was the bloodlust that pulled here. But perhaps he’s wrong- it’s deeper than all that feral nature.

 Just a glance. Just the one. Can’t hurt. It’ll help him make up his mind

 And there’s his little dove. Draped in a white nightgown. Sat in her window alcove.

 Up against the frosty glass with a shawl bundled around her shoulders. A novel cracked open and sloped in her lap. Her delicate face exposed by her hair. Now in that messy, freed arrangement. Tucked into a wild plait tied with beige muslin at the end. The nightgown it so big it slides off one pale shoulder.

 Kylo aches at the sight. His bones ring with wanting. Maybe this power is no more than desire.

 He shuts his eyes and he can smell her. Can imagine the simple taste of her hot skin on his tongue. Wants to feel his eyelashes kiss the crook of her neck as he does the same to her shoulder. Wants the drum of that pulse in his mouth. Is this desire? Or is it more?

 She turns the page and smiles a little reading the passage. He smiles too. As if they are linked. Already joined as one. It makes something stir in him.

 He softly whispers words that echo out into the frigid cold night. So only he can hear them “Sweet dreams, little dove.”

 Kylo’s not felt like this, or this strange pull of attraction in all his 1,027 years walking this earth. And now it’s here, she’s here-

 He wonders- 

 Maybe she doesn’t know it yet- he doesn’t fully know or understand it himself. They shared something like a deep connection as soon as their eyes met. He felt it. And he never usually feels things such as those. Not for another human.

 Kylo is in serious danger of outstaying his welcome- but he just wants to look at her. To admire her for a second longer. As openly as an astrologist studies the beauty and wonder of the moon. Perhaps he can make sense of all this.

 As Iris moves to close her book, blow out her candle and climb into her much cosier bed to warm her feet; she glances out the gardens, up past the pond and up at the bright cyclops of that pearly winter moon. 

She could’ve sworn she caught sight of a hulking man stood, looking up at her from under the chestnut tree. She blinks and rubs away the cold fog smeared on her window and there’s nothing there- idle trickery from her tired mind. 

He vows he will see her again; he’ll make sure if it. As he walks home in the cold night. Dripping dried blood and agitated with desire. He declares to himself that he will do everything in his power to uncover more. To make something sensible out of all this mess.

 After all. Kylo Ren is a creature of little patience. But this feeling, this situation. That is what he will patiently unpick. 

~ ~ 🥀  ~ ~