#tie me down: cordonian ruby short

[bobasheebaby]

Tie Me Down- Cordonian Ruby short

Pairing: Ruby Rys x Beau Larkin

Word count: 1,192

Warnings: none it’s fluff

Summary: I got an ask from a dear anon about when Beau knew Ruby was the one. I could have just answered it but I thought Beau might do it better.

Song Inspiration: Tie Me Down by Taylor Ray Holbrook (it’s far more innocent than the name implies I promise)

A/N1: this is completely written in first person from Beau’s POV and jumps from when they are 16 & 17 to 17 & 18.

A/N2: I used the chorus to break apart the different sections, lyrics are italicized.

A/N3: This may very well be a hot mess disaster. I changed POV last minute from third to first, have had zero sleep and am only awake due to coffee and sheer will. Also I’m the only one who went over this draft, so please excuse any of my sleep deprived mistakes. Thank you to my snippet reader @loveellamae who screamed appropriately.

Series warnings: character death, blood, surgical procedures done by non medical personnel, may go NSFW in the future. May contain gun violence, knife violence, threats, not sure how dark this will go. By requesting to be tagged you acknowledge you are at least 18 years of age.

Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist.

Disclaimer: I own Ruby, Galen, Lovett, and Beau, I’m borrowing Bastien and Olivia from PB.

When I first saw her I could barely tear my eyes off of her. She was new, sure it was the beginning of the school year but I surely would have remembered someone like her.

She was unlike any girl I’d ever met. She had this air about her that had me completely captivated and dying to know more.

Most of the other girls put far too much time and thought into their appearance, sure they looked pretty but she was an effortless beauty.

Her long golden hair sat piled on top of her head, and her nose was buried in a book, but still she captivated me. Every day at lunch it was the same, she would tuck herself away either in the cafeteria or out in the courtyard.

She didn’t seem too interested in making friends with the other students. She knew who she was and wasn’t concerned with proving herself.

Her self esteem took my breath away. I had moments of doubt at times, she looked like she never second-guessed herself.

She had this magnetic energy that just drew me to her.

Every time I passed her in the hallway my heart would race, by the time I got the nerve to speak to her it was nearly winter break. I couldn’t understand what it was about her that had me so flustered and nervous, I'd talked to other girls, been on more than a few dates.

There was just something about her that was different, special.

I knew that it was coming but I didn't see it coming now

Little did I know you had the finger I'd be wrapped around

One look at you and I saw everything I'd ever need

And you don't know what you do to me

I'm down to give it all up

If you're up to tie me down

If you're up to tie me down

I wasn’t even the slightest bit surprised when she pulled her blonde waves back into a ponytail. I knew I had been taking a risk with this unconventional first date, but I also couldn’t see taking someone like her to the movies.

It felt too played out for someone as special as her. She deserved a guy who actually got who she was. I might not be the guy for her, but I’m trying to be worthy of her.

She was always beautiful, but she looked absolutely breathtaking as she picked up the rifle. Her hair shimmered in the afternoon sun reminding me of gold. No, it was more like a halo, she was so angelic.

Damn the way she took my breath away.

Her form was perfect, if I didn’t know any better I would have sworn she’d spent her entire life in Texas.

She was completely at ease with the gun and the target practice, it was me who seemed to make her stutter.

I got it, she made me nervous too. It was second nature to reassure her.

Damn I sound like some kind of lovesick fool. It was too soon to know, but maybe someday it would be, if I was lucky.

I knew that it was coming but I didn't see it coming now

Little did I know you had the finger I'd be wrapped around

One look at you and I saw everything I'd ever need

And you don't know what you do to me

I'm down to give it all up

If you're up to tie me down

(Treat my heart like a secret)

If you're up to tie me down

(Promise me that you'll keep it)

(Treat my heart like a secret)

(You're the reason it's beating)

Panic flooded my veins the moment the wooden sword hit her ribcage with a deafening crack.

My heart dropped to my stomach and I felt like I might be sick. I hurt her. I actually hurt her. The thought made my heart ache.

Would she ever trust me again?

How would I possibly ever make this up to her?

I was frozen in fear, my heart pounding in my chest.

I never wanted to hurt her. Never wanted to be the person to bring tears to her eyes.

As I watched her clutching her ribs I noticed something, she wasn’t crying.

How was she not in pain?

I had watched her stumble backward and while I’m strong she could flip me over her head if she wanted, there is no way that I could have been the sole reason she was knocked off balance.

From the sound alone I could tell that I hit her hard. I knew it had to hurt like a bitch. Hell, I probably would be crying if it was me.

It should be me.

The thought barely even caught me off guard. It didn’t even surprise me as the next thought rang clear in my mind. I love her.

I knew that it was coming but I didn't see it coming now

Little did I know you had the finger I'd be wrapped around

One look at you and I saw everything I'd ever need

And baby you don't know what you do to me

I'm down to give it all up oh

I'm down to give it all up oh

I'm down to give it all up oh

If you're up to tie me down

If you're up to tie me down

It’d been weeks since the mishap with the sword.

The way she brushed it off like it was perfectly normal to have two busted ribs only compounded my feelings for her.

Every day I feel just a little more sure. There will be no other girl like her.

I still haven’t told her, I don’t even know if I could put the way I feel about her into words.

‘I love you,’ while the truth those three little words just don’t feel like enough.

She is the most amazing woman I’ve ever met. She stuns and amazes me every single day, and I feel like the luckiest guy in the world when she looks at me.

The way her brilliant blue eyes light up when she smiles. No other girl could ever compare. The way she makes me feel. I just know, she’s it, my one in a million. No other girl could make me feel the way she does.

I looked down with a smile as I felt her shift closer to me.

Out here in the bed of my beat up old pick up just leaning back and watching the stars. Nothing too special, except it was her. Everything feels perfect with her.

I felt the overwhelming urge to voice my feelings.

I’m a little nervous, what if she doesn’t feel the same?

I’m eighteen and I’ve already found the love of my life. The thought of anything shattering the perfect picture in my mind terrifies me.

God, I’m head over heels for her.

I love her and tonight I will tell her those three little words.

You won't see it coming but one day you're gonna turn around

And I'll put a ring on the finger I've been wrapped around

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[gothika666faerie]

Let it Go

He should have been more contented. Happiness was too much of a stretch and honestly, no one could ever be truly, blissfully happy. At least, there was the possibility-or there should have been-of him reflecting back on his life with some feeling of accomplishment. Here he was, an established Duke of Ramsford, the highest and most noble aristocratic family in Cordonia. Certainly, not anything to sniff at. Bertrand Beaumont stared listlessly at the sheaf of papers on his desk, waiting to sorted through, read and more often than not, crushed and chucked away in a frustrated fury. 

He was discontented. Unhappy even. One could even label him miserable beyond belief. His father always bemoaned the curse that his elder son was so inclined towards random bouts of depression but now at this stage in his life, Bertrand swore it could become a regularity. He was already in his thirties and living the life of a true blue blood, with all the boredom, the stifling responsibilities and the many forever watchful eyes of society laying into his back. He rests his chin on his palms and lets the text blur into streams of black scattering insects. Eventually, he had reclined all the way in his chair and stared straight up into the ceiling. When was the last time he did something truly interesting or exhilarating? 

Skinny dip for the hell of it? Eat ice cream straight out of the tub while dancing as though no one was watching? Hell, he could barely remember the last time he laughed so hard, so long and so loud that his sides hurt. Along that note, when was the last time he had a pulse-pounding, ecstatic and breathless orgasm....that wasn’t by his own hand? He reached a hand up to finger his thick hair, always slicked back and hugged closely to his head and frowned. 

And great. A grey hair already. Just perfect. 

Outside, somewhere in the lounge, Bertrand could hear rollicking, careless laughter. He sneered. Of course, at least he was having fun. Maxwell always had fun. He never needed to aim for valedictorian in finishing school, go for etiquette lessons or watch his every move lest he were to ruin the name of the house. Bertrand was the heir, Maxwell was the darling of the family. How his parents fawned over the little puppy who cooed back in return with his haphazard crayon scribbles and hideous attempts at cartwheeling. Oh, and what was Bertrand doing? Learning how to play Mozart because “you would want to impress your guests when you hold your soirees. Oh, don’t talk nonsense, Bertrand! Maxwell is too young and he is already so naturally charming. You need a special talent to make sure you don’t bore your guests to tears.” 

Rage coursed through Bertrand’s veins as the memory and he sits back up, gripping tightly at his arm rests. It was not fair to Maxwell to be so angry, so resentful. Maxwell loved him and had been through the thick and thin with him; defending him when their father never saw any good in him, sometimes crawling into his room and imitating the old bastard for a laugh and always there to force him to look on the bright side. In return, Bertrand knew he needed to look out for his excitable and often too flighty little brother. When their parents died, he truly needed to be the man of the estate and that meant ensuring Maxwell would grow up right as rain. However, the boy was as stubborn a boy as always. They were just too different. Bertrand was cold, reserved and apathetic. Maxwell was warm, exuberant and a live wire over everything. It was no wonder the latter always had friends. 

Bertrand groans as he remembers their respective sixteenth birthdays. Maxwell’s was teeming with guests from all over and he watches from the sidelines, shadowed over by balloons as his little brother break dances on the floor and gets applauded and blown kisses by the girls around him. His birthday was his parents, his little brother and the towering pile of presents sent from all over by relatives and other noble families. He received about eight of the same set of suits from that pile of “gifts”. This was his lot in life; he never was the type to socialize so whatever. He was a grown man. He reaped what he sown. He just was not Maxwell. He was thirty-four to Maxwell’s twenty-five. He was old. Over the hill. Used up. At a standstill. 

He slams a fist on the desk and stands up, determined. He could still do something. Anything. He gazes at the hanging wall clock; the short hand at eleven and the long hand just past one. He rummages through one of the desk drawers and removes a small box with a lock. Fishing out its companion from his lapel, the box snaps open to reveal a ring of jagged keys and a key chain that bore their family crest of crossed tentacles and topless sirens. 

With his new bounty in his pocket, the duke marches out of his office and down the stairs and was nearing the door when he hears the voice he really did not want to deal with right now. 

“Bertrand....where are you going?” It is Maxwell of course, in a simple pajama set of Crown and Flame shirt and boxer shorts wrapped up in a blanket. Oh Christ, was the boy really having a marathon at this time of night? 

“Out.” The reply is short, curt and unfortunately, unsatisfactory. Maxwell’s brow furrows as his brother reaches for the doorknob ready to unlock it and leave. He grabs onto Bertrand’s jacket.

“Bertrand, it’s 11:10 pm. It isn’t like you to go out so late for no reason. Is something wrong?”

“Maxwell,” Bertrand’s voice was cold and heavy, his brow creased with a sternness that made the boy shudder. “You’re the younger brother. You don’t need to keep tabs on me. I can take care of myself.”

“I know...I just...you haven’t looked really happy nowadays. I just don’t want you to do anything stupid alright?” Bertrand sighs at his brother’s thoughtfulness and softens, placing a hand on Maxwell’s shoulder.

“I’ll be fine. I...I just need to go for a ride. To clear my head.” Maxwell smiles up at him and nods. “I understand. Just be careful alright? And don’t come back so late...wow, it feels weird sounding like you.”

Bertrand snorts and shoves at his brother’s head but cannot help the smile spreading on his face before he is finally out the door. Maxwell holds the front door ajar and peeks out, staring at his brother as he heads for the gates and pushes them open, locking them behind him afterwards. Convinced and satisfied that his brother could take care of himself and was admittedly, more responsible and cautious than he was when he went out on late night partying escapades, Maxwell retreated inside to continue on season 3 of The Crown and Flame and was certain eventually Sei and Dominic were going to fall in love. 

Bertrand was not going to take the limo. Nor a horse. His choice of ride tonight was going to fit his mood. He enters the garage at the far back of the estate, surrounded by their plantation of Cordonian rubies and white roses and sidesteps around the array of their expensive, vintage cars before considering the vehicle at the far end, covered unglamorously with a silver tarp. He tugs it off and smiles in nostalgia as he takes in the polished exhaust pipe, the buttery leather seat and the handlebars ergonomically designed to be gripped tightly when the bike would take to rougher terrain. 

It had been his one moment of teenage rebellion; saving up his hefty allowance to get himself his own motorcycle; a Harley Davidson no less and he remembered tearing down the highways and pavements with the wind whipping his face and hair as he laughs in virile triumph, scraping the bark of an apple tree here and there. Obviously, that phase never lasted and his father had confiscated the keys, given him a good tanning with the rod and Bertrand had been sent to a commune to think over his indiscretions. Maxwell was given the bike as a last minute birthday gift on his nineteenth birthday but oh, the sweet lad could never dream of enjoying the fruits of his brother’s labor and merely kept it clean and running before giving it a home in their garage under that silver tarp. 

Bertrand traces the sleek body of the ride with fond affection, smirking when he got to his initials that he had spray painted on the side in violet indigo, a stark contrast to the iridescent silver of the paint job. It was settled. Tonight, he was not going to be Duke Bertrand Beaumont. He marches towards the metal lockers lined parallel to the wall and opens one to reveal a duffel bag hanging on a hook. He takes it down, unzips it and removes the articles of clothing inside along with a pair of aviator sunglasses. He makes quick work of his suit, first the jacket, that awful sweater vest, his tie and shirt and folds them up neatly, stuffing them in the bag. He catches sight of his half-naked form in the mirror in the locker and smirks. Maxwell may be limber and flexible but he had nothing on him. 

On goes the deep blue, almost midnight black shirt that drapes against his broad firm chest. The leather jacket slips on snugly afterwards. His sensible pants were next to go and were replaced by some well-fitting-thankfully, still fit-black jeans and lastly his Oxford shoes were tucked away as he slipped on some ragged, sturdy boots, as soft and rugged as his jacket. All that was left was to ruffle his usually put together hair (fuck that grey strand) and slip on the aviators. He finds a pack of Menthol cigarettes too in the bag and lights up, knowing it was positively foolish to smoke in a garage with flammable objects just within reach but he honestly could not care. He blows out a stream of the tobacco fumes and breathes in the intoxication he was going to immerse himself in tonight. Letting it carelessly fall to the ground, he snuffed it out with his heeled boot and kicks up the stand of the bike, wheeling it out of the garage and positioning in the driveway. 

Key in the ignition, Bertrand gives it a few turns till the engine was putting and purring like a jungle cat that had come out of induced tranquility. Bewildered, confused but raring to pounce at any minute. That was him right now. He straightens his jacket to fit tightly onto him and mounts the ride. He revs it up and soon enough, he was tearing up the paved road, leaving his castle, his home and his prison for this one night and oh how he laughed. He laughed. He laughed. And he laughed. 

The stars were winking down on him as he whoops, getting on the expressway and weaving in and out of traffic, finding that empty lane where he could just go at full speed, let the wind mess up his normally neat coif even more and truly let it all go. The wind billows out his leather jacket and the sunglasses keep it from getting in his eyes but they are still watery. He had never remembered feeling this alive, this free and as he gets on the shore road and gazes out to the expanse of the deep blue sea that surrounds Cordonia, he realizes that he had been missing out for far too long. 

This could be a nightly ritual. No one would find out. He just had to keep in disguise. He could go out to the slums of Cordonia, the seedy nightclubs and brothels and drink till he fainted, do lines of imported drugs till his blood was set alight and actually remember what it felt like to fuck a woman. 

He had been hiding, been forced to hide since he was young. It was high time he let go. The night air was getting chillier and the wind picked up. Above him, thunder roared but Bertrand could only laugh in the storm’s face. 

The cold never bothered him anyway. 

(( Written out of pure randomness and also, cause we KNOW Bertrand is the Elsa of The Royal Romance. I like to thank @ladyashtonofcordonia and @smartlillian. Their fanfics have been inspirational. Also, this goes out to @ohmymaxwell and @mochimicho who also absolutely adore Bertrand (and think he is hot like me) so yes, you beautiful people, thanks so much))