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ambientstars · 3 years

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Praise - part 3 (Whittaker!master x reader)

Gif credit: unknown

Warnings: angst, alcohol, eventually nsfw (tied up, blindfolded, praise kink, waxplay), but mostly a bunch of softness you’re welcome

Note: SURPRISE!! I didn’t plan on making a third part to this, but literally one person asked and that all it took for me to write it. This will be the final part because I don’t think I can take it any further. Kind of a longer one this time (2k more than usual) because ya girl tried to put some more storyline into it. Anyway, enjoy my loves!

———

“How do I look?”

You stood facing the mirror, smoothing out your outfit and taking in your reflection.

“You could be wearing a paper bag and I’d still eat you up,” The Master stood behind you, hands on your waist, her fingers digging into you almost painfully. “But I must say you look delicious in this.”

You frowned, confused. “I’m not a snack, you know?”

She laughed, moving hair from your shoulder and placed a wet kiss on the side of your neck. “No, darling, you are the whole meal.”

You turned, amusement clear on your face. “Are you hungry or something? Do you want to go and get some space food instead?”

The Master snorted, stepping away from you and picking up her jacket. “Let’s just go.”

Today was the anniversary of your renewed relationship with The Master. It marked one year of being by her side, of calling her yours and of being the happiest you’d ever been in your life.

And boy, what a year it had been. It started off just like it had before, full of passion, heated desire for one another and spending most days close to each other, taking every opportunity to touch, kiss and caress the other every chance they got.

Except this time, it didn’t fizzle out, it didn’t turn sour and it didn’t become toxic. Your relationship became stronger every day, your trust for each other grew to new heights and you considered it to be healthier than it ever was before.

Tonight you were going out to celebrate, to the club you reunited with The Master at. She had said it would be a nice full circle moment and you had to agree, for if you hadn’t gone there in the first place, you wouldn’t have seen her again and began a new journey with her.

——

The club was just as packed as it always was, each area full of aliens of all kinds, the line to get in twisting around the building.

The Master walked right up to the entrance of the club, ignoring the queue entirely. You hurried along with your hand in hers, trying to keep up with her quick pace despite her high heels.

The bouncer at the door nodded at the timelord in recognition and opened the door without a single word, allowing you both in immediately.

Sometimes it slipped your mind that you see a different side of The Master, others viewing her as dangerous and evil, not to be messed with and granting her whatever it is that she demanded for the sake of their lives.

She led you straight to the bar, pushing past the crowds and stopping at the VIP spot of the bar where orders were taken first before anyone else waiting. She ordered your favourite drink without you having to tell her and it made your stomach flutter that she actually did listen and learn about what makes you click and your favourite things.

The drinks were on the house just like they always were. The Master never paid for anything, ever and it was a hard press to even think of a time you’d seen her with real money in her possession.

“What’s got you so tense, darling?” The Master slipped a hand around your waist and pulled you in close, which admittedly did help to relieve the odd tension in your shoulders. “Relax, enjoy yourself. There’s no danger here. Not with me around.”

You didn’t need to look at her face to know a self satisfacted smirk was painted right across it. “Something just feels off.”

She took the glass from your hand and released her gentle hold on you, effectively removing the protected feeling it gave you. “Why don’t you go and dance for a while? Burn off some of that tension.”

You finally looked at her, your cheeks heating up just at the sight of her under the colourful lights. “I don’t know… I’m not really feeling it.”

Placing your glass on top of the bar, she held your chin between her finger and thumb, and brought her face inches from yourself. “I’m not asking. I want to watch you dance. Now be a good girl and give me a show.”

After a quick peck on the lips, she moved away from you and seated herself at an empty table with a perfect view of the dance floor.

You did as you were told, making your way over to the dance floor and taking a deep breath, trying to push away the bad feeling in your stomach and allowing yourself to enjoy the music playing loudly throughout the building.

You performed as best as you could for The Master, your eyes closed, your hips swaying and your hands roaming your body like you were exploring it for the first time. Eventually your muscles relaxed and you could let yourself move freely with the music, a soft smile gracing your face towards the end of the song.

The sinking feeling in your stomach returned, however, when you opened your eyes expecting to see The Master watching you with a proud look and instead catching the eye of The Doctor who stood only a few meters away from you.

He was with someone, a redhead woman, who stood closely by his side, smiling up at him.

She was beautiful, from what you could tell at this distance with flashing lights in your eyes, her frame petite and clothing that seemed more casual than your own, almost like she didn’t expect to be brought here and instead dressed for a different kind of outing - which didn’t seem entirely impossible given The Doctor’s habit of landing in wrong places at the wrong time more often than not.

You held his gaze for what felt like an eternity, your face no doubt mirroring his own expression of shock, confusion and hurt.

You hadn’t seen or spoken to The Doctor since you left him a year ago, abandoning him yet again without saying goodbye. You often wondered how he was, hoping you’d bump into him one day if only to know that he was still alive and well, your guilt eating you up inside, but now that it was happening, it felt like a metaphorical house of emotion was crushing you, not at all feeling the way you thought it would when you eventually saw him again.

In your stupor you hadn’t noticed The Master come to stand beside you, also looking in The Doctor’s direction, but eyeing up his new companion instead. “See? I told you that you’d be replaced in no time.”

The Master loved a good I told you so moment and this one hurt, like salt in a wound. She was right, of course she was. She knew from the very beginning that your spot would be filled by someone else almost as if you never existed and deep down you knew it too, but a small part of you hoped that it wouldn’t be so soon, that you meant more to him than just someone occupying an empty space in his life and replacing you as soon as you left.

You broke the eye contact with the timelord you once viewed as your best friend and turned to walk in the direction of the restroom. The Master was hot on your heels, throwing an unreadable look towards The Doctor as she also turned.

You fought back tears as you reached the door, flinging it open and pushing past everyone inside to get to the sink, ignoring the grumbles and annoyed comments thrown your way for the intrusion. You leaned against the basin, breathing deeply to try and keep the sobs at bay, your throat tightening.

From beside you, you heard The Master tell everyone inside to leave and give you both some privacy or else face the consequences. Of course they all listened immediately and hurried out until it was just you and her left in the room.

“What’s all this for?” She came to stand beside you, leaning back against the sink next to the one you occupied. “You’re actually sad? Need I remind you, you left him?”

You sniffled and shook your head, willing yourself to calm down. Again, The Master was right. You had been the one to leave him, not the other way around. You had no right to be so upset to see him with someone else when you came here with your own someone - someone he’d been at war with since post childhood, someone he thought would kill you in cold blood, someone who was the last person he wanted to see you run away with.

“I just didn’t think he’d find someone else so quickly.” You released a shaky breath and quickly wiped away a stray tear that had managed to escape. “Just hurts to know I’m so replaceable, that’s all.”

The Master laughed lightly from beside you despite you not having told a joke, her body twisting to face you. She turned you also, holding your shoulders in her hands and forcing you to face her.

“Darling, look at me.”

You did as you were told once again, bringing your watery eyes up to meet hers, the hazel colouring of them appearing darker under the dim and almost useless lighting of the small room.

“First things first, you are not replaceable. And secondly, the man is an idiot.” She rolled her eyes, genuine disbelief on her face. “He brought someone new into his life so fast because he didn’t know what he had standing right in front of him. He doesn’t define your worth, no matter how you felt for him.”

“And you do?”

She smiled softly, moving a hand to rest on the side of your face to gently stroke your pink cheek. “No, my love. Only you do, no one else.”

A warmth came over you, a deep and genuine love for The Master filling your chest. It wasn’t lost on you that during your year together, she had become softer, kinder and more loving. It seemed as if she was a different person from who she was in your first attempt at this relationship, more willing to show vulnerability and voicing her feelings out loud.

Although this was only ever shown to you. To everyone else she was still the heartless monster who killed for fun, none of them understanding how she managed to find someone to love her despite her evil ways. You had to admit that you understood their point of view, but to you, she wasn’t those things.

The door suddenly swung open and in walked the redhead who had taken your spot in The Doctor’s life. She smiled politely and grabbed some tissue from the stall furthest away from you, using it to blot away a wet patch on her tshirt.

“My friend is such an idiot sometimes,” she began talking as if you’d known each other forever. Or at all.

At that The Master made a face at you that said see? He really is.

“Spilt his drink down me while he was distracted by something. Not sure what he was looking at or what he was drinking, but it will come out, right? Do alien drinks stain? I guess I could— I’m sorry, have I interrupted something?”

You hadn’t noticed that by now both you and The Master were staring at the girl with unwelcome looks, your eyes having since dried up and The Masters hand that had fallen to your arm tightening.

“Your friend, what’s his name?”

The redhead gave a look of confusion towards The Master, but remained polite. “The Doctor. Maybe you know him? He’s quite well known.”

Your lover sniggered, stepping away from you and moving towards the other woman. “Indeed.”

You prayed silently that she would be nice, it wasn’t your replacement’s fault you were in this situation. She seemed nice enough and knowing The Doctor as well as you did, he probably hadn’t even told her you existed, that you held her place before her, that he had just been left alone without so much as a word about it.

“Let me buy you a drink.”

The Master’s tone seemed genuine, kind even. You didn’t understand what her motive was, but you sent out yet another prayer that it wasn’t sinister given that your last prayer was seemingly heard and granted.

It took very little time to convince the other woman to allow The Master to buy her a drink, the excuse of let me make up for his mistake passed by your ears and you knew that although it was said directly to the redhead, it was also meant for you.

Your hand stayed firmly planted in The Master’s, a new drink held in your other. You sipped on it slowly, feeling tired at the wide range of emotions you had experienced in such a short amount of time and hearing The Master make small talk with the other woman who also had a new drink in hand.

From the corner of your eye you saw The Doctor standing on his own, just like he had been the first time he’d been left on the dance floor all that time ago, bewildered at what he was seeing.

It suddenly clicked in your mind what The Master was doing, why she had invited the redhead for a drink at the bar. She wanted The Doctor to see that she had yet again taken his friend from him, allowing him to see that they would rather spend time with her than with him and sending out a message that no matter how many times he replaced his companions, she would be there each time to steal them away and give them something better.

The Master was smart and carefully calculated, her plan working perfectly, The Doctor’s fists bunched up and his brows knitting together into a displeased frown.

The redhead eventually felt bad for leaving ‘her friend’ behind and said her goodbyes, making her way back over to the man who still looked lost and angered.

As you sipped on the neon green liquid in the glass you held, you turned your attention back to The Master. She was already looking at you, a brow raised as she waited for you to say something.

“That was painful.”

“I know,” she moved a strand of hair away from your face and behind your ear. “But I had to send a message. No one hurts my girl.”

Your breath hitched in your throat, a surge of emotions yet again came crashing down on you like a tsunami. Tears brimmed your eyes once more and had The Master not pulled you in for a loving kiss, your bottom lip would’ve begun to wobble.

“My good girl.” She kissed you over and over again, placing her drink on the bar so that she could wrap her arms around your waist and pull you onto her lap, making you straddle her on the bar stool that miraculously took your combined weight without a problem.

You continued to make out in front of everyone, your arms around her neck and her hands grabbing at your body in a desperate need to feel more of you. It wasn’t long before you unconsciously began to wiggle in her lap, grinding down on her thighs in search of a little friction.

“Take me home.”

The Master smiled against your lips, opening her eyes to search yours for confirmation that you actually meant what you said.

But of course you did. You wanted nothing more than to be in the comfort of your own home in the TARDIS and to spend the rest of the night in a blissfully heightened state with your lover on your anniversary.

——

“Bath?”

Stepping into the TARDIS, you shrugged off The Master’s jacket that she had placed over your shoulders to keep away the chill on the short walk from the club to the timeship that she had disguised as a house not even a few minutes away, insisting that it was too cold for you not to wear it because humans feel temperature differently to timelords and you’d freeze to death if you didn’t.

You hummed happily at the thought of soaking yourself in hot soapy water. “I’d love that.”

You both made your way to the bathroom and you began to strip down as The Master ran the water into the tub, joining you in removing her clothes once she had added the bubbles to the running water.

She reached out for you and held you in her arms, both of you naked and falling into a quiet moment where no words had to be spoken to know what each other were thinking and feeling.

Once the bathtub had filled up with enough water, you both slipped in, moaning in unison at the muscle relaxing temperature. You spent a while washing each other and unwinding in each other’s embrace, The Master’s hand slowly rubbing circles between your legs until you shook and came undone for the first time that night.

When the water began to turn cold, you stepped out and dried off, carefully rubbing each other down with soft fluffy towels until you were dry enough to make your way to the bedroom without creating a trail of water droplets behind you, the air drying you off completely by the time you got there.

You laid on the bed patiently, ready and waiting for The Master to join you.

She pulled a pretty patterned tie from the drawer and smiled at you when she came to meet you at the bed, your submissiveness never failing to bring her happiness.

She leaned down to kiss you softly, crawling on top of you in the process. “Arms up, love.”

You obeyed without question, lifting your arms above your head.The Master tied them up, looping the tie between the bars of the bed frame so that you couldn’t bring your arms back down.

“Is this okay?” She brought her kisses down to your neck, wet and warm, and torturously slow.

You moaned out a yes, your stomach twitching at her touch that was moving lower, your toes curling in anticipation.

She kissed down your body, making sure to hit all the sensitive spots that only she knew about, her hands skimming down the curves of your waist towards your legs.

She lifted a leg and rested it on her shoulder as she brought her head between them. She kissed lazily down from the inside of your knee to where you desperately needed her between your thighs, your hips raising on their own accord.

“I’m sorry tonight didn’t go as planned, but I’m going to make it up to you, darling.” The Master used a finger to slide into your wet heat, her tongue quickly following, earning a strangled moan in response. “I promise.”

It was rare for The Master to apologise for anything even for something that was her own fault, so for her to apologise for something out of her control was new territory for the both of you.

You wanted to tell her not to be so silly, not to apologise for something that wasn’t her fault, but whimpers and gasps filled your throat, not allowing any words to be spoken.

You also wanted to hold onto her, your hand tangled in her hair, keeping her where she was and encouraging her to keep going, but with your hands tied to the bed, the best you could do was tug desperately on the fabric restricting them and pray that it will eventually break and set your arms free.

The white hot coil in the pit of your stomach began to wind up tighter and tighter, and you knew that with The Master’s mouth working you so expertly to the edge, it wouldn’t be long at all before you fell apart.

And you were right, crying out at the blinding pleasure, setting a new record for yourself at how fast you had tipped over the edge.

The Master sat up and reached over to untie your hands, slipping the tie from between the bars and allowing your arms to flop down either side of you.

“Can you keep going?”

You nodded breathlessly, your eyes falling closed in an attempt to concentrate on bringing your breathing back to a normal rhythm.

“Keep your eyes closed.” The soft tie was placed over your eyes and tied behind your head after she had encouraged you to lift it up for a moment. “Good girl. Now tell if it gets too much and I’ll stop, alright?”

“Alright.” Your voice came as a whisper, raw and forced.

The sound of sparking hit your ears and your head turned in its direction, unable to make out what it was just by the sound of it.

The Master laughed softly, her arm smoothing over your arm reassuringly after seeing your reaction. “Relax, I just lit a candle.”

You took a deep breath and allowed your body to fall limp into the mattress beneath you, revelling in the feeling of The Master’s slow kisses that she was now placing along your stomach.

“Another deep breath, love.”

You drew in another and as soon as your lungs were filled with air, a sharp searing heat hit your sternum, right where The Master had placed a kiss seconds before.

You released the breath quickly with a whimper, your mouth agape in shock. “What was that?”

“Wax.” The Master spoke nonchalantly. “Want me to stop?”

You thought it over for a moment. Did you want her to stop? This was certainly new and sure you’d spoken about it previously, but you hadn’t been expecting it and no, you decided, you didn’t want her to stop.

This was akin to spanking, pain at first that fizzled into pleasure. The heat of the melted wax that was poured onto your skin lasted mere seconds before cooling into something warm and tingly, setting your nerves on edge and bringing a heightened sense of gratification.

“No, keep going.”

You knew that she was smiling, pleased with your willingness to experiment and the trust you had in her to keep going and not bring you any unnecessary pain.

And keep going she did, dripping hot wax across your body, watching how you reacted to the heat in more sensitive areas compared to the more desensitised parts of your body that saw the light of day more often.

Each time the wax settled onto your skin, it hurt less and less, stinging pleasantly and morphing into a heavenly warmth. The Master kept up the practice of kissing right where she planned to pour, giving you a heads up every time, something you were grateful for.

With your sense of sight taken away from you, your other senses intensified, making each touch, each whisper of encouragement all the more rewarding.

The Master eventually stopped despite your moans and begging for more, supposedly because the candle had burned down and run out of wax, but she continued to show you attention in other ways.

She remained close, her hands roaming your body lovingly, worshipping you with her kisses and her words. She allowed you to rut against her thigh, leaving a wet spot on her skin as she sucked on your neck below your ear, your arms encircled her shoulders and keeping her in place so that you didn’t lose your rhythm against her if she moved.

“So good for me, darling,” her whispered words in your ear felt like a song from an angel, supporting you on your journey to otherworldly bliss. “My good girl.”

After a little while longer and a few more orgasms, you were completely spent, your body aching deliciously, your eyes feeling heavy after a long evening.

The Master held you close as you drifted off to sleep, tracing sloppy figures of eight onto your exposed back and breathing in the subtle scent of lavender from the soap she had washed you with.

Taglist: @queerconfusionthings @another-doctor-who-blog @crazylittlereader2474

#13th doctor #thirteeth doctor #jodie whittaker #doctor who #doctor who imagine #dw imagine #w!master #whittaker!master x reader #whittaker!master

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borrovvedyoongi · 4 years

Text

dream state of mind

Summary: bulleted scenario, in which you drunkenly end up kissing hyunjin at a party, and everything makes you feel like you're on a high

A/N: non idol!hyunjin, non idol!au, and underage drinking (plz listen to “tkm” by boy pablo when u get to the kissing part!!! it makes the reading experience really lovely uwu)

warnings: oral (female receiving)

ur both invited to this party by a mutual friend, jaemin

at frst u were all like “u gotta give me some sort of incentive to leave my bed, i’m not just going bc ur telling me to”

“there’s free alcohol”

“but i don’t even drink.”

“hyunjin is coming”

“..........go on”

“that’s the incentive pal, so go gussy up and look hot for your mans”

“ok first of all if i rolled up sporting salsa stained sweatpants all of these hoes would fall for me, so i don’t need to gussy up...but fine...i’ll do it for him”

“sick”

you already take a long time getting ready but this time it takes a little while longer

you want to look flawless as humanly possible, but not so much so that intimidates him and makes him run off. your rbf already does that for you.

you arrive and hear the heavy bass and see the swarm of warm bodies up against each other, half of the ppl have drinks in their hands already. it’s not quite 10 yet, only 9:32 pm.

might as well grab a drink to loosen the nerves, you think

you go to the source of the drinks, and enter the semi crowded kitchen. right away, you see hyunjin.

you must’ve been eyeing him too long bc his eyes seem to shift to your figure. it’s probably the atmosphere of the place that gives you a little bit of some extroverted power, bc you wave at him.

..........he waves back, and smiles that grin u swear u fall for all over again each time you see it

r u smitten? mayhaps.

r u down to talk to him tonight and at least score his number? ye

but first, refreshments.

you’re not the best bartender in the whole world, but you try to eyeball the whole drink mixing to create your own understated cocktail.

a whooole lotta pepsi (or coke...or dr pepper... whatevr it’s brown and it’s good) and an ounce of what you assume, vodka, gets poured in your red cup

the whole thing burns the living shit outta ur throat but it’s definitely making you blitzed in the best way possible.

you casually look over your shoulder to hopefully meet hyunjin’s eyes once again, but is bombarded by a smiley jaemin

“jaem! hi :)”

“:D Y/N! welcome to the jamboree! did you uhhhhh talk to him yet?”

“not quite. but i waved and he waved back so i totally got it in the bag”

“what bag?”

“it’s a metaphor, jaem”

“oh”

“r u drunk”

“hehe mabes.”

“anyway, i need to casually sneak over and strike up a conversation with him but he looks busy and i have no idea what to say to him.”

“leave it to me chum”

“yeah don’t ever call me chum ever again or i’m hitting you”

“well ok party pooper” jaemin then grabs your hand and strides to hyunjin’s direction.

panic finally begins to set in the pit of your stomach and you stop in your tracks.

“wait! jaem, idk if i can do this.”

“:o”

“:/ i want to make a good first impression, but i don’t have a clue as to what to say. i wanna look cool..and hot..but also be an amazing conversationalist.”

“ur actually in good hands. i spoke to him earlier and he asked if you were coming.”

“:o”

“yeah i know! let’s go”

he finally lets go of your hand, and you stroke the fabric of your midnight blue crushed velvet mini dress, the one where chenle blushes at the sight when you wear it

aaaaand here is chenle blushing and stopping mid-sentence and looking at you, jaw practically dropped.

hyunjin turns around to see as to what he’s looking at and he understands completely why.

you look ravishing, to say the least

lowkey gulps a little bc erm ur hot bb

and you feel really hot

“hyunjin, hi” your voice sounds a little sultry, not that you were trying

“hey” he says really cooly. you shiver at the sound of his voice, so melodic even through the loudness of the party

“HEY chenle can you help me move the ping pong table in the basement?”

“but me and jisung already-”

“welp we gotta move it again” and then chenle picks up as to whats going on a lil and is all like aight imma head out

hyunjin takes a sip of his drink and almost chokes a lttle bit when you suggest going somewhere more secluded to hang out

“like where?” he asks

“i’m not quite sure actually”

“how about a spare bedroom upstairs.” your eyes widen at his words and you short circuit a teensy bit.

he realizes this then stammers out a response “u-unless you don’t want to then-”

“that’s actually perfect”

internally sweet bb boy hyunjin is just “:o” bc he doesn’t know what will happen

he has heard some stories about you where you’re incredibly wild but at the other hand he has also heard that you’re just as much as a homebody as you are a party goer

“ok cool”

you lead the way and have to pull down your dress to prevent it from riding up so damn high and hyunjin can’t help but stare at your thighs

like, yeah it would be dope to be in between them but do you know what’s even cooler? resting his head in your lap

he’s a pure boy for the most part

both of you enter the spare bedroom and he shuts the door while you plop down on the bed. both of you are still holding cups, both pretty full

you’ve only spoken to him a few times, but enough to get a general idea of him

he’s soft spoken, a bit dramatic, is a lovely dancer and you noticed he has nice ass hands that could choke I MEAN hold your more petite hand

you blush at the idea

he finally sits on the bed beside you and opts to put his drink near the bedside table, you would rather hold yours, gives you something to do with your hands

“hi” he starts off

“hi” you say back

at first it’s a normal conversation

he asks how ur doing, you ask him the same

he says parties are kinda obnoxious

you partly agree and say “depends on if you’re with the right people or not really”

he hums in agreement

it’s back and forth conversation for a few minutes

and then you guys start drinking more in between responses

you don’t know when it happened but now the two of you are right beside each other, thighs touching, both tipsy from your drink

at some point you ditched your drink and got curious as to what his drink tasted like, and he offered you to sip. it’s fruity, and quite sweet

“fair warning tho, chenle suggested adding a lot of other alcohol in it so you might feel a buzz” he says

you’re slightly too far gone because you’re a giggly mess,

it’s ok, he’s giggling too

both of you are lightweight drinkers and get blitzed off of one cup sdjfhsdf you really should get better friends to supervise the two of you at all times

at some point you put your hand on his thigh

at some point he puts his hand atop of yours

you have always seen that cute freckle underneath his eye but up close and personal, it seems more cute

“ur staring” he says

“i know”

it’s okay, he’s staring at your mouth

you finally notice his staring and out loud say “your lips look really kissable”

he smiles, and caresses your hand with his thumb

“i get that a lot. you have really pretty eyes.”

you smile softly, eyes somehow seem prettier in the dim light of the bedside table lamp.

both of you lean in at a slow pace, not wanting to rush

with all of the liquid courage you can muster you finally close the space in between you two

the kiss is so delightfully soft, so delicate

he cups your cheek with his hand as he kisses you

you don’t break apart just yet

you savor the feeling of the sensation of his lips molded into yours

he can taste the mango lip balm as he gently swipes his tongue against your bottom lip

you shamelessly moan and part your lips slightly

he smiles at the sound

he brushes his nose against yours, and then tugs at your bottom lip carefully with his teeth

your heart is beating rapidly, yet time seems to stop around you

hyunjin has been wanting to know what your lips would taste like for a while, and tonight he finally got the chance to know. it’s sweet, it’s soft, it’s dreamy

it all seems like a dream

you suddenly had the urge to bite at his bottom lip, and when you did, he released a guttural moan, and you take the chance to pass your tongue against his

he tastes like a daydream, and you feel tingly all over

you’re snapped out of your trance when he asks if you could straddle him

you nod your head yes, not trusting the sound of your voice

he lays back down on the bed, and you put each leg on either side of his body. you lean down, and once again, press your lips against his

he stops and asks “can i touch you?”

“yes, touch me anywhere you want”

he softly cups your breast in his hand, and begins to kiss you

your dress is definitely riding up, and you can feel wetness pool in the middle of your legs

hyunjin uses his other hand to softly stroke his fingers against your clothed clit

you hum into the kiss in appreciation, and he takes that as a sign to apply a bit more pressure

this time, the feeling takes over you and you hide your face in the crook of his neck, panting

the hand that was on your breast is now resting on your thigh, and gripping it rather harshly

“is it okay if i eat you out?”

“please”

he then grabs at your waist to set you on the bed

he pulls you closer to the edge of the bed and places your legs on each side of his shoulders

you pull up your dress while he pulls down your black lacy underwear

“you look so cute like this baby”

you giggle, and search for his hair to grasp on while he pulls his administrations on you

he kisses the inner part of your thighs, then places the flat of his tongue against your heat

he probes the tip of his tongue in your tight hole while using his thumb to rub agonizingly slow at your clit

moans fill the room, the sound echoing back to his ears, making him more determined for you to cum

he rapidly licks at your clit while inserting two fingers in you

he knows exactly what he’s doing, and because of that, you cum in only minutes

he puts your underwear back on and pulls down the skirt of your dress

he lays back down beside you and licks his fingers clean, looking right at you

your cheeks are flushed and ur a panting mess

“wonderful weather we’re having, hm?” you grab a throw pillow and hit him with it, to which he laughs

he places a hand on your hip and says “I don’t have your number”

you scour around the room to find your purse, which has fallen onto the ground

both of you exchange numbers, cuddle

a few hours pass by and both of you sober up, going your separate ways, but not before leaving a lingering kiss on each other’s lips

everything feels a bit hazy, like it’s a dream. but no, it happened.

he’s your biggest dream to come true

379 notes · View notes

tilly-pomeroy · 4 years

Text

Modern AU of RDR2, a flat share, the reader is the new roomy of Charles. She has unexplored feelings and hides them as good as possible. Not for too long, promised, Charles really likes her back. #female reader

*********

Charles was different than the men you‘ve known before. He was quiet, not very talkative, often caught in his thoughts, not present to the events around him.

His looks instead were quite deep and pervasively when someone talked to him or when he would tell about something important to him. His eyes would lighten up and start to gleam.

Mostly he would only sit next to a conversation and listen carefully, taking part passively.

The biggest part of his time he spent in his room, his safe space where he wasn’t bothered by others. If he wasn’t home he went on short trips into the woods where he could be completely by himself or worked in the local zoo as an animal care worker.

He loved his work and the animals company, teaching him to read their behavior and building a deep connection.

*********

Once you visited him at the elephants enclosure where he was busy changing water. Completely sunk into his work he didn’t notice you for a few minutes. You watched him work, fascinated how careful he was when he stroked over an elephants’ skin, absent-minded and tender.

His movements were smooth, soft, prudent.

The moment he detected you standing at the fence his face turned almost frightened, surprised by your presence. He brushed his long black hair hastily, adjusting his ponytail and the tiny strands falling out of it. He looked kind of embarrassed in your direction as if you made him nervous.

You just smiled and waved, trying to hide the leaps your heart made, triggered by the shy smile he gave back.

He came towards you, cleaning off his hands at the overall of the zoo employees. Which suited him pretty well, flexing and stretching at his shoulders and thighs where he was just too broad and coarse for the fabric. But you didn’t show your affection in your face, barely could hide your blushed cheeks.

“Hey, you’re early.”, he said to you slightly surprised.

“Um, yes, I left the library earlier. But don’t hurry, I have time.”

The following afternoon was so beautiful. So calm, so soothing and tender as he led you through the zoo, telling you about the animals in his quiet and yet pervading voice, reaching through your ears straight to your heart.

Each time he touched your arm slightly to draw your attention to an animal his fingers would leave a burning spot. From that day you knew you would fall in love with him.

*********

The weeks went by and you got to know each other better. Never on a romantic or sexual level. It was only friendship.

And yet you still tried to convince yourself you’d feel nothing. The lightning bolts shooting through your nerves each time he was nearby didn’t make it easier and you tried to ban them as soon as they showed up.

It didn’t get easier. He started to do small nice things for you, like bringing you coffee to your room every morning, always mindful he wouldn’t catch you without clothes.

Other small gestures followed, never big or very profusely. Still they meant the world to you.

*********

One day you are on your period, your body cramping and quivering of pain. You wear few layers of clothing, trying to keep you warm, even though it is a hot summer day.

You want to make another cup of tea so you go to the kitchen, passing by Charles who sits on the sofa reading.

He smirks at you being packed in clothes.

“Are you cold?”, he asks with a tease in his voice.

You turn around with a weak smile, your eyes near to tears of pain. His face changes from witty to startled and a little shocked.

“Oh God, are you ok? I didn’t know you weren’t feeling good...”

You can’t be mad. “It’s alright, just, you know ... women stuff.”

You are too weak to be embarrassed about your “women stuff”. Charles doesn’t react awkwardly either, looks only seriously concerned.

“You look like you’d faint any second. I doubt you’re alright.”

“I just need some tea, my hot water bottle and my bed. Don’t worry.”

It feels weird to bother him with your issues.

As if he reads your thoughts he shakes his head.

You turn to the kitchen again, your eyes fluttering from the exhaustion of standing that long. Steps get audible behind you and suddenly big hands reach around you, lifting you up like you weighed nothing. Charles carries you back in the other direction to your rooms.

“What are you doing?”, you ask suprised.

“Putting you to bed.” is the short answer.

“I can walk!”

“You shouldn’t.” His voice is calm but firm. You don’t resist.

He walks not towards your room instead to his and on your asking look he answers simply “My mattress is softer.” He must know your mattress from when you moved in and he carried it to your room to unfold.

You barely can keep up your head, so you place it on Charles’ chest, too done to give counter words.

He lays you down, bedding you softly in pillows.

“Never seen so many pillows in a mans’ bed”, you joke weakly.

He only grunts with a smile, then leaving the room for the tea.

You must’ve fell asleep so you don’t notice Charles coming back. Not until he lifts the blanket to place the hot bottle under it, making sure you won’t get burned. He brushes your hair out of your face and gets up to leave the room.

“Stay here”, you whisper. His presence is so calming and comforting.

So he sits down next to you, upright leant against the head of the bed, lightly stroking over your hair. You reach for his hand to hold and squeeze if the pain gets worse.

The sleep comes over you pretty fast.

Hours later your eyes flutter open, the first thing they see is Charles’ face next to yours, asleep as well.

His expressions are calm, relaxed, restful. Just looking at the peace on his face makes you feel better.

You rise your hand to touch his cheek, just slightly, feeling the warm and a bit stubbly skin.

He wakes up by the touch but it is not abashing. You want him to feel your hand. He smiles tired.

“Must’ve fell asleep too. Just felt so comfortable next to you.”

His voice is sleepy and deep, smooth and sweet like dark hot chocolate.

“Hope I didn’t bother you.”

“No, actually ... on the contrary.”

A shiver runs over your back realizing those words. It meant he liked your presence in his bed.

“Do you feel better?”

“Yes, I guess. Still pretty tired.”

“Just stay in bed and relax. It’s the best you can do for yourself.”

You hesitate over your answer.

“You care about me ...?” You don’t know whether it is a question or a statement.

“Of course I do.” That sounds like an answer to a rhetorical question, as if there was no doubt.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Well, there were many reasons why not, most obvious that he hadn’t known you for very long.

“I don’t know ... not many people would take care of their few months known roommates.”

“So we are only roommates?”

You can’t figure out if the question is meant teasingly or seriously.

“No, you’re not only a roommate to me.”, you confess.

“So aren’t you.” He is serious.

“But still, not many would care like that at all, no matter how long knowing each other. That’s special. You are special.”

You aren’t scared to say the last words. They’ve been on your mind for long enough and now they wanted to be spoken, showing him how important he is to you.

Instead of answering he fixes his eyes on yours, trying to guess how serious you are. You do not look away and lock his eyes with yours.

“No one ever told me I was special ...”

“I really don’t know why.”

His head shakes a little as if he tries to make sure the memory of being special to someone was secured and wouldn’t fade.

You smile softly, now a little embarrassed.

“Sorry, this got cheesy.” Your cheeks are slightly blushed.

He laughs quietly and puts one fingertip to your jaw, stroking it smooth.

“Not at all.”

His faces gets closer to yours, you feel his breath on your lips as his were so close to yours.

He breathes heavily, preparing his next words.

“I really want to kiss you right now. Actually, I wanted it since quite a while ... “ He stumbles over his words, confused, trying to overplay the words slipping out of his mouth.

You chuckle a little. He is adorable.

“Well, luckily we have the same opinion concerning this.”

You move your face forwards and close the gap between your lips, placing yours softly on his, feeling the warmth raying from them, breathing in his air and exchanging it with yours.

You feel how he is a little suprised you just kissed him so bold and reckless. He needs a second to realize your lips on his. But then he responds. Opens his lips, taking in your air and carefully, almost shy, getting your tongues together.

You let them explore each other for a while, meanwhile his hands catches your cheek and waist, pulling you closer to him and his warmth, protecting you in the big arms. Your hands aren’t staying at one place, you have to caress over his chest, arms and waist, stroking his broad back reaching up to the muscular neck and the long hair, running your fingers through the raven feather alike locks. One falls over his face and tickles softly yours.

It feels so good, so safe and peaceful, caught in his arms reaching around you, holding you as tight as possible to his body which radiates comforting warmth.

A good while later you free your lips to look at him. Like you’ve never seen it on him before his face has turned red under the softly brownish gleaming skin.

“Are you embarrassed?”, you ask wondering.

“No, dear. Just a little agitated. Kissing you is something else.”

You take it as a compliment and smile with a little mischief.

“Very cute how you get that confused by a small kiss.”

“You call that a small kiss?” He laughs.

“Yeah, maybe a little more.”

“A little, yes.” You smile at each other with feeble-minded faces, still dazed by the kiss.

Your hands do not stop to caress each others bodies, exploring them.

“You feel better?”, Charles asks, remembering the reason why you are in his bed at all.

“Better is way too understated. I’m feeling great.”

“Don’t take it too easy too soon. You still need to rest.”

“I’ll be careful, don’t you worry about it.”

“But I do worry.” He looks dead serious.

“You are important to me.” A little pause.

“I know I’m not the best at showing it and I may seem absent sometimes. But I listen every time you are talking and I would never not care over even ignore you.”

Again he stumbles. It seems like he starts to get uncertain anytime he talked longer, struggled over his words and forgot what to say, leaving him insecure.

You stop him, put a hand on his arm.

“Hey. You don’t need to explain. I noticed every time you did something for me. I always knew you listened and always was sure about your presence.”

Relief became visible on his face.

“I hoped so.”

“Do not think about any doubt, okay?”

He nods, pulls you even closer, your head against his unshakable and sturdy chest, building a safe space with his body.

You snuggle tightly at his strong torso, breathing in Charles’ subtle smell of fir wood and dark cocoa. It lulls you into sleep, your body becoming heavy, sinking in his hug.

In the middle of the night you wake up. As if your heart needed to make sure Charles still laid next to you. And he did, breathing deep, tranquil, in harmony with this dreams.

You smile languidly, close your eyes again and fall asleep. Feeling home.

*********

So, this is my first attempt of a fanfiction. Just a little bit of fluff for my soft boy.

Hope, I did Charles justice as a character! Also I am kinda insecure about my English, really hope I didn‘t screw up what I had in mind.

#charles smith x reader

#charles smith/reader

#rdr2 x reader

#charles smith

#red dead redemption 2

#fluff

#fic

#charles the gooddest of all the bois

#this soft and fluffy teddy bear

#also period stuff

#charles takes really good care

#he is so handsome I’m dying like actually look at the gif jesus

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camillemontespan · 5 years

Text

a kingdom divided [part eight] [drake walker x mc]

Part Seven here

Chapter List

I REALLY enjoyed writing this chapter, I hope you all enjoy! Comments always appreciated!

@jovialyouthmusic @drakesensworld @pug-bitch @moonlightgem7 @sirbeepsalot @ifyouseekheart @notoriouscs @katedrakeohd @fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore @iplaydrake @drakewalkerisreal @tacohead13

********************************

Drake was true to his word and made Camille breakfast the next morning. Even better, he decided to bring it to her on bed. He came through with a tray, complete with a little vase with a rose inside, a plate of pancakes on top and a steaming mug of coffee. ‘Morning, honey,’ he greeted her, kissing the top of her head. She gave him a happy smile. ‘You are the best husband ever!’ she told him, taking a sip of coffee. He smiled bashfully and settled down on the bed beside her. As she cut into a pancake, he studied her like he always did when she wasn’t looking. The sunlight streamed in through the window, casting a glow onto her skin. She looked so content, which was all he wanted.

‘I’ve got something to show you later,’ he told her.

‘What is it?’

‘It’s a surprise,’ he answered, a mischievous grin on his face.

When Camille was up and dressed, he took her to her surprise. They wandered past their bedroom to another door on the same corridor. Drake stopped in front of it. It was a door they had never opened as it had been locked when they moved in, so Camille was surprised to see him produce a key to open it. He gave her a wink and opened the door. ‘Go inside,’ he whispered. Slightly nervous, Camille passed through the threshold.

She clapped her hands over her mouth. The room, dusty from not having been lived in for who knew how long, was beautiful. Large with stripped wooden floors and an ornate fireplace, the room’s beauty was down to the enormous stained glass window, with the sunshine casting pink, yellow and purple hues into the room.

‘How have I never seen this window before?!’ she squealed, turning to Drake with a huge grin on her face. Drake chuckled. ‘It’s round the back facing the forest. We haven’t been round to that side yet.’

Camille let out a breath. ‘This room is beautiful.’

‘I thought it could be the nursery,’ he murmured, waiting for her reaction. He had wondered what was behind the door for so long and after much searching, he had found the key he needed. As soon as he had stepped inside, he knew he had to show Camille. He watched Camille as tears welled up in her eyes. ‘Drake.. that’s so sweet.’

He stepped forward to take her hand. ‘This is the fresh start of us preparing for our family. No rocks through windows. The most beautiful room in the manor for our daughter is a good place to begin this fresh start, you know?’

He walked into the centre of the room, spinning round. ‘We can paint again and I thought maybe the crib could go underneath the stained glass window? And a little toy chest could be put next to the fireplace and maybe I could put up a bookshelf? I’m happy to sand down the floors so they’re smoother and you can pick all of the soft furnishings you like, anything you want goes!’

Camille’s heart warmed as she listened to his excited babbling. His eyes were animated as he spoke, thinking of more ideas they could do. She stepped forward and took his hands, looking up into his eyes. ‘I really love you, Drake Walker,’ she whispered. Drake stopped talking and looked down at her, blushing. ‘This family is my priority. I just want you to be happy,’ he told her softly.

Camille squeezed his hands. ‘I’m happy now.’

*****************************************************

Drake and Camille spent the rest of the day painting the new nursery. They had decided to stick with their original decision to paint it yellow. At one point, Drake dabbed a yellow spot on the tip of Camille’s nose, which prompted her to chase him around the room armed with her paintbrush, laughing her head off. This was the way it was supposed to be; easy, free and simple.

They lay down on the centre of the floor after the room had been painted and they gazed up at the stained glass window. Drake wrapped his arm around her shoulder as they lay in comfortable silence.

‘What girl names do you like?’ she suddenly asked. Drake smiled. ‘I’m not sure, really. I guess there’s a few I find pretty. Your name is pretty.’

Camille giggled. ‘We’re not calling her Camille!’

‘It’s weird, I never saw myself settling down and having kids. I just thought that I wasn’t destined for it. But now I have you and everything is different.’

Camille curled up into his chest, listening to his heartbeat. It was a habit of hers; she liked to listen to his heart against his chest as it made her feel safe.

‘Good different?’ she asked.

‘Perfect different.’

Drake played with a lock of her hair, curling it around his finger. ‘I suppose I like pretty names? Like... Rose. Or Violet. Sophie.. Ava..’

Camille smiled. ‘Those are nice names.’

Drake looked down at her. ‘Maybe we should put up post its of names? Anytime we think of one, we write it down and stick it on a board.’

‘I’d love that!’ Camille cried, excited. ‘Let’s make this place baby central!’

Drake let out a laugh and pulled her into him, kissing her forehead. ‘Sounds like a plan.’

*********************************************************

Liam had planned to hold his brother’s welcome home dinner at the end of the week. This time, the press didn’t report on it which made him hopeful that an angry mob wouldn’t turn up at the palace again. He was sat in his study, reading through the forms of the people who had put forward their names to be considered for the committee, which Liam had christened the People’s Committee.

The door knocked. ‘Come in,’ Liam called out. The door opened and in entered Olivia. He tried his best to conceal his surprise at seeing her- since they had slept in the same bed on the night of the mob, he hadn't been able to look at her. He knew Olivia loved him. It was obvious for all to see, despite her trying to hide it behind her hard exterior. But when they had lay beside each other under the covers, he couldn't help but feel like he was leading her on and giving her false hope. He should have taken the sofa instead of relenting and sharing the bed with her. He had tried his hardest not to touch her, just in case she got the wrong idea and thought he was making a move.

He loved Olivia so much, but he wasn't in love with her.

'Olivia. What can I do for you?' he asked pleasantly. She stood before him, waiting for permission to sit at the desk in front of him. He gestured and she sat down, eyeing the committee forms. 'I see you're deciding who to pick,' she said.

He nodded. 'Lots of good candidates here. They all want the best for Cordonia.'

'I'm glad you listened to me and Camille in the end,' she replied. 'I'm sorry I shouted at you though. I just needed to get it through your thick skull.'

Liam chuckled. 'Do you want to read over the forms with me? Offer some advice?'

She blanched at that, clearly surprised. 'But I'm not your queen. I have no right to offer advice to you about official matters like this.'

Liam went quiet. 'I meant offer me advice as a friend,' he finally said, looking down at the table. 'I need you to be my friend right now, Olivia.'

Olivia gripped the arms of her chair. She stared at him, unblinking. 'Maybe you should have thought of that before sharing a bed with me.'

Liam's head shot up and now he was staring at her. The atmosphere had totally changed. 'Excuse me? You were the one who asked me to share the bed with you. You were the one who undressed. I treated you as a friend by not taking advantage.'

Olivia knew she had spoken out of turn and that he was right in everything he was saying. But something in her was sick of feeling like she was overlooked by him. Like she didn't matter. 'I am always there for you Liam. I just wanted you to be there for me. I was terrified after the siege-'

'Oh please, you had a dagger! You were more than prepared to draw blood. Stop acting like you felt helpless and that you needed me. Olivia Nevrakis doesn't need anyone. She is hard, tough and relentess. You can fight your own battles, you don't need me there to help you.'

Tears pricked Olivia's eyes as she listened to him. After all these years of friendship, she felt like he hardly knew her. She wanted to scream at him, tell him he was wrong and that she actually needed him.

It was only when he stared at her, his eyes wide, that she realised that she had actually screamed that at him. He cleared his throat. 'Olivia, I can't do this right now. I need to look at these forms. You can go.'

'Five minutes ago, you were asking me to help you with them!' she spat. He reddened. 'Yes, but then you correctly reminded me that only a queen can offer advice on such matters so therefore, I don't actually need your assistance.' Because you'll never be queen, he may as well have said.

Olivia stood up briskly. 'I am sick of being made to feel like I don't have feelings,' she said, her voice shaking. 'Like I am just a hard shell. Leo told me so himself, but I hoped you thought better of me.'

Liam's face fell. He finally felt guilty. 'Liv..' He whispered. 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean it -'

'Forget it. You don't have time for trivial matters anyway. Those forms won't read themselves.'

She stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Liam groaned and looked back down at the forms. Kingdom first.

*****************************************

It was the night of Leo's welcome home dinner. It wasn't to be a grand affair - not because Leo didn't deserve it but because Liam had learned his lesson after the mob attacked the palace. He knew not to make a big show out of it. Understated was to be the theme of the evening.

The dinner was to be held in the smaller dining room in which a long table stood centrally. Candles and peonies flowers were set up and Liam had decided Leo could sit at the head of the table as a gesture.

The nobles started to drift into the dining room at 7pm. They were dressed elegantly and chattered happily as they took their seats.

Hana sat in between Bertrand and Maxwell. She had smiled when Maxwell pulled out her chair for her. She felt sad that Drake and Camille weren't attending but she understood their reasons. She didn't blame them for not wanting to come back so soon after the siege. Bertrand poured her a glass of champagne. 'So Hana! Good to see you again!'

They chatted happily. It was only when Hana felt fingers slide up her dress, under the table, towards her thighs that she became distracted. Knowing she couldn't be rude to Bertrand, she made an effort to focus on Bertrand and the conversation but she began to blush when she felt Maxwell's fingers push aside her thong and stroke her.

Hana gripped her champagne glass, laughing too loudly at a joke Bertrand had told. She felt Maxwell's fingers slide into her easily and she swallowed. She could feel the dampness between her thighs and knew she was turned on. She glanced out the corner of her eye and could see that Maxwell was studying the menu, a smirk on his face. He was enjoying making her suffer. Not that she was complaining - she loved to feel his fingers work her, gently stroking. It was when he found that sweet spot that she let out a gasp.

Bertrand frowned. 'Are you okay, Hana?'

Her eyes widened. 'Yes, Bertrand! I just.. Didn't notice you had a new pocket square! Please show me it, I love an intricate pattern.'

'Good save,' Maxwell muttered under his breath, his fingers stroking faster. As Bertrand took out his pocket square to show Hana, Maxwell increased the pace, focusing entirely on the sweet spot.

Oh god.

Hana gripped the sides of her chair as his fingers continued their magic. She could feel it. Don't orgasm in front of Bertrand. Don't do it in public. Hold it in.

She tried her best to ignore the rising warmth in her core, the beginning of the wave that was so familiar to her whenever she played with herself. She had to stop it. Maxwell knew she was close as he could feel her tightening against his fingers. He loved it. As he took a sip of champagne, his fingers continued to torture Hana. It was a glorious torture but it was torture nonetheless.

As Bertrand pointed out the details of his pocket square, Hana felt her body shake and a cold sweat cover her body. Her feet began to tingle, sending pins and needles up her limbs. The wave was happening, there was no stopping it. Maxwell's fingers were too good. Hana suddenly jolted in her chair, the beginning of the wave, and her hand went out, sending her glass flying onto the table.

'Hana!' Bertrand cried, grabbing a napkin to clean up the champagne. Hana leaned forward to take the napkin from him and she began to dab at the table - her long hair covered her face, which was now screwed up, and her eyes were closed, lips tightly shut so she wouldn't cry out in ecstacy as she came.

Maxwell gently removed his fingers and took a celebratory swig of his champagne. 'Cheers all!' he proclaimed to the table. Hana sat back in her chair, her heart pounding.

'Hana? Are you alright? You look very flushed..' Bertrand said. Hana blushed. 'Actually, I'm not feeling so great, I'm just going to the powder room.'

She got up from her chair and as she left the table, she overheard Maxwell say, 'I'll be a moment Bertrand, I'll just go see if Hana's alright.'

Haha walked with purpose, feeling like her body was on fire. She entered the powder room and studied her reflection in the mirror. Her brown eyes had darkened, her pupils were dialated and her face was indeed flushed.

The powder room door opened. It was Maxwell. He locked the door and then leaned against it, a smile on his face. 'You really need to work on your table manners, Hana, ' he joked.

That was it. Hana advanced towards him and he laughed as their lips collided. Their tongues swirled together and Hana groaned. 'I see I've made you a bit of a wreck..' Maxwell murmured. Hana tugged on his lower lip with her teeth. 'You are an evil person, Beaumont,' she said and he chuckled. 'What are you talking about? I'm actually lovely.'

Hana pulled on his belt buckle. Maxwell looked down at her with hunger in his eyes. His hands went round her thighs and he lifted her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist and kissed him as he carried her to the chaise lounge which sat in the corner of the room. Maxwell settled down on the chaise lounge with Hana straddling him. 'We should be quick,' Maxwell whispered. 'They'll notice we're gone soon.'

Hana gave him a smile. 'Is that a challenge?'

Maxwell laughed but instantly shut up when Hana undid his trousers and unbuttoned his boxers. With his length in her hand, she slowly slipped down onto him, gasping at the feel of him. Maxwell closed his eyes and began to roll his hips against her. The pace increased and Hana groaned. Maxwell kissed her neck, enjoying the scent of vanilla on her skin. 'You feel so good,' he breathed and Hana began to ride him harder, gripping her hands into his shoulders. She could feel herself getting close again, it wasn't taking much to push her. Focusing on his heavy breaths and groans against her ear, she rode him rapidly.

'Fucking hell, Hana,' he ground out, his hands clenching her thighs. Hana felt the wave again, building up from the pit of her stomach and let out a cry as she rode the crest of it. Maxwell wasn't far behind her as the noise she made was enough to push him over the edge.

Once they had calmed down, they both stood up and adjusted their clothes. Maxwell took her hand and looked at her seriously. 'I really like you, Hana,' he told her, his eyes intense. 'I hope you don't think I'm taking advantage of you or using you. I'm not that kind of guy.'

Hana blushed and tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. 'Same to you. I'm not taking advantage of you either. I'm enjoying this. It's nice spending time with you.'

Maxwell blushed. 'In that case... do you want to maybe go on a date with me?'

Hana grinned, her eyes sparkling. 'I’d really like that.'

********************************************

Hana and Maxwell entered the dining room as discreetly as possible. They settled back in their chairs and casually took sips of their champagne, trying to act nonchalant. Bertrand was none the wiser, laughing to Leo about how much he loved red wine from France and he was in the process of creating his own vineyard because 'the Ramsford estate should really have a vineyard!'

Olivia glanced over at Liam, who was speaking to Kiara. Kiara was looking up at him through her eyelashes and giggling, while Liam leaned in close to speak to her. Olivia felt a pang in her chest, which she buried by downing her whole glass of champagne. She spotted Leo looking at her, his eyes studying her. She cast her eyes away and focused on listening to Bertrand.

He chattered away happily and beamed when a servant poured him a new glass of red wine. He raised his glass to the table. 'Welcome home, Leo!'

Everyone cheered and repeated the sentiment, swigging from their glasses. Bertrand took a sip of his wine and turned to speak to Hana.

She jumped when his hand gripped her arm tightly. 'Ow, Bertrand, you're hurting me', ' she began to say but stopped short when she saw his face. His skin had turned purple.

'Bertrand!' she screamed. Everyone at the table turned to look at her and then at Bertrand, who was starting to cough harshly. Liam and Leo both sprang up from their chairs and rushed to where Bertrand was sat.

Maxwell was over in a flash. 'Bertrand!' he cried, patting him hard on the back. Bertrand made a strangled sound and fell from his chair onto the floor. Maxwell covered him, tears running down his face. Liam placed his hands on Maxwell's shoulders, trying to calm him down. 'Someone call an ambulance!' the King ordered.

'I'm calling already!' Olivia shouted. She seemed to be the only one with the presence of mind.

Hana got down on her knees to comfort Maxwell, who was trying to get Bertrand onto his side. 'You're not leaving me!' he shouted, his tears hot in his eyes.

Liam drew back and spoke so only Leo could hear. 'Find me the servant who served the wine to Bertrand.' His voice was steely and cold. Leo nodded and stormed out of the room.

'How are his vitals?!' Olivia called. She was on the phone to the emergency services, who told her an ambulance was on its way but they were staying on the phone to act as a guide. Hana checked his pulse. 'He's still breathing!' Bertrand was moaning, his hand gripping Maxwell's.

The sound of an ambulance was heard and everyone left the room apart from Liam, Maxwell, Bertrand, Olivia and Hana. Maxwell was whimpering, his entire body shaking. 'He's my only family. I love him.'

Hana took hold of his chin and looked into his distraught eyes. 'He's going to be okay,' she told him fiercely. 'I promise.'

She hoped against hope that she was right.

#trr fanfic #choices the stories you play #drake walker x mc

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ddaenggtan · 5 years

Note

jungkook

j | write or describe an alternative ending to [insert fic].

You didn’t pick and I’ve been sitting on this for a while sO y’all get to know how From Eden was supposed to end before I wussed out and decided Nah Romance Y’all! I’m putting it at the end, though, because this is long enough as it is!

u | share three of your favorite fic writers and why you like them so much.

ryn i know u sent this and i hate you for making me pick anyone at all for anything sO YOU’RE RUDE, BLOCKED AND REPORTED, I’M MAKING YOU ONE OF THEM AND I HOPE IT GETS CHUMMY FOR YA

@fortunexkookie - ryn is easily one of my favorite writers, because everything they write is very real. like. each mc is relatable in their own way, they’re all very human and flawed and realistic, and i really love that. each of their iterations of the members are also very distinct, like their Falling Skies Jungkook is very different from their The Turing Test Jungkook, while still maintaining, I think, the things that make them them. Both Jungkooks are, at heart, very much like I imagine the real Jungkook to be, while still being distinct characters. If you dropped them both into a room, they’d have their own personalities and quirks and traits, but they’d still be JK. And the way Ryn does their world-building is simple and understated but it can’t be denied that it’s some of the most beautiful worldbuilding I’ve seen. And we’re not going to start on the prose part of their writing, because I will legitimately never stop talking about the way Ryn consistently puts in lines that just. Echo. In your brain. Like. It flows and it emotes and it’s perfect for the scenes, but then they just hit you with these specific parts that just stay in your heart for so long that they grow roots. I’m never not going to be in love with Ryn’s writing.

@junqkook - Yara is an ICON. Like. HOW she read something I wrote and thought it was good I still don’t know because I legitimately am floored every single time I read something by her. I’m pretty sure I’ve gone through her masterlist at least twice, and every single story is so unique and creative, even the ones that are inspired are published series, and I’m just. In awe. The characters she creates are always so varied and intriguing, and the worlds are so interesting and fascinating, and I am consistently envious of the way her work flows so smoothly and so naturally. It all has such a natural progression, the dialogue is genuine and real, and I’m just. I’m in awe. Literally in awe, I love it so much, and I can only hope that my shiny garbage can one day be like that.

@gukyi - i don’t think we’re actually mutuals, because I could only wish for someone like Guyi to know I exist, and the only reason I’m keeping the tag is bc she deserves all of the love and praise. If you want good fics, especially if you’re not one for the smut, then you really need to be following Guyi because the worlds she creates in her fics are absolutely astounding. Her entire HP au series is absolutely phenomenal and creative and stands out from every single hp au I’ve EVER read, which is rare because while they all tend to be good, they also all tend to be very similar because there’s only so much you can usually do in a hp au, and I haven’t read a single fic from her that I didn’t love. Victorious? Iconic, the worldbuilding she did to add onto HTTYD was phenomenal, and she blew the childhood friends to enemies to lovers trope out of the park. Her horror fics are some of the only ones I’ve read because they’re just that good. THE WEDDING PLANNERS? Truly iconic. I honestly WISH I could write like Guyi.

n - answered here

g | do you write your story from start to finish, or do you write the scenes out of order?

I’m a dumb bitch, so I have to write my story from start to finish. I tend to ramble in my notes about various scenes I want to include, and maybe some random notes about the relationship or their personalities, but like.

o - answered here

k | what’s the angstiest idea you’ve ever come up with?

That’s gOTTA be Forever Rain, like. I’m not usually an angst person, so I’m not super good at coming up with angst prompts, but Forever Rain is EASILY the most angsty thing I’ve ever come up with. I’m getting sad just writing it, like.

From Eden Alternate Ending

The aftermath of the fight with Demeter changes everything. Hoseok and Hades don’t see Yoongi before he gets dragged back to Olympus, which shouldn’t be possible in the first place, but Zeus has always tended to side with anyone who wasn’t the Queen of the Dead. No one is even sure Yoongi’s alright until Hermes comes down to tell them about Zeus’ decision, and Hoseok is pretty sure he’s never seen Hades angrier than that night. They haven’t spoken since, not really; he knows that she visits him when she thinks he’s asleep, knows that she runs her hands carefully through the air above his fractured wing even as she has to work to stitch her own body back together out of shadows and the memory of what hope felt like. The guilt shoves from her in waves, until it cloys in his throat and drowns out his own. Hades is focused on her own pain; how she should never have gone to Zeus, never have sought out what Yoongi was so afraid of, never trusted that Hoseok would be able to stay with him when Yoongi could convince anyone of anything. She doesn’t talk to anyone, doesn’t do anything but the work expected of her; the dead are piling up, slower than during Demeter’s rampage in the mortal world, but without Hoseok there to pass judgement, the Council is forced to, and they take far longer than he ever did, and she doesn’t know what she’s going to do because he was hurt because of her.

Hoseok, meanwhile, is on bedrest, forced to spread his wings over several chairs so that they stay put, so the bones don’t break further and they set correctly. He’s a god - one of the oldest gods - but Demeter knew what she was doing when she twisted his wings beneath her and laughed as they cracked. In this story, Hades does not talk to him softly as he heals; she’s too afraid to see the accusation in his eyes, the blame that does not exist. She doesn’t tell him that she thinks its her fault, so he isn’t able to convince her otherwise. He doesn’t shed any tears with her in the darkness, she doesn’t hear his whispered confession that he blames himself because if he’d stayed...if he hadn’t flown off to try to protect his queen then maybe, just maybe, Yoongi would still be there. He’d still be safe. She doesn’t wipe his tears with her thumb, she doesn’t press a gentle kiss to his cheek after asking for his forgiveness, he doesn’t slide his lips across her knuckles and tell her there’s nothing to forgive. Instead there’s only Hoseok, stuck in a room and in pain, wondering if he’s condemned Yoongi to death because he couldn’t follow orders.

In this universe, Hades is too afraid to send warnings to Olympus about what might happen to the dead if Yoongi returns hurt or upset. She doesn’t want to meddle more, doesn’t want to cause more damage to the flower god that she loves so much, doesn’t want to watch him crumple like the blossoms around her pomegranate tree. Can’t bear to think about where the golden drops that decorate the ground there came from, but can’t bear to have it covered, either. It’s a reminder, of just what happens when she gets too close. Of what happens when she lets herself forget that she carries Death on her fingertips and Tragedy in her footprints.

In this universe, when Yoongi returns, he isn’t waiting in her room to tell her that he loves her and Hoseok. He doesn’t hold her, doesn’t show her how much he missed her in those months. In this universe he comes back quiet and solitary. He doesn’t visit Hoseok at the gates anymore. Yoongi can’t bear the reminder of the pain he caused. This time, Yoongi stays in his room. He visits the tree and his flowers, tends to them until the remnants of his blood are visible no more and the only reminder of that night is the taste of pomegranate on his tongue. He doesn’t visit Hades, doesn’t make jokes with Hoseok, and neither of them seek him out, too ashamed or guilty or grief-stricken to be faced with the hope he holds in his very skin. None of them can bear it, so none of them do.

Hades stops wandering the Meadow. She doesn’t visit the gates, either, ignores the whines of Cerberus when he misses her, refuses to pass anywhere near the courtyard where the tree sits, surrounded by a kaleidoscope of color that she’s grown to hate. The smell of pomegranate surrounds her, as it always has, but it turns her stomach now more than ever. She cries more often than before, and no one notices.

Hoseok doesn’t let the Council take over again. There’s a backlog of spirits, that’s the excuse he sticks to, and there’s too much work to be done. He pets Cerberus when the dog whines, letting all three heads lick wounds in him that no one can see, and he pretends that it’s okay. He doesn’t look at the flower crown hanging on the peg nearby, pretends it’s not there and that it’s as faded and withered as the ones behind it. His judgments become harsher, less forgiving than they were, and people stop asking for them. He stands with the dog at his back and the anger on his face and pretends like he’s healed. He doesn’t acknowledge that more broke that night than just his wing. Or that it never really healed.

Yoongi doesn’t speak. He’s silent and steady in the darkness, hands moving on instinct. He misses Cerb, misses the way he would cajole Hoseok into judging more souls, misses the way Hades would smile as she worked on the flowers. But he knows better, now. His mother spent six months reminding just what would happen if he ran again, what would happen if he let himself think he was safe again. He has nothing else to do so he thinks, about what he should’ve done. How he shouldn’t have convinced Hoseok to leave, how he shouldn’t have been in the Meadow, how he shouldn’t have asked about the pomegranates, how he shouldn’t have gotten attached when he knew she wouldn’t let him stay. How he shouldn’t have run. The pile of flower crowns beside him grows with every day, and they mock him with their refusal to wither. They stay, bright and full and hopeful, a light in the dark of his room that refuses to go out. When he leaves to go back to his mother, he doesn’t take them with him.

#answered #ask game #about bette #fic: from eden #ahahahahahaha pain #lots of pain #i hurt #a lot #probably i should turn this into its own little post so its easier for people to see but!#oh well!#this is sad #bUT LOVE THOSE AUTHORS OKAY SEND THEM ALL THE LOVE AND SUPPORT BECAUSE THEY DESERVE IT #Anonymous #questions

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slapshot-to-the-heart · 6 years

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She’s the One

Here’s the first part for Springsteen Sessions! I know this is a later update than I originally planned for, but college has been ramping up lately and getting to be more work. Here it is, and please don’t hesitate to let me know what you think!

She’s the One

With her hands on her hips/Oh and a smile on her lips/Because she knows that it kills me

Harry wasn’t expecting his Friday night to turn out to be anything particularly spectacular. He had a weekly gig at the Corner, and usually the only tips he ended up getting were from the odd office worker coming in for a cup of coffee after work. He usually spent his forty-minute slot people watching, though the most interesting person he had ever seen was his former English professor, who on more than one occasion had ordered nothing but eight shots of straight espresso. So needless to say, he wasn’t expecting anything out of the ordinary.

Rosie didn’t usually like coffee. She was much more of a tea person, and rarely went a morning without a cup of her beloved Earl Grey. She had never even been to the Corner, and only visited because a friend of hers insisted that their new honey lavender latte was “literally the best thing she’s ever tasted.” Though she grimaced when handing over her debit card, realizing she was essentially paying six dollars for flavored bean water, the cup was finished in under ten minutes. She thought she’d be getting some work done, and was just about to flip open her laptop to work on her Western Political Economy essay— she had about ten thousand thoughts on American wealth inequality— when something caught her eye. Or her ears, rather. A soft acoustic song filled her ears, the light plucking catching her interest. She lifted her head up, not sure what to expect, but definitely not expecting him. Harry looked vaguely familiar, though she couldn’t quite place him— maybe he was in one of her lecture classes? Regardless, Rosie was sure she had seen him around, but never like this, never playing like this.

There are some people who you can just inherently tell they have a gift, when it’s so evident and captivating that it’s hard to tear your eyes away and nearly impossible to ignore them. Harry was one of those people. Her essay long forgotten, Rosie instead turned towards the stage, hands wrapped around her mug, and looked to Harry. A small smile on her face, she began tapping her foot to the beat of the Elton John song he was covering. It was one of her favorites, but she’d never heard it played this way before. After tonight, nothing would ever compare to the way Harry sang it. She wasn’t the type of person to want to be in the spotlight, not attracting attention was something of her forte, and she liked it that was. So, naturally, she looked something like a deer in the headlights when she realized that Harry was looking at her.

It was the last possible intention of Harry to make her feel uncomfortable, but he was honestly just trying to place her. She looked familiar enough that he thought he must have seen her before, but then again he was sure that he would have remembered someone like her. Someone that exuded such a quiet elegance, an understated confidence that left him just itching to get to know her.

Half an hour later, Harry’s set was over, and Rosie still sat at her table, cup empty, debating whether she wanted to go up to Harry and introduce herself. Throwing caution to the wind, she set her mug in the dish bin and walked over.

Harry’s heart was beating a mile a minute. He would have loved to talk to her, but didn’t want the risk of looking like a creep and scaring her.

“Um, hey, I really liked your set?” She asked, sounding more like a question.

“Thanks,” He said, smiling. “‘M Harry, play here every Friday.”

“Rosie.”

Furrowing his brow slightly, he continued, “did we have a class together? You look really familiar.”

She bit her lip. “I don’t think so? Would have remembered unless you were in one of my big lecture classes. English 110?”

He shook his head. “I took 120. Probably have just seen you around, then.” They lay in a semi-awkward silence for awhile, until Rosie hefted her backpack back onto her shoulder. “Well, I should probably get going. Didn’t get any actual work done since I was too busy watching you play. You’re super talented, by the way.” She tapped her fingers against her leg, a nervous habit from middle school she had never quite been able to give up. She turned towards the door, but didn’t get the chance to leave before Harry made a last-ditch effort to see her again.

“You can come next week, if you want. It would be nice to see you again.”

“We’ll see.”

Standing in that doorway like a dream/I wish she'd just leave me alone

For the next week, Rosie popped up in Harry’s mind every so often, like a mildly annoying itch, except not at all because there was really nothing Harry wanted more than to see her again. And that’s what annoyed him. He was the type of person who was so incredibly driven, so set on their path and their life plan that anyone who tried to get in its way would have hell to pay. He didn’t even think he wanted a relationship. His music came first, that’s how it always had been. And how, he thought, it always would be. Not that he never went on dates or had never had a girlfriend before, but they had never lasted. He didn’t think it was fair to have a relationship where you weren’t putting the person first, and he had ended more than one because he didn’t feel like it was fair to his girlfriend. Never with malice, always having good intentions at heart. And it also wouldn’t be fair, nor logical, to say that he inherently saw a different future with Rosie, that he saw any kind of a future at all. He’d spoken to her once. But there was something about her, something intoxicating, something that made him want to try.

As soon as Harry had invited her to his set on Friday, she penciled it into her calendar, literally. She had a planner she kept in her backpack at all times, and as juvenile as some people found it, she’d never missed an assignment since getting it as a gift from her mom. Harry- 7 pm, Corner. Her roommate, Lara, had asked with a sly smile if she had a date, to which Rosie frantically shook her head. It definitely wasn’t a date. Sure, she found Harry attractive, but all he had done was invite her do do something she was probably going to do anyways. But she looked forward to it all week, leaving an extra few minutes early to ensure she caught a good seat. He was still setting up his things as she arrived, but smiled as he caught her eye, walking over as soon as he set his guitar case down on the makeshift stage.

“You came!” He said, sounding more than a little surprised.

Rosie shrugged her shoulders. “You were good last week, I was impressed. I kind of put it in my calendar as soon as I got back home last week. Stupid, stupid, stupid, she thought. Why would I admit that?

“Glad to hear you liked it,” he said, chuckling. “I’m doing an original tonight, wrote it last weekend.” Stupid. Why would I tell her that? Why would she care?

Her eyes widened slightly. “That’s super cool, I love when people do their own stuff. Your covers are incredible, don’t get me wrong, but there’s something special about hearing music that really came from the heart. I do some poetry. Not quite the same, but I get what you mean.”

“Yeah, so you know,” he said, glancing at his watch. “I’d love to keep talking, but my slot starts in literally a minute, so—” Rosie waved him off.

“No worries, go ahead. We can talk later?” She asked, half surprised at her own boldness and half so flustered, she didn’t even want to know how nervous she sounded.

“Yeah, yeah, I’d love to,” Harry said, nodding enthusiastically. “Let me know what you think of the new song, yeah? It’s the last in the set.”

Without really thinking, Rosie reached out, squeezed his hand, and nodded. “I’ll keep an ear out.”

Harry was halfway distracted for most of his set, sneaking more than a few glances over towards Rosie was sitting, trying to convince himself he wasn’t looking for her approval. He was a singer, for crying out loud; he wasn’t supposed to make music on any terms but his own.But he’d be damned if he didn’t really, really want her to like it.

As soon as Harry had clipped shut his guitar case, he leaned it against the wall, walking over towards where Rosie had sat down. Two mugs of tea sat on the table.

“You seemed more like a tea kind of guy, but I can totally get a coffee if that’s more your style,” she said softly.

Harry shook his head. “No, tea is great. I like tea. Love it.”

She smiled, taking a sip from her own mug. “Glad to hear it. The original song, the one at the end, it was fantastic by the way. Honestly, I’m not trying to over-flatter you.”

Harry’s cheeks pinked. Thanks, Rosie. I’m glad you liked it.” Really glad. “Are you a biology major?” Harry asked, changing the subject, eyeing the textbook that took up most of her half of the table.

Rosie wiggled her hand. “Neuroscience, so sort of? There’s a lot of overlap, but we get more in-depth with the physiology and chemistry of the brain.”

“Planning on going to med school?”

She grimaced. “Yes?” She said, sounding more like a question. “I just took the MCAT, so I’ll get my results in a few weeks, but honestly it’s only really half my choice. My dad’s a nurse and my mom’s a doctor, so going into something medical has pretty much been my fate from the beginning. I do like it though, don’t get me wrong. Helping people is definitely something I know I want to do, just haven’t decided how I want to go about it, y’know?”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “‘M an English Lit major, but,” he paused, tilting his head over towards the stage, “if I could have it my way, music’s what I’d be doing for my career. Probably end up being a teacher though, which wouldn’t be so bad. I love kids.”

“Me too. If I end up being a doctor, I’d love to be a pediatrician. So I’m guessing college wasn’t all your decision?”

“Not so much,” he said. “I love learning, and I do like my classes, but my mom was pretty insistent that i get an education. She’s wonderful, but very pragmatic. Doesn’t want me to go into music without having a plan B in case things go wrong.”

“Makes sense.”

They talked and talked, and by the time the Corner closed at 10, their mugs of tea had long since gone cold and the waitress had to— very nicely, with just a hint of a knowing smile on her face— ask them to leave. Harry insisted on walking her back to the apartment she shared with Lara and their other roommate Antonia. As they stood at her door, Rosie gave Harry an apologetic smile. “I’d invite you in, but Antonia’s usually asleep by now, and I love her, but she’s understandably a bit of a terror if she’s woken up.”

Harry ducked his head. “Got it. D’you think I could get your number? I’d love to grab coffee sometime—” “Tea,” he said hastily, seeing her playfully-arched eyebrow, “and I could keep you up-to-date with my shows and stuff, if you wanted, I mean I don’t want to sound like a newsletter but—”

Rosie laughed, gently prying his phone out of the hand where he had been nervously flipping it. “I’d love to, Harry,” she said, plugging in her number. “And, just between you and me, you don’t need an excuse to text me.”

Harry nodded, shifting from one foot to another. “Got it,” he said, grinning. “I’ll text you when I get back to mine, so you don’t need to bother putting my number in or anything.”

“Will do,” Rosie said, turning her key in the door. “Good night, Harry. I had a good time tonight. I really mean it.”

Bet it wasn’t as good as mine, Harry thought. “Good night, Rosie.”

And tonight you’ll try just one more time/to leave it all behind

Harry wasn’t even halfway through his walk home when he texted Rosie, not able to wait the extra ten minutes. It’s Harry! He sent, debating for a solid minute whether the exclamation point was a good idea or not. Styles, he added as an afterthought. As if she was expecting a text from a different Harry tonight? Hey, Harry! Rosie sent back. And when he felt his heart skip a beat as the three dots appeared on his phone screen, Harry realized one thing. He had broken the only promise he had made to himself in recent memory. He had fallen for a girl. He had fallen for Rosie.

#Harry Styles #harry #harry styles imagine #harry styles writing #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #hs

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cherrytart-ffxiv · 5 years

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Pearls

[[ Just found out about the February writing prompt that’s going on! Hot damn! Find it >HERE< if you’d like to join in on the fun. ]]

“Take whatever you’d like.”

Alfie spoke with his back turned to me. I was only just coming down from the high, and the moonlight was hazy on his broad shoulders before he pulled a shirt over his head. My body was sore, most especially my feet. I didn’t know what he meant. Take whatever I want?

As if sensing my confusion, the man turned back around with a smile that I distrusted and fell for all at once. In his hands was a polished jewelry case, a deep forest green inlaid with intricate golden swirls upon the lid. Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a little key that he used to the unlock the box as he sat beside me. The old bed groaned quietly as I shifted, pressing the sheets to my bare chest and rubbing my head as I looked down. It took a moment for my eyes to focus, and by the third blink, I found myself blinking again out of sheer surprise at what was in front of me.

Within the jewelry box lined with red velvet was an assortment of glittering jewels. Rings, necklaces, bracelets, earrings-- everything, even what appeared to be a couple of diamond headpieces. My hand immediately reached for the biggest and shiniest thing inside, which was a hefty emerald hanging from a delicate chain made of what appeared to be diamonds. Alfie’s eyes were watching me, watching my every move, as I looked over at the jewelry.

“What’s this about?” I mumbled, grimacing at how dry my throat and tongue were. “Why are you offering me all of this...?”

“Because I love you,” he said simply, his voice low. A calloused hand came to rest upon my cheek and slid down, gently grasping my chin to tilt my head up to him so that our gazes might meet. “Isn’t that reason enough, ma biche?”

No, it isn’t. What is it that you’re gonna ask me this time?

I knew the pattern by then. Before he asked a tremendous task of me, he was soft-spoken, gentle, charming for... a moon, give or take. He was giving and generous, offering me all of his time and every worldly good I could ask for. With me, he was not heavy handed. He was insidious. He crept inside of me and adorned my skeleton and muscles with his ownership, imprinted it so deeply on me that it never became a question of whether or not I belonged to him. Of course I did. What else was I if not Alfie’s ‘best girl’? It was easy for other people to look away if I was well-dressed, well-groomed, charming and smiling.

To his reason that he gave me, I did not reply. Instead, I sifted silently through the jewelry. Of course it was beautiful. Gemstones were always beautiful, and he made sure that I always wore heavy ones, ones that you couldn’t ignore. Look at how well I treat her. She’s happy. She’s taken care of.

My eyes closed for a moment. None of them were to my tastes. I didn’t like flashy gems or jewels. I wasn’t looking to make a statement. And, before I knew it, my hand had slid over a line of cool beads. My eyes opened, and I exhaled softly, pulling the necklace out of the large box. Pearls. Old ones. They were antique, surely, judging by the age on them, but well taken care of.

My fingers wrapped around them. Small, they fit well in my fist. Alfie smiled as I looked back up at him, questioningly. Leaning forward, he took the pearls from my hands and gently unclasped the strand. At his silent beckon, I shifted to the edge of the bed and let him clasp them around my throat, reached up to touch them as they fell against my cold skin. Smooth and perfectly round, understated. This wasn’t his style at all. Why were they in the box to begin with?

“My simple girl,” Alfie sighed, combing my hair with his fingers. “You don’t ask for much, do you, little Cherry? That’s part of what I like about you. You’re not a nasty, greedy girl. A simple string of pearls and your eyes light up.”

His hands came to rest upon either of my shoulders, and he turned me around so that I’d face him. I ached to protest to the way he moved me like a ragdoll, and yet... At the same time, it was in his grasp alone that I allowed myself to feel even remotely safe. No harm would come to me if he was around, except from himself. That was okay. I could live like that. I could live with him. I looked up at his stormy eyes and even smiled for him, to which he smiled back, brushing his thumb against my cheek and pressing it in to the corner of my mouth.

“Beautiful,” he breathed. “They’ll look beautiful on you when we get a visit from my Brass Blade friend. A captain! Isn’t that exciting? He can’t wait to meet you, Cherry. I’ve told him so much about you.”

I’d rather gouge out my own eyes. I’d rather gouge out his. Or yours. Everything you have now is because of me. But the power isn’t mine here, is it?

“Great,” I replied, still smiling. “Can’t wait, Alfie. Thank you... for the gift.”

Motherfucker.

#writing #ffxiv stories #february writing challenge #drug mention tw #prostitution tw #abuse tw

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watchesreview · 3 years

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A. LANGE & SÖHNE CABARET TOURBILLON HANDWERKSKUNST

The A. Lange & Söhne Cabaret Tourbillon Handwerkskunst shares much in common with the Cabaret Tourbillon, first released in 2008. This latest creation features many mechanical details that enhance the ownership experience. However, its magnificence is not limited to its mechanical virtues, it also extends to the artistic treatment of the dial and movement.

Theo Jansen, the contemporary Dutch artist, once said ‘the walls between art and engineering exist only in our minds’. It seems very apt when looking at a Lange timepiece.

Although Bauhaus, the famous German design school, is based on the notion of ‘form follows function’, some examples of this approach can appear a tad utilitarian. In contrast, Lange surpasses the merely functional, imbuing its products with exquisite aesthetic elements. For example, virtually all models are endowed with a hand-engraved balance cock. From a functional perspective this component could have been stamped out, rhodium plated and left unadorned, however, A. Lange & Söhne would never countenance such a perfunctory approach.

While Lange could expedite the making of a watch by focussing solely on the essential, it chooses not to. Indeed, it creates wonderfully engineered watches that encompass über-refined finishing. Black polishing and hand-chamfering are not the products of haste, but rather demonstrate a mindset that always favours excellence. In my opinion, the engineering manifest with the Lange’s fine watches is conjoined with art.

In 2011, the brand from Saxony, eager to showcase even more of its artistic capabilities, unveiled its first Handwerkskunst timepiece. Its name means ‘craftsmanship’ a reference to the high quotient of artisanal input. For the inaugural model, the German marque chose to breathe upon its famous Tourbillon Pour le Mérite. This limited edition Handwerkskunst model sported a fascinating honey gold dial enriched with an extraordinary texture. This finish is achieved by using a technique called ‘tremblage’, where a small burin is lightly tapped against the dial membrane to create a myriad of dimples.

The following year, in 2012, the Zeitwerk Handwerkskunst was unveiled and enjoyed favourable coverage in many horological publications and websites. This contemporary watch featured the aforementioned artisanal technique, a form of adornment that would eventually be employed on several, but not all, Handwerkskunst models. Moreover, the luxury watch brand shrewdly chose to apply black-rhodium plate to the white gold dial, bestowing the horological vista with a sizeable dose of modernity.

Over the last 10 years, Lange has released several Handwerkskunst models. Some have featured tremblage while others encompassed grand feu enamelling. In 2017, the prestigious watch firm unveiled the 1815 Rattrapante Perpetual Calendar Handwerkskunst. The white gold dial was dressed in blue enamel and adorned with contrasting blue stars. To the rear of the watch is a hinged caseback was embellished with tremblage and relief engraving, all surrounded by a circlet of enamel.

The Handwerkskunst experience is not restricted to the dial and case, it often extends to the movement. This includes different forms of finishing to the ‘standard’ model. In addition, it can also encompass technical changes to the movement specification. For instance, the calibre L043.1, fitted to the standard Zeitwerk, features a variable-inertia balance. The balance wheel is fitted with c-shaped masellotes, set in-board. The Handwerkskunst version is equipped with the Calibre L043.4 which is also fitted with a variable-inertia balance, however, it uses traditional timing screws to adjust the rate. By using c-shaped masellotes, there is nothing protruding beyond the rim of the balance, mitigating air turbulence, thereby augmenting precision. While the screwed balance is technically inferior, many purists appreciate its traditional appearance. The Handwerkskunst movement eschews Glashütte ribbing in favour of a frosted three-quarter plate.

Now, the Manufactory has produced a new work of art, the A. Lange & Söhne Cabaret Tourbillon Handwerkskunst. The ‘standard’ Cabaret Tourbillon was first released in 2008, however, this latest version of the model still looks fresh-faced and brims with a number of additional artistic details.

The dial

There is a reason why most watches are round; they are more likely to sell. When a brand veers from this accepted wisdom it exposes itself to a greater risk of commercial failure. However, over the years, some of the most eye-catching designs have embraced lozenge, rectangular and tonneau-shaped forms. In this instance, A. Lange & Söhne has boldly chosen not to make yet another round watch but instead has conceived a rectangular-shaped timepiece. I can already say at this juncture, with just 30 pieces planned and legions of Langephiles dotted around the globe, the demand for the A. Lange & Söhne Cabaret Tourbillon Handwerkskunst is short to outstrip available supplies.

The lancine-shaped hour and minute hands are rhodiumed gold and convey meaning in a softly spoken, clear manner. Each hour is marked with matching diamond-shaped indexes, save for 3, 6, and 9 o’clock where Roman numerals denote the hours.

Disciples of the Manufactory’s work will immediately notice the power-reserve indicator at 4 o’clock. It is an indication that features on the Lange 1, arguably the brand’s most iconic model. The display on this model is snailed, employs a monochrome palette and features the German words ‘Ab’ and ‘Auf’. A small seconds display is positioned opposite the power-reserve indicator, employing much of the same design language as its aforementioned counterpart.

An aperture in the southern territory of the dial reveals the eponymous tourbillon. The purpose of this device, patented in 1801, is to counter the adverse influence of gravity on the balance. Housed within a rotating cage, the escapement and regulation organ follow a circular path, turning 360° every minute. This highly complex mechanism negates positional errors, enhancing the overall precision of the movement.

In many cases, despite being designed to augment accuracy, a tourbillon seldom allows the wearer to hack the seconds and synchronise the time with a reference clock. When the Cabaret Tourbillon was released in 2008, it allowed the wearer to instantaneously stop the balance inside the rotating cage merely by pulling out the crown. This meant the wearer could synchronise the various time indications with a reference clock and simply pushing the crown home again, set the balance running again. It is an eminently logical feature but one that continues to elude most other watch brands.

In 1990, when A. Lange & Söhne was ‘re-registered’, it released four models, one of which was the Lange 1. Its oversized date display was inspired by the Five-Minute Clock in the Semper Opera in nearby Dresden. The date indication employs two discs, one for the tens and the other for units, delivering a widescreen indication of the prevailing date. Perpetuating this tradition, the A. Lange & Söhne Cabaret Tourbillon Handwerkskunst is also endowed with a large format date display. This confers superb legibility and its proportions look perfectly at ease with the watch, delivering a harmonious mien.

Arguably the pièce de résistance is the artistic embellishment of the white gold canvas. The inner area of the dial is hand engraved with a ‘lozenge pattern’. The regular appearance of each lozenge element might fool you into thinking it has been performed using a machine. However, its uniformly geometric pattern and the absence of any flaws is the product of a deft hand and much patience. A thin line of tremblage delineates one area of the dial from another.

The dial’s epidermis is suffused with a semi-transparent enamel layer, imbuing the dialscape with a wonderful depth.

At the base of the dial, the watch’s country of origin is specified in a crisp font, while in the bottom right-hand corner, the word ‘Glashütte’ effectively signs the masterpiece.

The case

The A. Lange & Söhne Cabaret Tourbillon Handwerkskunst is housed in a 950 platinum case measuring 29.5 x 39.2 x 10.3mm. This noblest of metals is more challenging to machine than steel or gold. When platinum is milled using a CNC machine, great care is needed to avoid excessive heat generation as this can make the material even more challenging to work with. To avoid heat issues, the milling times have to be extended, thereby heightening production costs.

Nevertheless, the additional machining costs and the high price of platinum are justified by the properties it confers. Platinum, which is far rarer than gold, exhibits a becoming silvery-white hue, is reassuringly dense and delivers a wonderfully lustrous sheen.

Each of the bezel’s four sides gently slope towards the case middle. The caseband is straight for the most part, but step outwards near the lugs. Despite its obvious complexity, the watch remains elegant and tastefully understated. For example, the lugs do not unduly project from the case, but peep beyond its main body, drawing the strap close.

One of the highlights of Lange ownership is undoubtedly the movement beating within the case. The German marque indulges the wearer with sublime views of the calibre L042.1, courtesy of an exhibition caseback.

The watch is presented on a black hand-stitched leather strap paired with a deployant buckle, again in 950 platinum.

The movement

The Cabaret Tourbillon is fitted with the calibre L042.1, a hand-wound movement with a tourbillon escapement. The tourbillon features an upper and lower bridge, each fitted with a diamond endstone. As stated earlier, the purpose of the tourbillon is to enhance rate accuracy.

Beyond its functional benefits, the tourbillon provides another vehicle for the German brand to showcase its finishing skills. For example, the upper tourbillon bridge (or bar), spanning the dial aperture, is beautifully polished and secured by two screws, each with wonderfully defined slots. The wearer is indulged with a dynamic spectacle of the escape wheel, pallet lever, balance wheel and hairspring all in motion.

Lange has equipped the movement with a screwed balance, a respectful nod to traditional watchmaking. The two barrels deliver an impressive power reserve of 120 hours, assuming the watch is fully wound. As well as the two barrels delivering greater autonomy, they also contribute to rate accuracy. Indeed, by employing two barrels the power transferred via the gear train to the escapement is more consistent thereby ensuring the amplitude also remains relatively constant.

As stated earlier, the watch has the facility to stop the balance from rotating merely by pulling out the crown. This ingenious system employs an ‘arresting spring’ which cleverly preserves the potential energy of the balance spring so that the balance can restart instantly as soon as the crown is pushed home and the arresting spring is retracted.

Confusingly, the movement within the A. Lange & Söhne Cabaret Tourbillon Handwerkskunst shares the same reference as the movement within the 2008 model, despite both movements looking different.

The Glashütte-based company has respected fine watchmaking etiquette. The calibre L042.1 is rectangular shaped, emulating the shape of the case.

Whereas the movement on the ‘regular’ Cabaret Tourbillon is embellished with traditional Glashütte ribbing, the Handwerkskunst model features a frosted finish. Lange is famous for its hand-engraved balance cocks. In this instance, this exquisite demonstration of the company’s artistic prowess extends to the tourbillon and intermediate wheel cocks. Where the original model is engraved with a filigree-type pattern, the Handwerkskunst version features a ‘lozenge’ shaped motif.

Finally, the movement features 45 jewels, several of which are set in screwed gold chatons, upholding another Lange tradition.

Closing remarks

Most watches impart time, however, it is the method they employ that often differentiates the mediocre products from those brimming with excellence. Personally speaking, I accept that a quartz watch delivers precision, but find them to be soulless. They may fulfil a basic need, but they fail to elicit any emotion.

In some cases, mechanical watches can be devoid of virtue, but the finest examples, the exemplars of Haute Horlogerie, charm the onlooker and lead watch aficionados to smile with delight. A. Lange & Söhne painstakingly crafts watches for discerning souls. The brand’s clients are not merely seeking a functional timepiece but an exquisite object made without compromise.

Since the brand was re-registered in 1990, the firm’s watches transcend the merely functional and incorporate beautifully considered engineering, peerless finishing and numerous examples of tasteful adornment. Lange clearly has a desire to surpass its customers’ expectations, something it has demonstrated over and over again.

The A. Lange & Söhne Cabaret Tourbillon Handwerkskunst embodies everything that is magical about this prestigious firm, but it also encompasses several artistic crafts that few other companies have the necessary expertise to attempt. Based on the evidence, it is clear, when it comes to A. Lange & Söhne, engineering and art are intertwined.

#LANGE & SÖHNE CABARET TOURBILLON #watches #watchreviews #watchnews #watchblog

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patrickube-blog · 7 years

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(h x r)

[i honestly feel really strongly for this piece of writing i did about two years ago, it never fails to make me emotional. a lot of the stuff i wrote in the past has identifiable influences – like a movie i’d just watched, a book i loved, a game i just played, or some real life personal thing that happened to me. this story bemuses me because i don’t remember how i even came up with the entire idea, or the weird structure of it. but i think it’s quite lovely and skeletal, so, i hope this gets you feeling something as well, my nonexistent followers!]

–

The Beginning

We had English after lunch. All of us were caught in a mad, exuberant flurry of motion, scuttling around like schools of fish to finish our essays on Romeo and Juliet.

The sun was smoldering, the clouds whisked briskly into hiding, the breeze faint and whispery. We sat in our customary, rickety red bench, the table-top scrawled with adolescent blather. There were lyrics to hit songs; prancing stick figures; crude swear words; male genitalia of different sizes; names etched inside swollen, crooked hearts, then scratched out and blotted with angry ink.

There was five of us then. We grew together, then grew apart. I remember Travis, always joking, always coy. I remember Lila, sharp as a tack, harsh, slim from weekly track meets. I remember Henry, foppish and vibrant, good-hearted. As for Rose, was the smartest in our group. Naturally we sought her assistance that day. She glowed under the attention. She set about patiently correcting grammatical errors, pointing out muddled sentences, indicating softly which areas needed elaboration.

I noticed Henry was sitting alone during this time, scratching his head, furrowing his brow, staring at his essay in concentration. Travis was teasing him.

And then, like a guardian angel come from the golden gates of heaven, Rose left her gaggle of students and sat beside him. Henry smiled. Nervous, tentative sweat slicked his forehead.

We laughed about it then, me and Travis and Lila, but deep down we were jealous that the inevitable shifting of our group’s dynamic had taken place, and none of us were a part of the equation.

The Middle of the Beginning

“I think I like her,” Henry said frequently afterwards when it was just me and Travis with him. “I think I do. A lot.”

We sniggered collectively, played along. It became a game. “What do you like most about her? Are you gonna marry her?” we would ask with false sincerity.

“Everything about her, I like,” he’d reply importantly, “And, yeah. Maybe I will marry her.” We all laughed. There was no doubt in our minds then that poor, hapless Henry was dreaming up this big romance, borne from Rose’s simple kindness.

“I’m going to ask her to dance,” Henry said one day, out of the blue. “Tomorrow, I’ll ask her.” We grinned. Travis nudged his shoulder boyishly. Someone else who happened to be sitting with us that day made up a bet on whether or not Henry would pull through. I just smiled. Poor, hapless Henry mistook our amused, youthful mockery for pride.

The following week, the dance took place. We gathered in our little group excitedly, flashing smiles, pretending that we couldn’t care less. The gym was bedecked in fluorescent neon lights, strips of flashy, glittery gold paper wrung from the ceiling, music pumping from the domed roof. Lila bragged about how much of it was all thanks to her creative ambition, since she was a part of the dance committee. The girls were resplendent in their skimpy dresses. We wore our flashiest, priciest clothes.

Henry showed up late with Rose in tow, causing quite the fuss. His brown eyes were bright. Rose’s smile was small and shy, her honeydew hair glimmering amidst the neon lights. We stared, pointed, bobbed grins and cheeky laughter across the hall. Travis spat out his drink. Lila arced an eyebrow. We were collectively in awe. Hapless Henry had turned a new leaf.

The girls fawned all over them; we resorted to a thumbs-up.

The Ending of the Beginning

Henry went to a different high school than the rest of us. He moved house early in the year we all started a new chapter in our lives. I wasn’t to see him for years. I was too caught up in the difference of high school to contact him.

In my second year, I dated Lila. She was vivacious, a fresh breath of air from the old days. We laughed about our middle school-selves. I asked her constantly if she knew anything about Henry and Rose, whose quiet popularity in middle school devolved into anonymity. She frequented the library and acquired a new circle of friends, long-legged girls with swathes of hair. I only had to glance to know they took her for granted, accepted her only for the gleam of her blond hair rather than the understated perception of her mind. Lila told me that the last she’d heard, she and Henry had split. I felt duly crushed. Those two were akin to glowing, golden idols from a better, simpler age. Like the rest of us, they’d succumbed to change and rust.

Three shitty parties, one pregnancy test, and two ‘break ups’ later, Lila and I split. “All you ever talk about now is ‘those old days’ as if they were years ago, as if they were amazing all the time. They weren’t. God, get a grip on yourself, you’re pathetic,” she’d said at the argument that ended it. After that, brilliantly angry and youthfully, foolishly bitter, she spread the rumor that I carried STDs. I remember Travis laughing in my face the day after. He made a quip about girls being bitches, about how he was taking Maria Henderson to a party that weekend, about how I should come and use the STD-thing as a sob story to get laid.

I skipped school for a week, pleaded sick to my blank-faced parents. Days were spent staring up at the billowing, far-away clouds from my bedroom window, lost in thought. Escapism. All I wanted was to envelop myself again in the golden warmth of the before, not the now, with stressful deadlines and assessments and new social pressures and angry ex-girlfriends.

The Beginning of the End

-During my final year of university, an unregistered number called my phone while I was walking to a class.

It was Henry, though I still didn’t make the connection when the voice said, “it’s Henry, hey, it’s me.” He had to awkwardly introduce himself twice more. He sounded tired. He asked how I was doing, what I was up to, what university I attended, inquired about assignments, deadlines, and my parents. He confessed, with sheepish laughter, that he’d gotten my number off of Lila, who Rose still saw every now and then. He added in serious undertone, that he never for a second believed those old, filthy rumors.

I had a multitude of questions clamoring in my head. For one thing, I did not appreciate him bringing up the STD-drama. Also, what was he calling me for? After years of silence, hearing him speak while I weaved through other students staring into their phones was a surreal experience.

There was a new, tense quality to Henry’s voice that I’d never heard before. He suddenly apologized, for falling off the radar, for being too busy to keep in touch. Things with Rose were rocky, he admitted quietly, in a resigned sort of way. Before I could ask when they’d gotten back together, he quickly slipped in that he loved her. A lot. They’d gone on-and-off a number of times.

“Look, I know this is…weird, since we haven’t spoken in years,” Henry said shakily. “But you were always the most considerate of the guys. I know that you’ll help me.” There was a long pause. I waited. “Rose is pregnant. We didn’t plan it. She’s totally against, ah, abortion. And, I mean, so am I! She says we have get married…quickly. Fast. She doesn’t want the kid to be labeled a bastard, and I guess she just…” Henry trailed off. “I think she just doesn’t want to be alone.”

He sighed, sounding older than he really was. I didn’t know what to say, or what exactly he was calling me for. “Please,” he went on. “I need your help. Her parents hate her for all this business, and my dad…you know how he is, ever since we were kids, always just…sorry. Ah, when are you free next?”

The Middle of the End

I helped arrange mostly everything. I found a reception hall in town. It was a small, humble, exquisite building that didn’t make a big deal of itself. Henry, Rose and I went down there a few days after he called. I skipped my afternoon lecture.

I did most of the talking. Henry was taller, a bit leaner, though jittery, his smile nervous. There was a new tentative energy in him, the sadness in his eyes never quite going away. Rose, though, was very lovely. Refined, cool and calm. The gaggle of loud, unappreciative girls that used to surround her in a stifling circle were nowhere to be seen. I wondered where they’d gone. Her belly swelled under the blue blouse she wore.

They chose a day, a time, talked over some meaningless technicalities. We had coffee afterwards. It seemed like the decent thing to do, though I could tell both of them just wanted to go home, retreat back into whatever form of shelter they had built for themselves upstate. I felt out of place meeting these two old friends I didn’t actually know anymore. My brain was momentarily confused, attempting to re-arrange itself; I remembered Henry as a flushed, messy-haired youth with gangly arms and a hapless grin. On the last day of school, he’d hugged me tightly and rather desperately, only letting go when Travis shoved a pencil up his ass. The day before he moved, we hung out in the arcade and then the beach. After everyone had gone and the sun began to vanish in the horizon, my mother had dropped off Rose first, then Henry. The three of us sat in the backseat, making small talk, and as we neared Rose’s house, Henry had grabbed both our hands without preamble. Even after Rose left his hand kept clutching mine.

Now he was suddenly taller than me, dressed in a modest suit-and-tie. He had never been solid and leery like Travis, always floppy, but sitting in that café, there was a solidity about him.

The youthful vivacity that was in Rose once was gone; it was replaced by a wide void, reduced as she was to a politely-smiling, well-mannered, chagrin adult. She used to get all the boys’ attention, even in high school. Mature and level-headed, Rose hardly ever went to parties, but when she did, she always vanished upstairs, swallowed up by the inky darkness of the stairwell. I always assumed she and Henry’s split was official. Their hastened marriage date said otherwise.

The café was small, but busy, bustling. Its homey interior and cream walls watched as we slowly took a sigh of collective relief, our stress and tension melting away gradually, mingling with the steam of mochas and lattes.

Henry sincerely apologized for all the sudden fuss, asked again what I was majoring in and when I’d graduate. He asked after my parents and what they were getting up to. He shared some funny stories, but Rose never laughed, she only maintained her frozen little smile. She herself congratulated me for my academic successes, sympathizing with me on how Lila acted all those years ago, affirming she was different now and still asked about me, sometimes. I told them how well they looked, how happy I was for them, what name they were considering for the baby, and did they know yet if it was a boy, or a girl? I didn’t get to pose the questions I really wanted to ask, since I could tell they were both terribly tired of things. Whether it was from work, or each other, or the baby bombshell, or all of the above, or some hidden factor they kept to themselves, I still do not know.

What I knew: they were only alive by the love they shared, weakly binding them together. It was quietly, tragically beautiful.

The End

-Their wedding day fell on a midsummer, lukewarm Friday afternoon.

Henry and Rose invited only a few people, less than a handful: Geraldine was the bride’s sister. Carlton was her boyfriend. As for Lila and I, one could say we were close in school, but Travis wasn’t invited. Was Lila merely a sop for me? Was it a feeble, girlish, chick-flick attempt to get us back together? Was Henry and Rose’s social circle just that closed-off? Were they afraid and ashamed of others knowing about their marriage and Rose’s pregnancy? Had they alienated themselves that much? Like many things about them, I don’t know.

Geraldine picked up the girls, while Carlton and I were put in charge of Henry. It was quite a beautiful day. Sunlight dappled the trees lining the sidewalk, while buildings reached up into the unfathomable sky. There was not a cloud in sight.

We got to the reception hall first. Henry, in a sharp blue suit, paced back and forth erratically in one of the rooms the kindly receptionist directed us to. I had helped him get ready in my flat. Carlton could tell we had history and he was destined to be a mere footnote, so he politely complimented Henry, made some light jokes which we responded to politely, and then he left before we did, saying he’d meet us at the hall. His car was parked in the lot, four spaces from mine. He was browsing through his phone when we pulled up. I thought it prudent to wait for Geraldine to arrive before calling out to him.

While Henry paced, I mused aloud how the girls were faring. Perhaps Rose had cried a little, then switched to happy laughter while her hair was done up artfully.

He was implacable, in that small window of time when it was just us two. I attempted small talk: why his father or her parents weren’t invited (the look he shot in my direction was, I guess, the only answer I needed.) Did they not want anyone else to come, any other friends? That didn’t provoke a response, but I filled the silence with noise anyway. I spoke wistfully of the increasing difficulty of my university assignments, about Travis, about the beauty of the afternoon. Henry was unresponsive, curt. It took me awhile to accept that I simply did not understand the entire situation, and I left him alone with his own thoughts for a bit. Happy nervousness leaked from his every pore as he walked back and forth, back and forth.

He wouldn’t stop pacing. Without a word, I placed a hand comfortingly on his shoulder. The effect was electric. Henry spun around, looked at me with wide, trembling, damp eyes and kissed me. I only began to respond when he drew back again, as fast as he’d leant forward. He was flushed. “I doubt the baby’s mine,” he said abruptly, absurdly. Then, “I love you. Thank you for being here. I mean it. I love you.”

There was a knock on the door, and Geraldine asked how things were coming along. I could have addressed what Henry had just blurted out and the way he’d kissed me, but I didn’t. His eyes met mine, and without flinching, I told Geraldine we’d be right out and that Carlton was in his car. Her heels faded away into the warm afternoon. Before we left the room, Henry kissed me again. I let him, not reciprocating this time.

Rose was a vision of loveliness, a divine apparition. Her back was facing us as we walked up. Daisies were wrung prettily in her hair. When she turned, her face wore an expression that I couldn’t read. The corners of her mouth were upturned, but I wouldn’t say she was smiling. I saw her rounded belly, remembered Henry’s suspicions, his desperate kisses. But I could not harden my heart against her. How could I, with her standing there, her white dress whispering as it danced across the floor in time with the wind?

Geraldine walked in with Carlton and Lila in tow. “Shall we?” Lila announced with theatrical grandeur. She shot me a glance. The lot of us had dinner a few nights beforehand, a perverted version of the five our original group had, plus Carlton, very handsome, very respectful, shaking my hand firmly over glasses of wine. Geraldine, I knew slightly growing up, a stately, assertive girl who had none of Rose’s subtlety. As for Lila…she was much the same. Harsh green eyes, a smirk instead of a smile. The only thing of note was a tattoo of a pale lily on her thigh. I told her that it was really clever and witty, when we had sex in my flat that same night. She said that I’d gotten myself a nice pad, and allowed that she missed our middle school days sometimes, especially the science lessons where we were partners, fucking up all of our tests. I took that as her apology for the STD rumors. We didn’t mention it.

The sunlight spilled in from the doorway and doused Henry in soft brightness as he stepped forward and took Rose in his arms. She was crying. Her small shoulders trembled demurely. He whispered words to her that the rest of us didn’t hear. Geraldine patted her back. Carlton shifted in place. Lila linked her arm with mine.

There was a small wait inside a depressingly-clean room where no-one really said anything. Shortly, a middle-aged man donned in priestly garb approached us, calling for “Mr. Henry and Ms. Rose.”

It happened so fast. The designated room was jarringly empty. Geraldine, Carlton, Lila and I crowded the front seats, the chairs behind us devoid of any life. The girls had, in an attempt to spruce the state of things, blown up a few listless balloons and scattered a handful of daffodils on the aisle. It was beautiful in its own doomed, sad way. I imagined the lily on Lila’s thigh blooming open for me. Sunlight alighted on each flimsy white petal of the flowers in Rose’s hair.

When Henry and Rose kissed as man and wife, melting into one, trembling, Geraldine let out a sob. Carlton clapped earnestly, then hugged his girlfriend with one arm. Lila touched my shoulder. Her eyes leaked mascara-stained tears. My throat became constricted with emotion.

“I never saw this coming. Never. I mean…not like this. Did you?” she asked me, her green eyes softening, causing me to almost fall in love with her all over again.

The makeshift priest watched as the six of us left, Henry and Rose leading the way with damp cheeks. His sad eyes were full of hopeless love, and he’d given me a look pregnant with apology and confusion as he walked past; he reached out as if to touch my cheek, but instead clasped my arm. The bride’s honeydew hair was aglow, blinding us all.

In the parking lot, Henry and Rose leaned into each other and so did Geraldine and Carlton, shadowing them. Lila kissed my cheek, and I remembered Henry pressing his lips into mine, not once but twice, his suit clinging to his slim frame, his shoulders set. It seemed to have happened a million years ago. I like to think that we were all, in that moment, happy. The waning afternoon sun embraced us and congratulated our exit.

But I suppose that deep down I knew it was temporary.

-Lila called me well over a year later.

We’d kept in touch after the wedding, making half-hearted attempts to reconnect, to start over. We had sex two more times afterward, but the second time, I made the mistake of asking her why she did it, all those years ago in our second year of high school. When she feigned sleep, I touched her lily tattoo and waited until she was actually slumbering. We were in her flat, so I left. Taken away from the pale, sentimental magic of that reception hall, I noticed that her green eyes had hardened again. I realized: I did not love her anymore, if I ever really did. I didn’t bother maintaining contact, and neither did she.

We were there, however, for the sake of appearances, when Henry and Rose left on their honeymoon to Florida. I remember Rose waving a lavender handkerchief at us as Henry drove them away. Carlton took me home, doing the same for a friend of Rose’s who’d been invited, some girl co-worker. He asked how things were going with Lila. I said that things were definitely going. He shook my hand when we reached my flat, and I wondered what he would do if I kissed him in the semi-darkness of his car. Later that night I hit up the girl co-worker whose number I’d procured at some point, and drove to her place and had sex on a pull-out bed. She was ensconced at a friend’s for the moment because of personal issues I did not care to divulge in because I had enough of my own, enough of Henry’s, enough of Rose’s, so I fucked her again before she could open up.

I wasn’t present when Rose gave birth five months after, but I was at their infant girl Victoria’s one-month celebration. She was an exhilarating, lovely thing, but she had brilliant blue eyes. Neither Henry nor Rose had blue eyes.

Lila was there, too, but she didn’t look at me once. The girl co-worker arrived late with a guy who I thought at first was Travis, and I was so shocked I dropped the small sandwich I was eating into Victoria’s crib. Carlton told the guests about the promotion he’d received, and Geraldine gushed over her niece, imploring to her in sickly-sweet coos that the girl would have a cousin in due time. Henry never left Rose’s side once, and when I said goodbye, his hand was sweaty. He lingered a second too long, just like at our last day of school, his scrawny arms nearly suffocating me.

When Lila called almost two years after, she did so with a dead voice. Henry had shot himself in the mouth, in the upstairs bathroom of the Victorian-style house he and Rose had bought a year prior.

Lila told me Rose had come home to hear Victoria’s wail of irritation and hunger from bedroom on the second floor. She’d rushed up the stairs, and saw the bathroom door closed. Blood leaked from the space underneath, staining the fresh carpets. And, somehow, Rose had known. I asked what Lila meant by that, but she stuck by what she said. Somehow, Rose had known.

So, she went back down and sat in the living room, called her sister to come over as soon as she could, and remained in the couch for almost an hour, listening to her child’s pitiful, escalating wail, letting her dead husband drown in his blood in the upstairs bathroom.

When Geraldine arrived, everything came undone.

I hung up after telling Lila I’d make it to the wake.

I remembered his warm and perpetually melancholic brown eyes, the lovely honeydew of her hair, the way he kissed me twice in that warm, fuzzy, almost pastoral waiting room with dust dancing in the space between us. I remembered how their initials were etched onto the red bench outside our old classroom. “HxR.” There, forever. ♦

#writer #writing #story

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