#the tradition of the grand finale is one of the worst things to happen to tv writing imo

[scribbleseas]

The Indignant Pawn, Chapter XVIII: The Eternal Promise

Description: You are Y/n Y/l/n- formerly known as Princess Helena, the runaway princess.

You're an assassin for hire who only agrees to find the worst of London's criminals at the business end of your knife; until a mysterious woman hires you to end the likes of Ciel Phantomhive, the King of the Underworld. You find yourself trading your weapons for your abandoned family crest in order to infiltrate his home as none other than Princess Marie-Louise, your twin sister. What's to happen when you find that the young Earl is more than a callous businessman?

OVERALL STORY WARNINGS: sexual assault (once in the prologue), objectification, misogyny, death, detailed description of blood/gore, detailed description of murder, lying, impersonation, theft, weapons, detailed panic attacks, symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder, kissing

Author’s Note: Hi everyone! This is the last chapter of The Indignant Pawn! Thank you so much for reading and following along on this story! It means the world to me and I’m so happy that I was able to complete this for you, and so soon. I ended up having more time than I thought, and I was so inspired. I couldn’t start to study for finals without completing this, unfortunately. Please let me know how you feel about the ending. It’s been years in the making. 

One more thing, I opened commissions! If you're remotely interested, please check out this post!

Happy Reading!

- Dan

⇠ PREVIOUS CHAPTER

MASTERLIST  

. . .

MAY 12TH, 1892

SCHLESWIG-HOLSTEIN, GERMANY

It was early noon and you were already exhausted. 

Last night, the Glücksburg Castle staff separated you and Ciel the moment your steamship docked at the port. They pulled you apart before you could share much of a goodbye; taking you to the castle in different carriages and in separate routes before showing you to separate quarters. In accordance with common wedding superstition, you weren’t to see Ciel until the wedding ceremony, the next day. 

Instead, your company was the bridal party, handpicked by Queen Victoria. The Hesse sisters occupied the full length of the brunch table’s left side, talking amongst themselves.  

Despite being married across the continent, they still came in a set of four, the beautiful and elegant daughters of your late Aunt Alice. The eldest, Victoria, was about ten years your senior, married to Louis of Battenberg, the adventurous one. She was engaged in some emphatic discussion with her sister, Elisabeth, one of the most beautiful women in Europe, the papers liked to say.

Elisabeth turned down numerous dukes and princes before Grand Duke Sergei Alexandrovich captured her heart. 

The other two sisters were Irene and Alix, both were shy and withdrawn, at least by comparison to their siblings. Irene was content to let her elder sisters engage the European press, enjoying her serene marriage with Prussian Prince Henry. Meanwhile, Alix was still engaged to Nicholas II of Russia. She was unpopular with the Russian public, but a noted beauty.

“I believe our gowns are soft blue or some shade of periwinkle, are they not?” Victoria of Hesse said ponderously, adding a half-spoonful of sugar into her tea. She had your deceased aunt’s pleasant smile and joking eyes-- at least from what you remembered of Aunt Alice.

“I’m sure I don’t know,” Elisabeth replied, “Gangan had our modiste send over my measurements and that was all. Do you know, Marie?” she asked, turning the table’s attention back to you. 

“No; Gangan handled all of the wedding planning,” you hoped your tone was light enough to portray amusement. “I haven’t so much as seen my gown, much less yours.” It was true. Nina merely sent your measurements to your Matron of Honor, Aunt Beatrice, and that was all. You were even unsure if the wedding was going to take place at the castle or a traditional church. 

“We should hope it is a more vibrant color than blue, no?” Grand Duchess Maria chimed in, seated at the right of the table by Lizzie. You managed to convince your grandmother to allow the Midfords to attend the wedding, so long as you strictly referred to their familial relationship, rather than past engagement. Not to mention, Ciel needed stand-ins in the wedding procession for his parents.

She seemed well-suited to the royal table, easily carrying conversations with the Hesse sisters, and winning over the Grand Duchess. Maria was advertising her and your Uncle Alfred’s son, Alfred II, for Lizzie to consider marrying. They were the Duke and Duchess of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha, and they were looking for a bride for their second son. Lizzie would make a better duchess than you did a princess.

“If it’s a baby blue, I think it could look quite elegant,” Irene said. “Especially if the gentlemen wear deep navy and with chartreuse accents.”

“That’s exactly what I thought!” Lizzie smiled. “That color scheme is perfect for the spring.” Her word of agreement seemed to encourage shy Irene. Lizzie navigated these situations flawlessly, engaging the outspoken, and encouraging the quiet. You respected her ability to infuse cheerful care into every conversation she was a part of, even if it was these sort of superfluous topics.

After all, this was the sort of aimless conversation you had been entertaining all morning. It was endless torture with a side of tea and miniature pastries and finger sandwiches that the other women hardly touched. You would’ve taken the pain that came after Mey-Rin’s grazing bullet over entertaining this group of frivolous women. 

“Good morning, everyone!” Princess Beatrice of the United Kingdom entered, carrying a wooden box with both hands. By the tension in her shoulders, it seemed heavy.

Beatrice was your youngest aunt; Queen Victoria’s youngest child. She was Victoria’s known confidante; living with her for years as her secretary. Beatrice and her husband, Henry of Battenberg, made home with Victoria since their early marriage.

And for the next several days, she was to serve as your Matron of Honor.

You were satisfied with that choice, as well. Out of all your grandmother’s daughters, Aunt Beatrice was the most motherly. Marie was fond of her — she was a bridesmaid at her wedding in 1885. You were always most partial to your Aunt Louise, the Duchess of Argyll, but much to your silent chagrin, she was not a part of the wedding party. 

The table rose, everyone dropping into a shallow curtsey, though Duchess Maria’s was too quick to be genuinely respectful. Your aunt was too humble to comment on it and make an unnecessary scene. Instead, Beatrice took measured strides towards you, exchanging knowing smiles with the rest of the table.

“Good morning, Aunt Beatrice,” you greeted, swiftly kissing one another on the cheek. “Thank you for being here,” you said, though you doubted the queen gave her the option.

“Of course,” she smiled fondly, setting the heavy box on the table. 

“Marie, Aunt Beatrice had to secure your ‘something borrowed’ as it were,,” Victoria of Hesse explained. She gestured to the guard behind Beatrice with the slightest chin tilt. Of course, all traveling jewels from the royal vault needed to be accompanied by a guard and a gun.

“Go on, Marie,” your aunt encouraged, setting the thick wooden box down. “We all spent ages in the vault picking the right one for you.” 

You smiled. You hoped it looked more grateful than nauseous as you unclasped the box. Crimson velvet insulated the box’s interior, cushioning the imposing tiara that sat inside. The diamonds sparkled, cut into long, pointed off spikes. Small circle-cut diamonds lined each spike.

This tiara was a piece your grandmother obtained as a gift at the beginning of her reign in 1837, originally commissioned by her uncle, King William IV for his wife. 

“Queen Adelaide’s Diamond Fringe,” Aunt Beatrice said, though you knew the name. It was one of the oldest installments in the Royal Collection. Likely sensing your surprise, your aunt chuckled, “it did not take much convincing on the Queen’s part. Not after I insisted it would look best with your wedding gown.”

Reluctantly, you used the cloth included in the box to pick up the tiara, inspecting it more closely. The diamonds sat on the heads of two generations of royal women: Queen Adelaide, Queen Victoria…and now, you. An imposter. Royalty by blood, but of course, not by private association.  

“It’s lovely—” you began to say, until your cousin interrupted you.

Elisabeth of Hesse gasped, “Aunt Bea! You’ve seen her dress!” The rest of the table expressed their overlapping speculations, was it lace or tulle? Was the neckline straight across or Queen Anne?

“Elisabeth, Victoria, she would never hint at such a secret, there’s no point in accosting the woman,” Grand Duchess Maria scoffed, taking a cavalier sip out of her tea. She was jealous. 

“You will see it tomorrow!” Beatrice replied, laughing. The reminder of tomorrow forced another jolt of anxiety down your spine, but you used the energy to laugh as well. “In the meantime, I was also tasked with escorting you to your fitting, Marie. I do apologize for cutting your breakfast short, ladies.”

“That’s all right,” you smiled, carefully putting the priceless tiara back into its box. The moment you clasped the box, Beatrice’s guard took hold of it. After a reverent bow to the room, he took his leave, likely going to put the tiara into Glücksburg vault.

 At least you could escape this useless chatter. 

. . .

Given that your day was nothing short of exhausting, you should have had an easier time falling asleep. Yet, you paced Marie’s quarters, restless. It was unsettling to be around all of her recent belongings; letters, left behind clothing, books, her violin. It was as if she was truly on a short vacation in England.

A new lump of guilt rose in your throat.

But more importantly, you wanted to see Ciel. Strangely, after only a day of separation, you missed him.

Having lived together for the past several months, you were accustomed to being around him. Even if some of the time you spent together was quiet, and you only felt his presence at your side.

“I was sent to escort you to my Lord’s room, Miss Y/n,” Sebastian’s voice came from behind you. 

Instinctively, you turned on your heel and reached for the closest weapon possible, a small pair of scissors off your vanity. They were hardly big enough to cut thread with. You brandished the scissors in Sebastian’s general direction, but failed to find the voice’s source at first glance. The butler blended with the shadows, wearing nearly all black. He chuckled mirthlessly.

His red eyes were certainly glowing in the dark. 

“Yes, Sebastian?” You asked impatiently, putting the scissors back on the table. They wouldn’t be of much help to you, anyway. Nothing would be— not against some… being… that caught bullets. 

“My Lord requests your presence in his quarters. Unfortunately, you’ve made him care for you. Considerably,” he said. You hated his smile, the light tone his voice took. You would prefer he yell, or scowl, or frown. Anything to replace the patrronizing look that you knew so well. 

“Made him?” You questioned. Your eyebrows knitted together indignantly as you crossed your arms. What was he insinuating?

“Yes,” the butler said bluntly. “You’ve become an unfortunate distraction. A scourge to his soul.” His… soul?

“Thankfully, that is not for you to decide. Any opinion you have is irrelevant to us, Sebastian.” You said, turning your back to him to find flats to slip on. You never knew Sebastian to lie; he certainly wasn’t holding back at that moment.

“I simply want you to be aware that my loyalties will always fall with my master,” Sebastian replied, the undertones in his voice clear enough. If there is a life and death situation tomorrow, I will let you die, if I can.

“Well, you’ve been such an obedient servant, thus far,” you mirrored his obsequious tone, pairing it with your own reprimanding smile. “You ought to keep your Lord’s best interests in mind. Not to worry, Sebastian, I can handle myself.”

“Happy to hear it, Miss Y/n,” Sebastian replied, bowing with a hand over his heart. The gesture was as genuine as Duchess Maria’s greeting to your aunt had been.  

“My Lord ordered me to escort you. There are guards in the hallway,” the butler explained. His eyes brightened, daring you to decline him. 

You scoffered in disbelief, shaking your head. It was precaution from Diego’s warning, you assumed. “Fine.”

You left the room first, surprised that there was no guard fixed outside your door. Though you knew where you were going, Sebastian led you to the guest wing. Instinctively, you remembered where to step so as not to cause the wooden floor to complain.

Every few paces, Sebastian would have you pause to let a guard pass. Apparently, he sensed them much sooner than you did. 

Do some reading about the supernatural after all of this is over with, you reminded yourself. The thought was ridiculous, but there was no harm in investigating. Besides, Sebastian was becoming too unmistakable to continue ignoring. 

The moment you knocked on Ciel’s door, Sebastian disappeared. Your fiancé opened the door. Before he could speak, you hugged him tightly, hiding your face in his nightshirt. You breathed in his familiar scent, letting your eyes flutter closed. Your fingers grabbed fistfulls of his shirt, bunching the material around his back. Ciel hardly managed to close the door behind you, locking it to be safe.

“I waited to see you all day,” Ciel said simply, brushing strands of your hair behind your ear when you looked up at him. He pressed a greeting kiss on your cheek. “My groomsmen insisted we explore the city. It was quite a hindrance.”

“Well, I was stuck in a flock of blushing bridesmaids,” you laughed humorlessly. “If I so much as started saying your name, they would throw some fit— something about bad luck.”

“If simply saying my name is bad luck, seeing me must be absolutely damning,” Ciel quipped smugly. He guided you to sit on the edge of his bed, shamelessly regarding you. You returned the favor, your gaze catching on the way his collar bones protruded under his loose nightshirt.

You thought about the last time he sat on the edge of his bed with you present, climbing into his lap, pleasuring yourself against the hardness in his trousers. Technically, you wore more that evening than in this current moment. All you wore was a white nightgown. Nothing under it, nothing over it. It was made of satin, as sheer as a curtain.

Ciel made a respectable effort to look at your face only. 

“Tomorrow night, we will be wed,” you said meaningfully, feeling your face flush. 

“Yes,” Ciel’s response was impatient, “we will be.” He hated to wait, but he was never one to do something so significant haphazardly. If you were to consummate, you had to be married. But this time tomorrow, you would be. 

An amused smile tugged at your lips, “my Aunt Beatrice was giving me…anecdotes about her wedding night.” The interaction had been excruciating during your gown fitting, but now you thought it was rather humorous. Beatrice was a few years past 30— she had three children, another on the way, so it was rumored.

Ciel cringed at the thought of your relative telling you about what takes place behind a couple’s locked door. As if he had no clue, and didn’t want to know. You knew he knew. “And I thought nothing could be worse than my own cousin.”

While your eyebrows knit, initially figuring he was referring to Lizzie, but you took a sigh of relief upon realizing that he was speaking of Edward Midford, her brother. He was Ciel’s best man.

“Better than Sebastian,” you quipped. However, your smile faltered at the thought of the butler. Marrying Ciel meant you were resigning yourself to a life with a powerful, supernatural servant who wanted you dead. If given the chance, he would kill you. 

“Y/n?” Ciel frowned, mirroring your disheartened expression. 

“It’s nothing. I just…I suppose I’m tired,” you said unconvincingly. 

You rested your head on the side of his arm. “Being here…seeing my aunt and cousins. Living in my sister’s room....” It wasn’t the full truth, but certainly wasn’t a lie. There was an unwavering pit in your stomach. A premonition that something was about to go terribly amiss. 

“We’re taking the first steamship tomorrow night,” Ciel replied, running his thumb over your knuckles. It was a habit he picked up from you, the way you liked to ground yourself through small, repetitive motions. “I assumed being here would be difficult for you.”

“Where are we going?” The destination of your honeymoon was supposed to be a surprise, one left to Ciel’s careful planning. However, you were never one for surprises, and you would be away for about a month. You deserved to know where you were going to be for such a long span of time.

Ciel replied in French, “Quelque part où il y a du vin, des champs de lavande et une grande tour, ma chère.” He rarely used his second language, considering you couldn’t understand it and he was in the midst of perfecting his German, but it was attractive. You flushed at his graceful accent, the way the complex language suited his voice. 

“Ciel…” you started, chuckling fondly. 

“Et quand nous y serons, nous ferons des choses innommables les uns avec les autres,” Ciel continued, gauging your reaction. He kissed your cheek and slightly below your jaw before moving your hair out of the way to press a peck on the nape of your neck. The more you were intimate, the more you noticed his fixation with your neck. 

As Ciel turned to face you completely, his hand released yours to settle on your bare thigh. You moved further up the bed to make space.

His voice dropped to a whisper, “nous avons tous deux attendu si longtemps.” Your arms erupted with goosebumps as you pulled him closer, his lips centimeters from your own. 

For all you knew, he could be stringing nonsense into sentences, but it didn’t matter. It sounded perfect, his tender touch giving way for a new warmth to spread in your stomach.

Your fingers tangled into his hair as you pulled him down against the bedspread with you. The kiss was breathless and all-consuming. It ignited every nerve— down to your toes. You could feel Ciel’s warmth through his shirt, and you were consciously aware of everywhere your skin touched his. His legs bracketed yours. 

Giving you a moment to catch your breath, he kissed the center of your throat, your drumming pulse point. He paused, an amused grin playing at his lips. 

“What is it?” You managed. 

“Do you recall the last time we were in a position like this?”

After a beat of silence, you laughed. “Our dispute! When I nearly broke your nose and ran away.” Even when you hated Ciel, you couldn’t bring yourself to meaningfully injure him. 

Ciel hummed in confirmation, though his dubious look suggested he thought your recollection of the altercation was self-serving. “And you still looked like you wanted to kiss me. Even when I held a knife right here,” his fingers grazed over the scar on your throat— a superficial wound above your left carotid. 

“Yes… just like this,” you smarted, pulling him close to steal an innocent peck from his lips.

“Yes, I suppose just like that,” Ciel conceded, rolling his eye. 

“What’s more, you couldn’t bring yourself to press harder,” you added teasingly, pulling him back in for a long kiss, treating this opportunity to be intimate with your fiancé as if it was your last.

. . .

MAY 13TH, 1892

SCHLESWIG-HOLSTEIN, GERMANY

You didn’t recognize yourself in the mirror. 

Mey-Rin and Nina made elegant work with your makeup; darkening your eyebrows, painting on a blush that made your cheeks look flushed, a lipstick that made your lips appear bitten. After all, obvious makeup was considered fraudulent and deceptive; the work of women who worked street corners, Queen Victoria would say. 

Nina twisted your hair into a French twist updo, leaving curled strands out in the front. Queen Adelaide’s Fringe Tiara felt heavy on your head, fastened to your hair with pins. It dug into your scalp, the pain made it impossible for you to forget that it sat there.

Your gown was surprisingly simplistic; it was whiter than snow, free of any lace or bead detailing. Instead of was a sheen of satin, the lustrous fabric beautiful without being flamboyant. Your sleeves, controversially, were off the shoulder, meeting in a seam in the middle of your chest. 

To hide the gruesome scar on your arm, you wore matching white gloves that reached your elbows. They were out of season, but there was no way for you to hide the old wound otherwise. 

Under such a heavy dress and tiara, you were ready to collapse. Your preparation team had you awake before the sun rose, giving you a small breakfast before stuffing you into a carriage and taking you to the church to get dressed. It was a prayer room made into a makeshift dressing areafor your purposes; security did not want to risk the wedding party arriving at the ceremony in carriages, per tradition.  Instead, everyone in the wedding had to get to the church at inane hours to let the guards watch every doorway and window for intruders, once again taking separate carriages in different routes.  

You took a deep breath in, trying to settle your nerves. You were marrying the man you loved, someone who understood you in a way that no one since Baxter did. Only…now your life was to belong to the monarchy once more. This wedding ceremony was more symbolic and full of circumstance than romance. It wasn’t yours and Ciel’s. It was Europe’s. 

Not to mention, Diego warned you that Mariana had a plan. Mariana…it was still strange to have a real name for the woman. A reason why she was determined to kill you both, but more importantly, Ciel. You couldn’t allow that, even if he did kill her husband.

No matter how security prepared, she was still a threat. She would try to kill the both of you until either she succeeded, or you killed her first. Still, you knew that every possible measure was made. Sebastian would protect Ciel to the bitter end, regardless. That was what mattered. 

There was nothing more for you to do besides having the wedding. You laughed at your reflection. You looked like a princess, but what raced through your mind — murder, death threats, the leader of a foreign drug empire — were not regal bride concerns in the least. 

And you looked much more calm than you felt. At least you could contain your inner turmoil; stuff it down, sort your worries into neat categories. Impending doom, a death threat, a potentially supernatural butler. Hide it all behind the image of a jubilant princess who balanced the weight of a diamond tiara and a dagger all the same. 

Besides, there was no other option. Ciel had an earldom to run, a business to support, an Underworld to terrorize. He was too proud to live in middle class America. He would detest waking up every morning, and that would soon become a hatred for waking up with you. All you could do was marry, and support each other in your new royal family role. Dispel evil together. Dispel Mariana if she attempted to challenge you. Maybe even have a child or two. 

You squeezed your eyes closed, thinking about last night. All you needed to do was complete the day, and you would be together. In every way a couple could be together.

There was a stiff knock at the door, forcing you to open your eyes and paint a pleasant expression on your face. “Come in.”

“Marie,” Christian, your eldest brother, entered. You figured he would be walking you down the aisle — giving you away — instead of your father. No one told you, but you had the good sense to expect it. It was well-known that Queen Victoria disliked your father. She didn’t care for Prince Christian I, matching your mother, Princess Helena, with him because she couldn’t find a proper European house to marry her middle child into. 

Meanwhile, it was no secret that Victoria favored your brother. The Queen adored him for studying at Wellington College as she wanted, and she found nothing more befitting of a prince than serving in the military. Christian recently returned from an expedition in Isazi as an officer in the British Army. His skin was still lightly tanned from being in South Africa for so long. He wore his uniform and full officer decorations. Other men in the service were likely doing the same; Edward Midford and his father, Lord Scotany.

“Christian,” you were unsure how Marie greeted him, and your hesitance showed. There was a beat of silence as he regarded you.

Christian raised his eyebrow, “why did you do away with Christle?” He was referring to that puerile nickname you both used for him as children. 

Marie still referred to him as Christle at this age? He was a military official!

“You’ve been acting differently lately, Marie. Are you sure you love Phantomhive? Is this what you want to do?” Christian asked, worry furrowing his eyebrows. He looked like you when you were apprehensive, the same level stare, pursed lips. 

“How am I different?” You asked. It was easy to act around Queen Victoria and your mother— anyone who spent more time worrying about themselves or their positions to really understand the difference between you and your sister. But Christian was more complicated. He was your authority figure while your mother was opening hospitals abroad and your father worked. Christian spent plenty of time playing with Marie, admonishing you for being lax in your duties as a child. As the eldest, he was 16 the second time you ran away, 15 the first. 

You felt like you were nine years old again, getting admonished for refusing to ride a horse side saddle, or for getting mud all over your dress before the family portrait. 

“You’re…acting quite like Thora,” Christian said, his militant eyes practically staring into your soul. You tried not to grimace at your old nickname. 

He wasn’t accusing you; his voice was thoughtful or concerned, if anything. “Aunt Beatrice was worried, too. I only…” he paused. “I only want to ensure that this marriage is what you want. You will always be my younger sister, even if I’m supposed to be giving you away.”

The honorable Prince Christian never changed.

“If I’ve been somber…I don’t mean to be,” you replied. “I…the past few months of my life have been terrifying. I know you were away in Africa but there was a death threat sent to court. On my life. The Phantomhive manor was even attacked, months ago,” you rolled down your glove to show him the injury. If you could persuade your brother, no one would question you. 

Christian sighed, his face unchanging. The military seemed to desensitize him to these sorts of wounds. He inspected the healed scar, and nodded once. “It healed well. Phantomhive’s medic is rather talented,” he admitted gruffly. The irony being, that the medic was Sebastian, a monster who wanted you dead. 

You pulled the glove back over your forearm. Christian didn’t argue with you, but you knew he was unconvinced. Before he could speak, the quick notes of Mendelsson’s Wedding March reverberated throughout the church, preceded by soul-shattering chords. That was your cue to join the procession. 

Christian glanced at the clock to confirm the time was right. “We have to join the others,” he offered his arm. You laced yours with his, and two servants you didn’t know picked up your gown’s long train. 

When you joined the procession from behind, the first of the wedding party was already walking down the aisle. First was Queen Victoria, accompanied by her secretary and two guards; the Officiant; Lord and Lady Scotany as they filled in for Ciel’s deceased parents; your parents; Ciel and his groomsmen. You and Christian joined from the hall behind the doors to the Sanctuary, so you didn’t see any of them before they walked. 

Instead, you saw the middle of the procession: your bridesmaids, the Hesse sisters, Cornelia, and Aunt Beatrice. Cornelia was one of your bridesmaids because her husband, Edward, was Ciel’s best man. It was more of a formality, than a show of closeness between you. 

After them was the ring bearer and the flower girl, respectively. While you expected Victoria to insist the roles be fulfilled by your younger cousins, she allowed Ciel to fill those positions from his own friends and family. He asked little Beatrice Moore and her betrothed, Theodore Ambrose, the next Earl of Granard. Beatrice was still giggling at the fact that she shared a name with a real princess, your Aunt Beatrice.

You settled behind the children. Little Beatrice nearly missed her cue because her eyes were locked on your tiara and seemingly endless gown. Beatrice waved at you vigorously, causing you to smile. “Marie! You look so beautiful!” She exclaimed, shooting Theodore an irritated look when he tapped her shoulder and reminded her to walk with him. 

One of the servants handed you a bouquet of flowers, alstroemerias with white roses, and baby's breath incorporated. It was your turn to walk down the aisle with your brother, but you couldn’t help but wish it was Baxter at your side. That this wedding had less people, a tiara that didn’t weigh more than your brain…

Smile. You urged yourself not to buckle under the weight of everyone’s states. Everyone stood for the entire wedding procession, given that Queen Victoria was standing as well. No one sat while the highest-ranking royal stood. 

First, you passed the servants and guards in the furthest pews from the altar. Mey-Rin dabbed at her tears from under her glasses, Finny waved, Baldroy nodded once. Nina smiled at you, gesturing for you to keep walking in time with the music. You had paused for a half second, attempting to find Sebastian. The awkward timing forced Christian to stop his stride to let you catch up. 

You didn’t see Sebastian, and you were unsure if that caused you more anxiety, or alleviated it.

Strictly-screened journalists and press members were in the pews in front of the servants. Their cameras clicked, lenses immortalizing the moment. You smiled for them, struggling to find a place to look.

The music echoed throughout the Sanctuary, overly cheerful. It was the same chords repeating on the grand organ behind the altar. 

Closer to the altar were the aristocratic and the royal guests. Several faces stuck out to you— your Aunt Victoria, the Queen’s eldest child; brother, Albert; Aunt Louise; Mateo and Valentina Bianchi ; the heirs to the English throne, Uncle Edward and Alexandra of Denmark. 

You caught Lizzie’s emerald gaze; she was in the front row, to the side. She looked at you before pointedly looking ahead of her. Look at the man you love. The rest of the world will simply fall away. She was too empathetic for her own good, sometimes. 

As you took your concluding steps towards the altar, you finally looked at Ciel. She was right. Your heart flipped immediately, taking in his deep navy suit. He had a white rose tucked pinned over his chest, his signature flower. The tie tucked into his jacket was a soft pink; pale enough that you thought it was white at first glance. The rest of the wedding party coordinated with him, the bridesmaids wearing the same pink, and the groomsmen the same blue.

Ciel didn’t smile broadly, but you knew better than to fixate on that. Instead, the corners of his lips turned upwards. He took in your appearance slowly, as if he were fixating on a painting. Inspecting every detail with the intensity of someone trying to commit each brush stroke to memory.

At the altar, you took your place across from Ciel. Christian stood behind you, to the officiant’s side. Aunt Beatrice took your bouquet for you.

All you needed to do was finish the ceremony, and you would have the man across from you all to yourself for the next month. Just you, him, Carl, and the servants abroad in some beautiful place. There was no royal tour— all you needed to do was attend Alix of Hesse and Nicholas II’s wedding in Russia as guests.

The thought of such solitude was elating. It helped your smile widen naturally, though your cheeks were beginning to sting.

The music quieted into a small, soothing tune that the officiant could speak over. 

“Welcome, everyone,” the officiant said. He was an agind man with kind blue eyes and a thoughtful smile. There was a gold wedding band on his left ring finger, matching his red and gold robes. “Please be seated. Thank you all for joining us on this joyous day and cloudless afternoon.” 

“Every one of you today has been invited today because you, in one way or another, shaped the lives of these lovely individuals standing before me, Her Highness Princess Marie Louise of Schleswig-Holstein and Lord Ciel Phantomhive.”

Not hearing your name hurt you more than you thought it would have. 

“For those of you I have not had the chance to meet, my name is Reverend Arthur Green. I have officiated the past…six… royal weddings,” he said with a flourish, making a show of counting. There were scattered laughs in the audience in response. Green was close with the Queen, who sat in a distinguished throne to the side of the author with her Munshi, Abdul Karim. Notably, not all of her children were present— likely for security reasons. 

Reverend Green continued, “we were all taken by surprise by this sweeping love connection, but seeing the way these two beautiful souls regard one another, their love is strong and true.” 

You felt your face redden, matching the new flush over Ciel’s cheeks. 

“I have vows prepared for both the bride and groom,” Green announced. Neither of you expressed a desire to write your own vows, and you doubted the Queen would have let you. She was reluctant with royalty expressing such passionate feelings in public, preferring to preserve the dignified appearance her Royal Mob upheld. 

“Please repeat my words, Your Highness,” he requested, forcing you to refocus. 

You repeated. “I, Marie, take thee, Ciel Phantomhive, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; and I promise to be faithful to you until death parts us.”

Ciel repeated the same vow, having the same reluctance with saying your name. No, Marie’s name. 

This is just the beginning, Y/n.

Ciel broke into a broader smile, yours matching his. His blue eye seemed even darker in the sunset. When you looked at him, you saw your honeymoon, your future, your husband. Your closest friend and confidante. Your heart fluttered, your mouth was dry. More than anything, you wanted to kiss him.

When you looked at him, you forgot about the weight of the tiara on your head.

“Your Highness, do you promise to love, honor, cherish, and protect Lord Phantomhive, forsaking all others, and holding only unto him forever?” Reverend Green asked.

“Yes!” You said more enthusiastically than you meant to. The guests laughed, and out of the corner of your eye, you caught Lizzie’s amused grin. You cleared your throat, “yes, I do.”

“And Lord Phantomhive, do you promise to love, honor, cherish, and protect Her Highness, forsaking all others, and holding only unto her forever?”

“Indeed, I do,” Ciel’s reply was much calmer than yours, but his face was full of love. It made your eyes sting, as if you could cry. You tried to blink the forming tears away. You thought about what his lips feel like, how his arms feel when they wrapped around you to combat your surfacing feelings.

The both of you already loved, honored, cherished, and protected each other. You’d do it forever, if that’s what the Fates had in store for you.

Reverend Green nodded at Theodore, preparing the child to get ready for his cue to bring your wedding rings up to the altar. 

Theodore nodded aggressively in response, tightening his grip on the small cushion with your rings. The audience laughed, but you couldn’t make yourself look away from Ciel to survey their responses any longer.

Green grinned, his eyes brimming with tears as well. At least you weren’t alone in your tragically sentimental feelings. “Now, if there is anyone present, who can show just cause why these two persons may not be joined in matrimony, speak now, or forever hold your peace,” he declared, naturally assuming that no one in the audience would protest. 

The gasps and screams forced you to look away from Ciel and into the audience as it rippled, devolving into chaos. They dove away from a singular woman who stood, aiming a small purse gun at the altar. 

Guards sprang into action, their guns unlocking, but they couldn’t shoot with terrified guests fleeing and hiding. Mey-Rin argued with a soldier, likely in an effort to take his weapon and fire. She was the best shot there, but you assumed the guards refused to let her bring a weapon in.

You didn’t need to look longer to know what was about to happen. You refused to let it. 

Before you knew what you were doing, you moved. You pulled yourself out of Christian’s restrictive grip, and pushed Ciel to the ground, just as the woman shot. The shot sounded throughout the Sanctuary, amongst the course of screaming guests, shouting guards and crying guests. 

You remained standing, merely feeling a searing warmth rip through your left chest. It was nothing like Mey-Rin’s grazing bullet. In fact, it hurt less. It was hot like nothing you’ve ever touched, but it didn’t hurt. Not even the hot stove you touched by accident as a child compared to the sensation in your chest. 

Ciel managed to pull himself off the ground, startled by your hard shove. He’d tripped down the short steps and hit his head, but otherwise, he seemed unharmed. You would have been relieved, had he not been staring at you in panic.

“Y/n,” he managed, horrified. 

But you name was lost amid the chaos. Before you dared look down, you took a quick survey of the rest of the Sanctuary. Queen Victoria and most of the guests fled or hid, guards shielding their escape. Edward sprung in front of Cornelia, the Reverend, Theodore, and Beatrice. The children cried for their parents, who were likely forced to leave with the guards. 

Reverend Green trembled behind the altar, bear hugging young Beatrice and Theodore, the Hesse sisters and Aunt Beatrice fell to the floor, covering their heads. Your brother stood before them, gun drawn. Royalty received crisis training for situations like this. 

Mariana was gone, having used the chaos to make her escape.

“Edward, take the kids!” Cornelia demanded, “get them to their parents.”

“I will not leave you,” Edward Midford insisted, his voice trained to be steady in the face of danger. He was a soldier, like Christian. 

“I-I can,” Reverend Green said, trembling. “Come on, children. We must— we must, go.” He tried to let go of them, but Beatrice held on, hiding her face in the man’s robes. 

“I’ll make sure nothing happens to them,” Green assured Cornelia, but neither child seemed interested in leaving.

“Y/n!” Ciel shouted, his face red as if he’s been trying to capture your attention. He put his hand on your shoulder, but he was trembling. His gaze alternated between your chest and your face, and you made the mistake of looking down at your fresh wound. At the fresh crimson blood that blossomed on the left side of your dress’s bodice. It was in the middle of your left breast— the third or fourth rib you assumed. 

“Oh,” you managed. Your legs buckled, but Ciel caught you and carefully helped you to the floor. He tore his jacket off and pressed it against the wound, hard enough for you to cry out in pain. The ease that he pressed indicated that the bullet fractured your ribs. Ciel sensed that the wound gave way too easily and paled. 

You took a difficult breath in, shivering despite the warm bullet in your chest. Your teeth chattered.

Pain, tenderness, difficulty breathing, you told yourself. Baxter always said that self-assessment came first. It was a small gun. The best you could hope for was a fractured rib, but the way your chest gave way to Ciel’s pressure suggested it was shattered. 

“Why can a shattered rib be dangerous, Y/n?” Baxter asked.

Massive bleeding from ruptured blood vessels, bone fragments from the rib can puncture a lung… or my heart.

Air could build around the lung and cause a tension pneumothorax… assuming the bullet didn’t puncture the lung and do that already.

“Ciel, keep the pressure steady,” Cornelia said. You forgot she was a nurse. Maybe you had a chance, if it wasn't a tension pneumothorax. But you never had that kind of luck. “Help me check for an exit wound,” she said to someone on your right side. The three of them lifted your torso up, and confirmed that you were also bleeding out from the back. They ripped the satin from your gown and used another man’s jacket to slow that bleeding while Ciel held pressure on your front. 

“We need a carriage to get her to a hospital,” Cornelia declared, checking your pulse.

“I-I think the guests took them all,” Lady Scotany said, “Alexis— go check. For a guard, a doctor, a commoner with a carriage, anyone.” With a grim nod, Alexis Midford ran with Baldroy and Mey-Rin. 

“Marie, I know it hurts but I need you to do your best to breathe. And wiggle your fingers,” Cornelia said, but you were more concerned with Ciel. His hands were soaked with your blood, despite Aunt Beatrice continuously giving him new material to help stop the bleeding with. 

“Marie!” Cornelia repeated. When you didn’t respond, she turned to Ciel. “Ciel, you need to tell her to breathe,” she said, “she will listen to you.”

You were Marie, even when you had a bullet in your chest. It was a cruel joke.

Were you not breathing? Was that why your lungs were aflame? Was that why your throat was constricting? Was that why your vision coated in white, and your ears rang like church bells?

Ciel trembled, but he nodded. “Look at me,” he ordered, “breathe. You need to breathe.” Breathing hurt. It hurt more than any pain you ever experienced in your life. It hurt more than your arm. Inhaling hurt more than the bullet itself hurt. 

“T-trying…” you managed.

“You’re doing well, Marie, it’s okay,” Lizzie said, sniffling. Your head was in her lap, though you were unsure when she showed up. “J-just focus on breathing.”

My ribs are broken. I probably have a tension pneumothorax, you wanted to cry out. But your voice wasn’t cooperating. You could feel your rationality slipping out with the same urgency blood bubbled from your wound.

Cornelia cut your bodice open, cutting through the dress and corset. Finny gave his jacket to Lady Scotany to drape over the right side of your chest, for your modesty. As if that was the most concerning part of the situation. 

“Take a deep breath in,” Ciel said, repeating Cornelia’s words. You shivered, struggling to do as told. Your lungs were already full— as if you took an inhale prior, held it, and tried to inhale again, all without exhaling. 

“Abnormal lung sounds,” Cornelia drew back to watch your chest as you struggled to breathe. “Asymmetrical expansion of the chest,” she mumbled gravely.

The problem with being right all the time, meant that you had also diagnosed yourself correctly. And this diagnosis was fatal without near-immediate treatment.

“What does that mean?” Ciel insisted. “Cornelia!” He shouted, but the nurse didn’t meet his gaze. 

“It probably means it’s a…tension pneumothorax,” Cornelia admitted.

“She got away,” you heard Baldroy say from a distance, returning with Lord Scotany. He shouldered his coat off to let Lady Scotany put it beneath the exit wound on your back. “Guards were too concerned with gettin’ the royals to safety. Took all the carriages, too.”

“What does that mean, Cornelia?” Ciel shouted.

“Where is Sebastian?” Lizzie asked, trying to keep her voice level. She removed the heavy tiara from your head and gently smoothed her fingers over your hair.

“Sebastian?” Lady Scotany asked. “He’s getting another carriage. We need to get her to the hospital.” 

You wanted to laugh. With Sebastian getting the carriage, you were surely going to bleed out— or die of hypoxia— whichever came first. You were going to die in front of an altar. In a church. At your own wedding.

“Cornelia!” Ciel yelled. 

“Ciel, shut up and let me work!” Cornelia put her ear to your chest again. 

“Air is building around the outside of her lungs, rather than inside because the bullet— or a bone fragment punctured it,” Christian said, pitying your…husband? Fiancé? 

“The air puts pressure around the punctured lung, and that strains that lung and her heart. Since the lung is punctured, air keeps getting stuck when she inhales, so there is no room for it to expand when she breathes,” your brother explained.

Your lung definitely collapsed. The well-meaning pressure Ciel put on the wound couldn’t be helping, either.

“Hyperresonant chest percussion,” Cornelia noted under her breath. Her concerned frown deepened.

“Cornelia, her neck,” Christian added calmly. He kneeled at your other side, across from Ciel, light fingers touching your throat, feeling for your trachea. “Tracheal deviation to the right and distended neck veins.”

“Tension pneumothorax,” they said in synchrony, sharing a look. 

“So what can we do?” Lizzie cried out. 

“Dying,” you mumbled, fully believing that these were your final moments. The procedure you needed was impossible on the floor of the church. If Sebastian was tasked with the carriage, you weren’t going to get there in time. And he was why you were shot, in the first place. 

He caught bullets. He wanted you dead…it was simple. Bloody demon.

That’s what he was, wasn't he?

“We need a large bore needle!” Christian exclaimed.

“A needle? Whatever for?” Lizzie cried out.

“To evacuate the air,” Cornelia said, “but we don’t have the right kind here.”

“So what do we do?”

“You are not dying, you utter imbecile,” Ciel insisted, steady tears streaming down his face. You weren’t sure if he noticed that his forehead was bleeding, much less the salty tears streaming down his cheeks. “She was bloody aiming at me.” 

You wanted to reach out and wipe the tears off of his face, but your arm was limp at your side, refusing to obey. You could wiggle your fingers, but you couldn’t quite muster the strength to lift the limb. You tried again, but your arm fell to your side uselessly.

You could hear your heartbeat in your ears, pounding in your brain. It was a welcome change from the terrible ringing.

“I’m s-..sorry,” you managed, but it was a lie. If you hadn’t pushed Ciel, it might have hit him. If the man you loved died from your inaction, you wouldn’t be able to forgive yourself for it.

You felt there was a constrictive corset around your brain, tightening and tightening. Your breathing was rapid, in out, in out, in out. You could feel your head throb in time with your heart. With every inhale you managed, you got less air. 

But even so, you would do it again. 

“They’re not going to have the right needle here, we have to burp the wound.” Cornelia said. “Otherwise, she’ll suffocate before the carriage gets here.”

“Burp the wound?” Ciel asked incredulously. 

“The air caught in the pleural space won’t come out safely and she’ll suffocate if we don’t let air escape the opening that’s already there. Ciel, you need to step aside for a moment,” Cornelia explained.

“But— but, she’s still bleeding! I’m…stopping the bleeding! She will bleed out if I stop!” Ciel argued, looking from his bloody hands on the wound to your paling face. Back and forth once more.

“She’s going to die of hypoxia if you don’t let the air out of the lung cavity, Ciel.” Christian said. “You need to move, or I will move you.” Christian was much taller than Ciel. It would’ve been as simple as moving a chess piece.

Ciel moved reluctantly, and switched spots at your side with Christian. 

Cornelia moved the blood-soaked dressing from the wound, and you caught a quiet rush of air before she put fresh dress fabric over it once more. It was only a little easier for you to breathe before it grew difficult again. However, she quickly  removed the dressing when she noticed you beginning to strain. The nurse repeated the process in tandem with your discomfort. 

You shivered, watching the world above you— Ciel’s face, Lizzie’s, your brother’s. The world was brighter, it was blurry. And then it was refined. It was vibrant, and then it wasn’t. Vibrant, clear, blurry, bright…

Was this what Baxter saw? you wondered.

“No, Y/n. It’s not your time, yet.” Baxter said. “You need to wait. You need to try to live. The doc’s comin’ in a carriage with his supplies. He will be there. Just hold on. We’re all here for you every step of the way. You will not die.”

Earnest Baxter.

You refocused on Ciel. His face was clear, and vibrant. And then it was blurry. It was bright. He was still bleeding. He was still handsome.

You put all of your focus into your next words. “I love you,” you managed. Your eyes fluttered closed, it was getting too hard to concentrate and keep them open. 

“No, don’t you dare say that!” Ciel demanded. “You will not die. I don’t know what I’d do without you,” his fingers felt warm on your face, they smelled like blood. Your eyes fluttered open again. You smiled weakly. 

You weren’t sure what you would do without Ciel, either. 

“It’s…not my intent to but…” that might be out of my hands.

This was supposed to be the day you eternally promised yourselves to one another, but apparently, plans sometimes went awry. Sometimes, the determined widow got her happy ending.

But you won too. All because the last face you were going to see was the face of the man you loved.

“Surgeon’s here! He’s got supplies!” 

Hold on, Y/n.

. . .

Acknowledgements:

First of all, I want to thank everyone on Amino (who I unfortunately, didn’t keep in contact with) for telling me that the first 2 chapters of this fic were worthwhile. Without motivation from them, I never would have felt inspired enough to keep developing this idea. 

I also want to thank my best friend for listening to me rant about this piece. About the hours and hours of research about historical figures, laundry in the 1890s, makeup in the 1890s, speech, Victorian slang terms, hair, names, German breakfast food, types of tea, Victorian wedding traditions, serial killers, post-traumatic stress disorder, bilingualism, travel, everything. Even anatomy, dangerous chemicals, ages of me studying self-defense, waltz, and harp tutorials on YouTube. I even did the math-- Cornelia really is an 8th-generation New Yorker! I sat down and put a half hour into making a very preliminary family tree for her. Don’t even get me started on how many times I watched the anime and took notes on the cast’s speech and mannerisms. I even scoured Pinterest for reference pictures, outfit inspiration…everything you could ever want. It all amounted to 300+ pins to my TIP board, and exactly 127,411 words.

I digress. My best friend is so motivating, and without her telling me not to force myself to write when I don’t feel it, you guys wouldn’t have gotten anything close to this quality of work. In fact, she’s also a bit responsible for a scene in this chapter.

I also want to thank Sweet Anon, mylostleftfootsock, katherine101, for consistently reaching out to me in asks, DMs, and commenting. You all motivate me so much, and there’s nothing quite like knowing that the story I write touches you. Without knowing people were really engaging with what I put out, writing would have taken a lot longer, if it happened at all. 

Thank you all, so much. I’m so grateful for every single read.

I can't wait to share my next projects with you. I'll even give you a few hints to make up for this ending: Ciel Phantomhive, ballerina!reader, fake courtship, serial killer. Do with this what you will <3

Love, Dan

#the indignant pawn #ciel phantomhive x reader #ciel phantomhive #ciel phantomhive x y/n #ciel phantomhive x you #black butler fanfic #anime fanfiction #historical fiction #historical romance

[citruscloudsandmoon]

Lawmane Day 05: Ephemeral

An excerpt from a unpublished fanfic which I have been working on in a very non-serious fashion. Translation: I have completely ignored the story 🥲

Thought to share it here because it fits the theme( I think? 😅). Hope you like it 🌻.

Heart-Stopper

One set finally caught Misa’s eye. It was a traditional canopy bed, the wood in color of black, its fittings that of copper hue. There was light intricate carving on the edges of its headboard, giving the whole thing a grand look. It was simply beautiful.

Unable to help herself, Misa lightly tapped the fingers against the wood, loving the soft clacking sounds it made. Net curtains will most definitely look much better than the satin ones, she decided, fingering the fabric draped over the frame.

Misa turned “Ryuzaki what do you……….”

She couldn’t complete the question. She wasn’t able to.

Ryuzaki was lying on the bed alright, except not normally. He appeared to be sunk amidst the sheets and fluffy pillows, arms and legs struck out in odd angles.

“Ryuzaki!” Misa loudly exclaimed, rushing towards his side at once.

“It’s alright Miss Amane! I can get out” Ryuzaki assured but Misa thought otherwise.

“Didn’t I tell you not to test them Ryuzaki?! Look at you! You are struck!” Misa cried out, clearly dismayed.

“I can assure you Miss Amane, I am not” Ryuzaki insisted, still struggling.

The blonde shook her head. Putting down her bag, she briskly marched toward the bouncy bed and reached for Ryuzaki’s arm. Grasping it firmly with both her hands, she tried pulling him.

Being light weighted she should have known better that it wasn’t going to work out.

“Woah!” Misa yelped, feeling her feet leaving the wooden floor instantly. It happened so fast. One minute she was standing. In the next moment, she found herself lying on top of Ryuzaki.

Ryuzaki let out a loud gasp. The impact wasn’t hard but it was sudden. It took him by surprise.

Misa heard him for then she started apologizing profusely. “Sorry sorry Ryuzaki! Misa didn’t mean to land on you!"

“It’s okay Miss Amane, you were only trying to help…….”

“But you got hurt! And……ooff!” Misa’ elbow slipped, making her cut off her speech. Dammit! The hell was wrong with bed? it won’t stay still!

Misa tried rolling but it only made her sunk further in the mattress.

“Miss Amane, stop rolling! You are only making it worst!” ‘Worst?! They wouldn’t be here at the first place if Ryuzaki didn’t jumped on them! Misa thought furiously.

Digging her nails on the blanket, Misa lifted herself to retort to Ryuzaki’ statement. It was only then she realized just how close they were to each other.

Ryuzaki had braced his palms on the duvet, holding himself from making any possible movement. The position would have looked comical if it weren’t for Ryuzaki breathing heavily, gazing at her with hooded gaze, fringes slightly ruffled.

That familiar warm feeling which dropped by earlier this afternoon returned at once. Only this time, it came back with much force.

A shirt slipped from Ryuzaki’s neck, exposing his one side of the collarbones. Misa blushed at the sight. She had seen numerous man shirtless before, both in real and in media. And yet Misa was going red like there was no tomorrow.

Calm yourself Misa, calm yourself Goddamit! She scolded to herself inwardly. It was difficult to think of anything else when all she was thinking of was Ryuzaki’s exposed neck and just how pale and sturdy it appeared. Her fingers were itching to run on his clavicle, wondering about its smoothness.

Before her body could take the decision for her, Ryuzaki all of a sudden flipped their sides, pining her hands above her head with his hands and her legs with his shins.

Misa was now under Ryuzaki. It couldn’t get any more awkward than this.

She was petrified. And so was Ryuzaki, who after pining Misa to the bed didn’t know what to do now.

Someone cleared a throat. Misa and Ryuzaki looked up and saw Ken, the salesperson who now was no longer smiling but was looking at them expressionless, his lips pursed as if he had swallowed a lemon.

“Getting comfy are we? Maceo does tend to have that effect” He commented, his tone uncharacteristically cold and formal.

Sinkholes popped around in Japan every now and then. Misa wished one would pop around here too so that she could disappear in the ground along with bed. This was beyond embarrassing.

#death note #l lawliet #L #Misa Amane #Lawmane #Lxmisa #l x misa #Lawmane week 2023 #Lawmane Day 05: Ephemereal #Sharing an excerpt? I know....very lazy effort but oh well 🥲🤡 #Otp: I think I just met my wife #Line: I could fall for you #Your honour! They are both clowns in love but don't know yet ❤️

[horizon-verizon]

Even before the others reached White Harbor, King Jaehaerys had called together his council in the Red Keep, to consider an entreaty from his queen. When Septon Barth, Grand Maester Benifer, and the others had assembled, Alysanne told them of her visit to the Wall, and the day that she had spent with the whores and fallen women of Mole’s Town. “There was a girl there,” the queen said, “no older than I am as I sit before you now. A pretty girl, but not, I think, as pretty as she was. Her father was a blacksmith, and when she was a maid of fourteen years, he gave her hand in marriage to his apprentice. She was fond of the boy, and he of her, so the two of them were duly wed…but scarcely had they said their vows than their lord came down upon the wedding with his men-at-arms to claim his right to her first night. He carried her off to his tower and enjoyed her, and the next morning his men returned her to her husband.

“But her maidenhead was gone, together with whatever love the apprentice boy had borne her. He could not raise his hand against the lord for peril of his life, so instead he raised it against his wife. When it became plain that she was carrying the lord’s child, he beat it out of her. From that day on, he never called her anything but ‘whore,’ until finally the girl decided that if she must be called a whore she would live as one, and made her way to Mole’s Town. There she dwells until this day, a sad child, ruined…but all the while, in other villages, other maids are being wed, and other lords are claiming their first night.

“Hers was the worst story, but not the only one. At White Harbor, at Mole’s Town, at Barrowton, other women spoke of their first nights as well. I never knew, my lords. Oh, I knew of the tradition. Even on Dragonstone, there are stories of men of mine own house, Targaryens, who have made free with the wives of fisherfolk and serving men, and sired children on them…”

“Dragonseeds, they call them,” Jaehaerys said with obvious reluctance. “It is not a thing to boast of, but it has happened, mayhaps more often than we would care to admit. Such children are cherished, though. Orys Baratheon himself was a dragonseed, a bastard brother to our grandsire. Whether he was conceived of a first night I cannot say, but Lord Aerion was his father, that was well-known. Gifts were given…” “Gifts?” the queen said in a voice sharp with derision. “I see no honor in any of this. I knew such things happened hundreds of years ago, I confess it, but I never dreamed that the custom endured so strongly to this day. Mayhaps I did not want to know. I closed my eyes, but that poor girl in Mole’s Town opened them. The right of the first night! Your Grace, my lords, it is time we put an end to this. I beg you.”

A silence fell after the queen had finished speaking, Grand Maester Benifer tells us. The lords of the small council shifted awkwardly in their seats and exchanged glances, until finally the king himself spoke up, sympathetic but reluctant. What the queen proposed would be difficult, Jaehaerys said. Lords grew troublesome when kings began taking things that they regarded as their own. “Their lands, their gold, their rights…”

“…their wives?” Alysanne finished. “I remember our wedding, my lord. If you had been a blacksmith and me a washerwoman and some lord had come to claim me and take my maidenhead the day we took our vows, what would you have done?” “Killed him,” Jaehaerys said, “but I am not a blacksmith.”

“If, I said,” the queen persisted. “A blacksmith is still a man, is he not? What man but a coward would stand by meekly whilst another man has his way with his wife? We do not want blacksmiths killing lords, surely.” She turned to Grand Maester Benifer and said, “I know how Gargon Qoherys died. Gargon the Guest. How many more such instances have there been, I wonder?” “More than I would care to say,” Benifer allowed. “They are not oft spoken of, for fear that other men might do the same, but…” “The first night is an offense against the King’s Peace,” the queen concluded. “An offense against not only the maid, but her husband as well…and the wife of the lord, never forget. What do those highborn ladies do whilst their lords are out deflowering maidens? Do they sew? Sing? Pray? Were it me, I might pray my lord husband fell off his horse and broke his neck coming home.” King Jaehaerys smiled at that, but it was plain that he was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. “The right of the first night is an ancient one,” he argued, though with no great passion, “as much a part of lordship as the right of pit and gallows. It is rarely used south of the Neck, I am told, but its continued existence is a lordly prerogative that some of my more truculent subjects would be loath to surrender. You are not wrong, my love, but sometimes it is best to let a sleeping dragon lie.”

“We are the sleeping dragons,” the queen threw back. “These lords who love their first nights are dogs. Why must they slake their lust on maidens who have only just pledged their love to other men? Have they no wives of their own? Are there no whores in their domains? Have they lost the use of their hands?” The justiciar Lord Albin Massey spoke up then, saying, “There is more to the first night than lust, Your Grace. The practice is an ancient one, older than the Andals, older than the Faith. It goes back to the Dawn Age, I do not doubt. The First Men were a savage race, and like the wildings beyond the Wall, they followed only strength. Their lords and kings were warriors, mighty men and heroes, and they wanted their sons to be the same. If a warlord chose to bestow his seed upon some maid on her wedding night, it was seen as…a sort of blessing. And if a child should come of the coupling, so much the better. The husband could then claim the honor of raising a hero’s son as his own.” “Mayhaps that was so, ten thousand years ago,” the queen replied, “but the lords claiming the first night now are no heroes. You have not heard the women speak of them. I have. Old men, fat men, cruel men, poxy boys, rapers, droolers, men covered with scabs, with scars, with boils, lords who have not washed in half a year, men with greasy hair and lice. These are your mighty men. I listened to the girls, and none of them felt blessed.”

"The Andals never practiced the first night in Andalos,” Grand Maester Benifer said. “When they came to Westeros and swept away the kingdoms of the First Men, they found the tradition in place and chose to let it remain, just as they did the godswoods.”

Septon Barth spoke then, turning to the king. “Sire, if I may be so bold, I believe Her Grace has the right of this. The First Men might have found some purpose in this rite, but the First Men fought with bronze swords and fed their weirwood trees with blood. We are not those men, and it is past time we put an end to this evil. It stands against every ideal of chivalry. Our knights swear to protect the innocence of maidens…save for when the lord they serve wishes to despoil one, it would seem. We swear our marriage vows before the Father and the Mother, promising fidelity until the Stranger comes to part us, and nowhere in The Seven-Pointed Star does it say that those promises do not apply to lords. You are not wrong, Your Grace, some lords will surely grumble at this, especially in the North…but all the maids will thank us for it, and all the husbands and the fathers and the mothers, just as the queen has said. I know the Faithful will be pleased. His High Holiness will let his voice be heard, never doubt it.” When Barth had finished speaking, Jaehaerys Targaryen threw up his hands. “I know when I am beaten. Very well. Let it be done." And so it came to pass that the second of what the smallfolk named Queen Alysanne’s Laws was enacted: the abolition of the lord’s ancient right to the first night. Henceforth, it was decreed, a bride’s maidenhead would belong only to her husband, whether joined before a septon or a heart tree, and any man, be he lord or peasant, who took her on her wedding night or any other night would be guilty of the crime of rape.

Fire and Blood, by George R.R. Martin pg 268-272

[Full Account of How the right of the First Night was Abolished]

#asoiaf #jaehaerys and alysanne their triumphs and tragedies #asoiaf quotes #fire and blood quotes #fire and blood #right of first night #asoiaf women #westerosi queen consorts #alysanne targaryen #jaehaerys i #septon barth #grandmaester benifer #westerosi history #westerosi queens

[kanene-yaaay]

Guess whose back, back again. This time with less of a headcannon and more of an AU because I replayed the game recently and need more tickle copium.

So as we all know Sunny was tired of practicing the violin so much for the recital that ruined our hopes and dreams. Didn't help that the poor boy never vocalized how much he hated practice and kept his emotions bottled up. So instead of those emotions being vented out in the worst way possible I propose an alternative.

One random day before the recital the sibling duo were practicing. Sunny was getting fed up of practice while Mari kept urging him to keep going (through varying tones). And to her credit it worked, for about 4 times until it stopped being as effective. Sunny wanted a break, and he was gonna get it one way or another.

So after Mari told Sunny to take 5 to allow her to get her bearing straight on the sheet music Sunny set his plan into action. Setting the violin down gently as to not make noise Sunny snuck up behind Mari, and with the sneaky reflexes of a ninja he jabbed his fingers on her side. Eliciting a loud shriek from his older sister which followed by a slew of melodious cackles. In her giggle filled state she was asking Sunny why he was doing this, but he ignored her question. He only wanted to hear one thing flow from her mouth... well besides her laughter that is. And it took 5 whole minutes of tickles for Mari to ask for a 'Break' to which Sunny stopped instantly said "Sounds good." Then sat beside her on the piano bench and leaned into her shoulder. He then let out a small smile, content that he found a way to make Mari take breaks.

And it would take about 5 different occurrences of this for it to fully sink in for Mari. There were times her workaholic mindset would take over, only for it to be squashed by Sunny's tickle attacks. After the 3rd time he stopped being sneaky about it and openly approached her with wiggling fingers, Mari pieced together what he was doing but couldn't move fast enough to stop it.

The 5th and final time ended with Mari trying to run away from Sunny, ending in an hour long play chase that ended with Mari and Sunny having the most fun they've had in months. And as the sibling duo were collapsed in a giggle filled heap on the couch Mari finally understood, the grand lesson in all of this 'Break Good. Break real good'.

So she incorporated more breaks into their practice schedule. Breaks that were filled up with Mari tickling the snot out of Sunny this time. Hey, the boy had 5 tickle attacks on her, she's gotta even it up or else her title of 'Ultimate Tickle Monster' was in jeopardy. That and she loves seeing her brother smile and hearing his laughter. He tried to fight back back but uhh... well stick with sneak attacks bud you're out matched in a head to head 1v1 Tickle Fight.

Yadda yadda yadda boo boo, the Recital was a success, the violin was metaphorically kicked away for a little while, and a celebratory sleep over was in order. Hero noted that Mari had more spring in her step recently than she had during the past few months and asked why that was. Sunny was about to answer but Mari shot him a look of 'If you tell them what happened I will murder you (with tickles)'. He got the message and thought about it for about 4 seconds until he decided to live dangerously and spill the beans.

And then he died. Died by merciless tickles at Mari's embarrassed hands. And written on Sunny's Epitaph that Kel wrote in crayon on a piece of paper was...

R.I.P Sunny. At least you made Mari take breaks.

OKay, okay, this headcanon could as well be a dessert because HOLY GOSH HOW SWEEEET!!!

Such a cute scenario fr!! Sunny getting enough of his sister's workaholic-ing and deciding to tickle her until getting a break is a very lovely ide and the fact that this became basically a tradition for them is very veryyyyyy bright!! Cute!! Adorably adorable, even!

Also the last part where he decides to live dangerously and tell's everyone about this sneakty sneaky tickles attack and promptly gets destroyed by tickles rip rip our soldier fought well xDDDD

He may have won the Silly Battles but lost The Silly War X))

Thank you for sharing this! Such a great hc!

#Kel is 100% right sdfghjhgfdfvgbhj #omori tickles #omori tickling #Lee!Mari #Ticklish!Mari #Ler!Sunny #omori tickle headcanons #Askys #Kanene's askys #starstorm2112 is precious

[stromuprisahat]

Second law of Queen Alysanne

Queen Alysanne also wished to listen to the women of the North. When Lord Burley explained that there were no women on the Wall, she persisted…until finally, with great reluctance, he had her escorted to a village south of the Wall that the black brothers called Mole’s Town. She would find women there, his lordship said, though most of them would be harlots. The men of the Night’s Watch took no wives, he explained, but they remained men all the same, and some felt certain needs. Queen Alysanne said she did not care, and so it came to pass that she held her women’s court amongst the whores and strumpets of Mole’s Town…and there heard certain tales that would change the Seven Kingdoms forever.

...

When Septon Barth, Grand Maester Benifer, and the others had assembled, Alysanne told them of her visit to the Wall, and the day that she had spent with the whores and fallen women of Mole’s Town.

“There was a girl there,” the queen said, “no older than I am as I sit before you now. A pretty girl, but not, I think, as pretty as she was. Her father was a blacksmith, and when she was a maid of fourteen years, he gave her hand in marriage to his apprentice. She was fond of the boy, and he of her, so the two of them were duly wed…but scarcely had they said their vows than their lord came down upon the wedding with his men-at-arms to claim his right to her first night. He carried her off to his tower and enjoyed her, and the next morning his men returned her to her husband.

“But her maidenhead was gone, together with whatever love the apprentice boy had borne her. He could not raise his hand against the lord for peril of his life, so instead he raised it against his wife. When it became plain that she was carrying the lord’s child, he beat it out of her. From that day on, he never called her anything but ‘whore,’ until finally the girl decided that if she must be called a whore she would live as one, and made her way to Mole’s Town. There she dwells until this day, a sad child, ruined…but all the while, in other villages, other maids are being wed, and other lords are claiming their first night.

“Hers was the worst story, but not the only one. At White Harbor, at Mole’s Town, at Barrowton, other women spoke of their first nights as well. I never knew, my lords. Oh, I knew of the tradition. Even on Dragonstone, there are stories of men of mine own house, Targaryens, who have made free with the wives of fisherfolk and serving men, and sired children on them…”

“Dragonseeds, they call them,” Jaehaerys said with obvious reluctance. “It is not a thing to boast of, but it has happened, mayhaps more often than we would care to admit. Such children are cherished, though. Orys Baratheon himself was a dragonseed, a bastard brother to our grandsire. Whether he was conceived of a first night I cannot say, but Lord Aerion was his father, that was well-known. Gifts were given…”

“Gifts?” the queen said in a voice sharp with derision. “I see no honor in any of this. I knew such things happened hundreds of years ago, I confess it, but I never dreamed that the custom endured so strongly to this day. Mayhaps I did not want to know. I closed my eyes, but that poor girl in Mole’s Town opened them. The right of the first night! Your Grace, my lords, it is time we put an end to this. I beg you.”

A silence fell after the queen had finished speaking, Grand Maester Benifer tells us. The lords of the small council shifted awkwardly in their seats and exchanged glances, until finally the king himself spoke up, sympathetic but reluctant. What the queen proposed would be difficult, Jaehaerys said. Lords grew troublesome when kings began taking things that they regarded as their own. “Their lands, their gold, their rights…”

“…their wives?” Alysanne finished. “I remember our wedding, my lord. If you had been a blacksmith and me a washerwoman and some lord had come to claim me and take my maidenhead the day we took our vows, what would you have done?”

“Killed him,” Jaehaerys said, “but I am not a blacksmith.”

“If, I said,” the queen persisted. “A blacksmith is still a man, is he not? What man but a coward would stand by meekly whilst another man has his way with his wife? We do not want blacksmiths killing lords, surely.” She turned to Grand Maester Benifer and said, “I know how Gargon Qoherys died. Gargon the Guest. How many more such instances have there been, I wonder?”

“More than I would care to say,” Benifer allowed. “They are not oft spoken of, for fear that other men might do the same, but…”

“The first night is an offense against the King’s Peace,” the queen concluded. “An offense against not only the maid, but her husband as well…and the wife of the lord, never forget. What do those highborn ladies do whilst their lords are out deflowering maidens? Do they sew? Sing? Pray? Were it me, I might pray my lord husband fell off his horse and broke his neck coming home.”

King Jaehaerys smiled at that, but it was plain that he was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. “The right of the first night is an ancient one,” he argued, though with no great passion, “as much a part of lordship as the right of pit and gallows. It is rarely used south of the Neck, I am told, but its continued existence is a lordly prerogative that some of my more truculent subjects would be loath to surrender. You are not wrong, my love, but sometimes it is best to let a sleeping dragon lie.”

“WE are the sleeping dragons,” the queen threw back. “These lords who love their first nights are dogs. Why must they slake their lust on maidens who have only just pledged their love to other men? Have they no wives of their own? Are there no whores in their domains? Have they lost the use of their hands?”

The justiciar Lord Albin Massey spoke up then, saying, “There is more to the first night than lust, Your Grace. The practice is an ancient one, older than the Andals, older than the Faith. It goes back to the Dawn Age, I do not doubt. The First Men were a savage race, and like the wildings beyond the Wall, they followed only strength. Their lords and kings were warriors, mighty men and heroes, and they wanted their sons to be the same. If a warlord chose to bestow his seed upon some maid on her wedding night, it was seen as…a sort of blessing. And if a child should come of the coupling, so much the better. The husband could then claim the honor of raising a hero’s son as his own.”

“Mayhaps that was so, ten thousand years ago,” the queen replied, “but the lords claiming the first night now are no heroes. You have not heard the women speak of them. I have. Old men, fat men, cruel men, poxy boys, rapers, droolers, men covered with scabs, with scars, with boils, lords who have not washed in half a year, men with greasy hair and lice. These are your mighty men. I listened to the girls, and none of them felt blessed.”

“The Andals never practiced the first night in Andalos,” Grand Maester Benifer said. “When they came to Westeros and swept away the kingdoms of the First Men, they found the tradition in place and chose to let it remain, just as they did the godswoods.”

Septon Barth spoke then, turning to the king. “Sire, if I may be so bold, I believe Her Grace has the right of this. The First Men might have found some purpose in this rite, but the First Men fought with bronze swords and fed their weirwood trees with blood. We are not those men, and it is past time we put an end to this evil. It stands against every ideal of chivalry. Our knights swear to protect the innocence of maidens…save for when the lord they serve wishes to despoil one, it would seem. We swear our marriage vows before the Father and the Mother, promising fidelity until the Stranger comes to part us, and nowhere in The Seven-Pointed Star does it say that those promises do not apply to lords. You are not wrong, Your Grace, some lords will surely grumble at this, especially in the North…but all the maids will thank us for it, and all the husbands and the fathers and the mothers, just as the queen has said. I know the Faithful will be pleased. His High Holiness will let his voice be heard, never doubt it.”

When Barth had finished speaking, Jaehaerys Targaryen threw up his hands. “I know when I am beaten. Very well. Let it be done.”

And so it came to pass that the second of what the smallfolk named Queen Alysanne’s Laws was enacted: the abolition of the lord’s ancient right to the first night. Henceforth, it was decreed, a bride’s maidenhead would belong only to her husband, whether joined before a septon or a heart tree, and any man, be he lord or peasant, who took her on her wedding night or any other night would be guilty of the crime of rape.

Fire and Blood (George R. R. Martin)

1.)

“Their lands, their gold, their rights…”

As if unifying laws didn’t take some of their rights already. But it was necassary, therefore done.

2.)

Alysanne: Perhaps we should stop overlooking rape. It would make life a lot less miserable for the women of the realm and their husbands would be happier.

Jaehaerys: I don’t think that can be done. The Lords would certainly riot.

Everyone, but septon Barth: Yeah, and TRADITIONS!

septon Barth: The Queen might have a point. The gods are disgusted by this practice and we’re civilised people.

Jaehaerys: You’re so right, babe! Let’s do this!

3.)

“Dragonseeds ... It is not a thing to boast of, but it has happened, mayhaps more often than we would care to admit. ...”

...

“ ... Were it me, I might pray my lord husband fell off his horse and broke his neck coming home.”

King Jaehaerys smiled at that, but it was plain that he was becoming increasingly uncomfortable.

I’m sure this guy’s fiercely loyal to his wife.

#valyrianscrolls #ASoIaF #Fire & Blood #ch: Jaehaerys and Alysanne: Their Triumphs and Tragedies #Queen Alysanne's laws #Alysanne Targaryen #Jaehaerys I Targaryen #Seven Kingdoms #Lothor Burley #Septon Barth #Grand Maester Benifer #Albin Massey #books #quotes #GRRM #V #I'd love to read the rest of her laws. #Don't tell me there were just two.

[cahmilo]

Tinikling? Pt.3

Pairing: Camilo x F!Reader

Genre: Fluff

Tags: Filipino Folk Dance, Clumsy Camilo, Playful Casita

Warnings: Cursing

Word Count: 1.9K

Summary: in which a challenging dance showcase has Camilo Madrigal stressed on. Lucky for him, a certain someone was there to guide him all the way. However, things get complicated when something develops between the both of them.

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"Mami! It's not what it looks like!"

Camilo and Y/N braced for the worst. Out of all the times they could have walked in to them, it had to be at THAT moment. Y/N mentally slapped herself, cursing at how his family is probably gonna hate her even more now.

But they were both proven wrong, seeing a bright rainbow glowing around the house. Pepa's expression went from shock to delight, "Mi hijo has a girlfriend now! My baby is growing up!"

The two teenagers widened their eyes, both in a stuttering mess. "Mami, no! We're not- a- we're not dating-" Camilo hastily repeated, defending himself.

But somehow, all bad luck was on Y/N's side today.

While she attempted to stand up from the very awkward position, she was unaware that the hem of her dress was under Camilo's sandals. So when she tried to stand up, she slipped. again. Seeing her fall from Camilo's peripheral vision, he immediately grabbed her as a reflex but unfortunately his foot slipped from Y/N's dress causing him to fall over as well. again. 

"Well isn't this just a sight to see" Felix teased, earning laughter from the rest of the family.

"Mirabel, can you take care of them? And please take them apart from each other or the entire house would fall into flames." Mirabel nodded, still laughing as she approached Y/N and Camilo giving them a hand to stand on.

"You two are by far the weirdest couple I've seen"

"We are not a couple!" Both of them yelled in unison and then glared at each other.

"Ugh, I think I scratched my elbow I need an arepa" Y/N said, dusting her skirt and fixing her hair.

Camilo scoffed in annoyance, "You're over dramatic it wasn't that big of a fall"

"YOU FELL OVER ME! DO YOU EVEN KNOW HOW MUCH YOU WEIG-holy shit" She stopped herself, noticing a large scratch in her arm that she was leaning on.

Camilo looked at her and inspected her scar "Fuck it's bleeding, come on I'm bringing you to the kitchen" He intertwined his hand with hers, dragging her away from the courtyard to Julieta.

All alone was Mirabel, not being able to say a word while she was just watching the two bicker.

"DID THEY FORGET IM STILL HERE?!"

— [D-7 to the final showcase]

"Out of all the boys in the Encanto and you just happened to fall head over heels on my cousin." Mirabel teased, eyes focused on the fabric she's stitching.

The two girls were at her room/nursery currently making their costumes. It was not that grand, just the traditional Filipino dance clothing.

Except that Y/N forgot she was groupmates with Mirabel who was always over the top when it comes to fashion and design.

So now they're here. Mirabel embroidering designs on their tops while Y/N was making paper origamis. The one she was currently making was a paper swan, furrowed eyebrows since she couldn't get it right.

"Mira how do I make the wings flap? It wont work!" She exclaimed, ignoring her best friend's earlier comment about her cousin. Mirabel stopped stitching and stood up closer to the struggling girl. Realizing what she's done, she facepalmed.

"You idiot, you're supposed to pull the tail, not the neck of the swan, Here." She demonstrated it to her.

"OH IT WORKED! I'm gonna make this me entire personality now I feel powerful!" Y/N yelled, flaunting her average-looking paper swan in the air. It was good for a first time, except that it was all crumpled and looked like it got ran over.

But the wings flap, though at least.

Mirabel scoffed at her, "You're an idiot. And I know you're ignoring my comments about mi primo." Y/N suddenly tensed up. "What else is there to say, then?"

"Tell me WHEN and HOW you realized". All her attention was now on Y/N, who was trying to make yet another paper swan.

"Erm." She took a moment to think. "I don't actually know, I just somehow found him fun to be with even if we fight all the time. And uhh, we seem comfortable with each other, I think? I cry to him, he cries to me. It's a win-win."

"Okay but friends do that. I wanna know how you FELL in love with him." Mirabel inched closer, stealing the paper swan Y/N was struggling to finish and fixing it for her.

"I said I don't know! He's just UGHH WHY ARE YOU MAKING ME TALK ITS EMBARASSING" She cringed, shivering as a joke which earned a laugh from Mirabel. Urging her to continue, Y/N had no choice knowing that her best friend will never stop until she spills.

"Fine, I'm not sure, anyway! Sometimes he's just sweet and doesn't really care about me and my reputation here. Instead of being conscious about my behavior as a perfect student he didn't give a fuck about that and just let me hang loose, yaknow? And for him, well it's adorable when he doesn't act all sunshine-y around me. He can cry, feel scared, vulnerable and weak around me which is kind of a sign that he's comfortable cause you know how boys are. He can also be a sweetheart sometimes when I don't expect it."

There was a small pause, before Y/N got startled by Mirabel squealing. "YOU GUYS ARE MADE FOR EACH OTHER!!"

"MIRABEL NO"

"MIRABEL YES"

"SHUSH! Shit can you just finish your stitching?!" Y/N yelled before standing up in defeat only to plop in Mirabel's comfy bed.

"About that," The girl responded by holding up two fully-embroidered  tops.

It was beautiful. One was a blouse and the other was a formal long-sleeved top. Both were decorated with yellow and pink swirls, and in the corner was a yellow chameleon and a pink swan.

Y/N walked over, gently holding the blouse. "Mira, this is amazing." With a sly smile, her best friend responded "I hope you understand the two animals I put on the sides."

"Yeah, a chameleon and a swan. Weird combo but its still pretty."

Another facepalm from Mirabel was seen. Y/N glanced back at her best friend, face confused. Breaking the silence, Mirabel sighed.

"They're you and Camilo, you dumbass. You're the swan and he's the chameleon."

Mirabel smiled at the girl who was frozen, flies could probably enter her mouth while it was gaping open in shock. She held her hand and led her to the bed where they sat together.

"It's more deep than you think, amiga. You're the swan because they radiate beauty, grace and love, like you. Even if you're an airhead sometimes, you still manage to be graceful and full of love. My primo is the chameleon because like them, he can't find himself that easily so he resorts to blending in and hiding in order to please others. And I meant when I said you're meant for each other. You have been friends with him since middle school and have not been apart ever since. When Camilo is with you, it's like he's a different person. He only shows forced smiles to us but with you, his real and true personality comes out and it's endearing to see that mi primo finally found someone he can be loose with. The more a shy chameleon spends time with the graceful swan, the more the chameleon blends in and lets out grace and love as well."

"Mira.." Y/N was in awe, taking in every beautiful word her best friend has said to her.

"Yeah, and since both of you are too dumb to realize it, I'm gonna be the bigger person and force you to give this costume to him BY YOURSELF." Mirabel sternly said, quickly folding the top and pants, placing it in her DIY gift box and placing Y/N's crappy paper swans and closed it with a yellow ribbon.

Y/N on the other hand, was still stunned. Never did she think of their relationship in that way. But finally realizing how much it actually meant, butterflies in her stomach kept erupting and her face was so close to malfunctioning from the overwhelming emotions.

"Here, he's probably out doing chores so write a letter and leave it in his doorstep." With a marker, Mirabel hastily gave it to Y/N as she sighed in defeat, following Mirabel's instructions.

—

A few hours went by, just like that. After Y/N and Mirabel finalized their dance costumes, she left Casita in the afternoon to tend to her own chores. Today, it was shopping for groceries.

It wasn't an easy task, because shops in the Encanto were scattered. There was one for pastry, different one for wet ingredients, one for dairy, etc. She just wished all of these were packed into one big superstore.

But at the same time, she didn't. She enjoyed the alone time she gets from walking. This 30-minute task was enough for her to stay in silence, being dazed off from the outside world and just focus on what list she has on her hand.

Soon enough, the sun set and darkened the village as soon as she finished getting all necessities she needed. Walking back home was the best part, because Y/N took the other path away from the village and into a sown path of grass and flowers that gave her hint of calmness.

Arriving at her doorstep, she noticed a box wrapped with a pink ribbon. 

What?

Grabbing the gift, she immediately settled her goods in the kitchen as she dashed to her room, opening the gift.

Unwrapping the pink ribbon, she opened the box, finding the same embroidered top that Mirabel showed her earlier.

She said she wasn't done with it?

Cushioning the top were a bunch of paper origamis. It wasn't quite clear what shape it was, until she took one out and held it nearer for her to see.

It was a pink chameleon.

"Could it be?" Y/N was deep in thought. This is definitely Mirabel's idea. Shuffling the box, she found a handwritten letter. Tears were flowing out of her eyes, surprised from this huge gesture and even more emotional, knowing who it was from.

"Y/N,

- tu camaleon <3

I hope you like the surprise  (but I think you already expected it). A small gesture for mi swan for now, but I have more up my sleeve. Thank you for always being patient with me. I know how stressful and a handful I can be sometimes but I'm always grateful that you still stay. You make me feel better, y/n. This showcase was the best thing that happened to me because it brought me closer to you. Unfortunately time will not stop, so I'm hoping we savor each moment more together.

p.s. looking forward for rehearsals tomorrow cause I practiced a lot today for you!

Eyes blurry from tears but she didn't fail to spot the minute doodle in the corner of the letter, showing a chameleon that he drew.  All emotions of love and happiness radiated out of her from just the simple letter. She thought what it would be like if their relationship actually reached the next level. She'd probably be competing Pepa with all the tears of joy from Camilo's sweetness alone. With a hushed and fragile voice, she whispered,

"You are not a handful, milo. You're everything to me."

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bye why did i write it like hes dying or something LMAOOO

also i see a few ppl coming back to my posts ilysm holy shit. i dont have a taglist yet but if u want to be tagged then lmk in my asks :D

also planning on rebranding this fic lol its not quite focused on tinikling anymore and changing it to a more open title would probably get more readers than just filipinos

#camilo supremacy #camilo my beloved #camilo madrigal #camilo x reader #camilo x female reader #camilo #camilo madrigal x reader #camilo fluff #camilo x you #camilo encanto #cahmi fics

[sagaofstardustmkg]

woundwood

It had seemed so amusing, all that time ago, to watch kine like these kindle their little magics in seaside knap-houses  and play Erl-King with the ones who got bravest.

Dionaea remembers moving herself through the mycorrhizal mat of the wood they came to call Rendlesham, her consciousness flowing from one root to the next, keeping herself right under the judder of their heart. She could coax the grass to grow back over the path they’d used to enter; she could pull the trees together where they might have hoped to find an exit; and when their eyes went entirely wild, she would rise in a sigh of leaves like the whispering of skirts to deliver their fate.

The entire forest screamed with delight when the first one tried to cast a spell on her.

(A horse-faced young woman with a swaddling child bound against her chest. Her pale eyes shone like moons when she stretched out her hand. Her spell, intended to halt the queen’s pursuit, amounted to no more than a gentle shove.)

The queen was so busy laughing she let the little thing go — a human who could use magic was far too much of a novelty to destroy. Like a dog that can put its paws on the piano. 

What a delight it had been, then, to slowly learn there were others and that each one knew a slightly different trick. To catch them, play with them, exchange them, share stories among the lords and ladies.  

Now she wishes she had killed the first one. 

If she had killed the first one, and every one after that, perhaps she could have culled their whole breed and kept humans the way they were meant to be.

The hooded one wouldn’t be looking at her now with the same loathsome shining eyes, wielding a power to which he none like him had a right, breaking her wave into a ripple. She whips a thorn-studded branch toward him and feels it turn to dust as it enters the corona of healing magic rolling off of Nobuhiko’s body.

“—?!”

She doesn’t breathe in the traditional sense, which means she also doesn’t gasp, but you feel a snatch of sound like it. A sudden intake of something.

The worst part is that she feels nothing as it happens. Nobu is a healer. Even at his most defiant, he is gentle. And so the vine crumbles apart and blows away, painless and quiet as sleep. His magic and his spirit refuse to dignify her with anything like grand obliteration.

This is probably the most embarrassing thing that could ever happen to a faerie monarch, except for the next thing that happens, which is that a smug little sawtoothed goblin says EAT FUCK and launches a torrent of misery at her.

She can do misery. 

She’s done misery. Four hundred-odd years of it at the end of the world, betrayed, alone-alone-alone in a way nothing else could ever understand. She believed that the other fae monarchs were her peers until they began to quail, one by one, away from their vaunted histories and the rights to which they were entitled as lords of the Earth. Fear of iron made them forswear their own natures, rewrite their stories.

Not her. Never her. 

(Would she have been permitted to?

If she could?

If she had wanted it?

The clemency granted to her brethren had depended on an example being made of someone. She had been a natural choice. They scorned her for games they had all played together, weighted her down with their crimes, and they joined hands with that powder-faced kinslaying queen of England and used their own shame to cast her from the land that had been her body.)

What could she do but remain herself? Find her amusements where she could? What could she do but take clippings off her own branches and try to grow them into new courtiers that would replace the ones slain by the kin-killers?

She had to exert her power over each person who wandered or was dragged in, twisting them until everything inside snapped and the final drop of amusement had been extracted.

There was never anything else to be done. 

And the one-two strike of Fumie’s warm memories against Amon’s terror makes her see, for the first time, the slow suffocation she was always destined to endure.

There was never anything else to be. 

Never anywhere else to go. 

Never an end for her that wasn’t this. 

Disgraced, alone, eating fuck.

Like all royals, she has the power to do everything but save herself from ruin. 

“B E A S T S,” her limbs creak as the darkness clears.

(Beastsbeastsbeasts.) 

“We have known pains — and insults — and indignities that would rend thee stitch from stitch.”

Petrel is talking. She hears him. She talks over him, gaining volume.

(There is a song in his blood that she has only ever heard from the shore. King Carcharodon used to gift her selkie skulls and say you could still hear them singing if you listened hard enough, but she never could. She still cannot make it out.)

“Thou cannot harm us in a way that matters. We have endured fire, flood and plague.”

Dragom’s wind tears her remaining petals off the bloom, rendering her a creature of thorns and stems and branches only.

(Another unhuman thing lowering itself to the level of human. She is forced to assume he is enslaved by fear of obliteration or loneliness; she cannot consider the thing steering him is love.)

“This world belonged to us before thy first crawling kindred were but a speck. All of the world’s first dreams were dreamt by us.”

The thorns sharpen and lengthen to the size of dragonteeth. She is a living briar patch.

And Mizu is likely to hurt himself as he strikes, because there is no part of her safe to be this close to, but he strikes true. The sword breaks the tangle of plants forming the center of her body like cutting tendons, sending her reeling for a moment as the branches regenerate.

Unfortunately, the abundant water that’s just been sent her way helps with that.

Plants love the stuff.

And she sighs in rapture as her branches bud again. Her flytrap mouths regain their green. She puts none of the moisture into flowers and spends a large portion of it regrowing her bark, knotting her branches, sharpening her thorns. A hanging tree.

(Roots that clutch. Branches that grow out of stony rubbish. The dead tree gives no shelter and the cricket no relief.)

Reinvigorated by water and rage, she darts forward to smash her head against Mizu’s and send him stumbling.

“Thou chooseth nothing! What right hast thou to choose? To deny the will of one who is owed so much as we are? Dost thou believe thou knowest deprivation, pretender-princeling? Dost thou believe thou hast any right to power over thine flesh? All flesh is grass. Thou art entitled to nothing but gratitude toward thy elders and betters.”

Miyuki Jones’s ball punches through her sternum at this moment, and she whirls on the spot only to get hit again — and again — and again — and — from every angle, at impossible speed, with force as strong as Miyuki’s quietly indomitable will —

She has enough water to recover from it. But it’s a narrow and ugly thing. She stands hunched as she does it. Her splinters litter the floor; her bark, although healed, is scarred and lumpy.

Woundwood, this is called.

“We are — “

Another gasp-like noise. Movement is becoming difficult at some of her joints where the woundwood is thickest.

“ — the last pure and honest thing in this world. All of thee, liars. Cowards. Artless, ugly things. Destroying a world to which thee have only just arrived. Our home. From which we were banished for nothing except living in the true and ancient way.”

You know this is not true, of course. You’ve read the things faeries do. You can see the venus flytrap blossom that sprouted out of Adelaide Carter’s eye when she displeased the queen.

But you know as she says it that it is true for her. All of it. 

She turns to look at Heliotrope when he speaks, having only a few eyes left. All located in her head. 

“We pity thee,” she tells him. “Boasting about thy fitness for a transformation that reduced thee beyond measure.”

(hairallover, her bark groans. painallover. fearforever. death. andthoseshoes.)

She holds still as Xueman’s spikes penetrate with the thunk-thunk-thunk of arrows hitting a wooden target. 

“Water again, mereswine? Envious of the princeling? Or merely incapable of learning from his errors?”

Dionaea begins to soak it up, channeling it through her body in preparation to heal again.

And then —

It turns into iron.

(ironIRONIRON)

No word can be made to stretch over the pain that lances through her.

The scream that accompanies it would burst your eardrums if you weren’t protected. 

Trees burn from the inside, sometimes, when struck by lightning; she burns, now, flameless, inextinguishable, stumbling around and scraping at her bark with her own thorns in an attempt to get the iron out. It doesn’t help. Nothing helps. 

And as she realizes it, the scream of pain fades into something like a laugh. You only recognize it because she was laughing when she got here. Hard to believe they’re the same sound.

She falls to her knees under the power of it.

“They will grow tiiiiired of thee,” she says. She’s not looking at any of the class anymore, but Xueman will likely know Dionaea is addressing her. “Merling. Bonefish. Whiteflesh thing. They will indulge thee and whisper secrets until the day when thy use is exhausted, and they take up whispers about thee, and cast thee out to die in shame. Everything they have ever loved in thee is an illusion or a thing they will come to despise. Even now. Killing us only affords thee more time before they set to it.”

She tries to force herself back to her feet and finds she can’t. The most she can do is take one knee and breathe in a rattle of branches.

“And we will live forever. Here, in the earth, we will die and grow again until the world entire rests in the cradle of our mouth. Thou hast done — nothing. We have watched thy kind grow into magic and we will watch it destroy thee. We are eternal. We have survived wizards a hundred-hundred times.”

#endgame #trial #submission

[fuckspn]

i really can’t get over the plan for the band kansas to appear in the supernatural finale. like obviously it’s hilarious because it means this show killed an entire band canonically but also it’s just. such a clear signal that the writers/producers were viewing the finale as “saying goodbye to the tv show supernatural” and not “wrapping up the story we’ve been telling,” because the only connection between kansas and the main characters of supernatural is a meta one (the use of “carry on wayward son” in the recaps before each season finale, and the girls in 10x05 singing it in their musical). in-universe, the band that’s most meaningful to the characters and that they bond over is led zeppelin, not kansas; dean and sam getting to heaven and finding the band kansas waiting to play a show for them would seem completely out of left field to them, because to them kansas is just a random band that wrote a song sam doesn’t even like. “everyone’s in heaven for a kansas concert at the roadhouse!” is the supernatural finale you come up with if you’re not thinking about the characters or the plot, but rather making a Grand Finale that requires minimal storytelling effort. like i would bet actual money the conversation/thought process behind the finale went something like this:

“supernatural is finally coming to an end, what should we do for the finale?”

“how about a huge reunion with all the beloved characters we’ve seen over the years? we could set it in heaven so we could bring back all the dead characters, maybe even set it in the roadhouse since we know fans loved it. maybe we could even book kansas to play carry on wayward son one last time.”

“perfect! but wait, how do sam and dean get to heaven?”

“idk, dean used to say he couldn’t live a normal life and sam used to want to quit hunting, so... dean gets killed on a hunt and sam dies of old age?”

“yeah, sure, fuck it. it’s all just groundwork to get to the big payoff of the heaven kansas concert anyway.”

whereas if they’d been thinking about where the characters were at story-wise by the end of season 15, it should have been more like:

“okay, so they’ve defeated chuck and finally gotten the free will they’ve spent years fighting for. what do they do with that?”

“well, sam was really messed up about losing eileen again, so his first order of business should be reuniting with her.”

“definitely. what about dean, though? he just watched cas die, and that always hits him hard.”

“you’re right, and he found out that cas loved him immediately beforehand. that’s gotta be fucking with his head.”

“okay, so we’ve gotta address the cas situation in some way. probably easiest just to bring him back to life, right?”

“yeah, we can figure out exactly how we want to play it later, but we can’t really wrap up dean’s storyline in 40 minutes if cas stays dead. hey, do you think they keep hunting now that chuck’s not forcing them to?”

and so on.

#game of thrones really is an apt comparison #because the last couple seasons of that show were plagued by moments that you could tell the writers just thought would be cool #(zombie ice dragon breaking down the wall/dany going mad queen/etc.) #and then wrote the plot around them even when they didn't make sense or contradicted earlier canon #or required way more character development than they had time to cover or set up a new story element that demanded payoff #or oh my god the HOW I MET YOUR MOTHER FINALE #fucking classic 'we didn't think about the plot or character development while coming up with this finale #(because we wrote it almost a decade ago and refused to scrap it even when the show clearly outgrew it) #so now the characters whose wedding we spent the entire final season on have to get divorced #so one of them can hook up with the other main character who we've spent years establishing is not a good match for her' #god this post is so long and so badly written but like. i'm right #the tradition of the grand finale is one of the worst things to happen to tv writing imo #your final episode should be first and foremost about bringing the characters' stories to a logical and satisfying close #if you can also fit in a big splashy celebration of the show that's great but it CANNOT supplant the actual storytelling part #the greatest hits

[fandom-puff]

Family, Duty, Honour

Pairing: Tyrion Lannister x reader

Requested by: anon ‘Can you do Tyrion with his arranged marriage wife on their wedding night/first time?’

Notes: the reader in this fic is a Tully cousin. Let’s see if I can actually get to the smut without almost 1k words of worldbuilding this time! (The answer is no- do u see why it takes me so bloody long to write!)

(Part 2)

Warnings: Arranged marriage, smut, loss of virginity, clearly not canon compliant lol

Gif creds to owner

Being summoned to Tywin Lannister’s office was never a pleasant experience. More often than not, it meant you were in serious trouble, and in Tyrion’s case, he was always in trouble; his father often referred to him as a drunken, lusty little fool. As Tyrion entered the office, he instantly did not like what he saw; his father was stood with his hands behind his back, rather than being sat behind his desk. He gestured for his son to sit, before he began speaking.

“As you know, your sister has been married to King Robert for some time, and is now pregnant with their second child. Their first, Joffrey, will be the next king of the seven kingdoms,” Tyrion nodded slowly as his father spoke at him, rather than to him. “In case that child is a girl, she must fall pregnant again to ensure there is an heir and a spare to fully consolidate the Baratheon dynasty. Your brother Jaime has sworn an oath that prohibits him from siring children,”

“Legitimate children,” Tyrion quipped, relishing in the way his father’s jaw tightened.

“Siring legitimate children. And I will not sit a bastard on Casterly Rock when I am gone. That leaves you,” Tyrion sat up a little straighter- was his father finally agreeing to acknowledge his claim now that Jaime couldn’t be lord of Casterly rock? “I have therefore arranged your marriage, and your son will inherit Casterly rock.”

Tyrion frowned. “My son? Surely it goes to me first,”

Tywin snorted. “Don’t remind me,”

Tyrion was quiet for a moment. “Who have you promised me to?”

“One of Hoster Tully’s nieces,” he said flatly. “What, disappointed? There aren’t many noble houses willing to marry off their daughters to a dwarf, even if he is a Lannister. You will marry YN Tully, splitting their ties with the North and the Vale with West. Your son will have Casterly Rock, and gods be willing, your spare will have Riverrun,”

“Hoster has other children, as well as his niece,”Tyrion reminded him.

“Yes. But Catelyn’s children will be shared about the North; Eddard Stark is unlikely to let them stray further south than the Neck. And Lysa has struggled to conceive, and her only child is sickly. If the it comes to it, one of the Stark heirs will take the Vale. Edmure Tully is a cocksure fool, and Brynden Tully has gone rogue. It’ll be easy to place your spare on that seat. But an heir for Casterly rock should be your priority,”

Tyrion sighed. “I don’t have a choice in this matter, do I?” When Tywin shook his head, he sighed. “Then I would like to meet this girl before we wed. To settle her nerves. Is she… of age?”

“She has flowered,” Tywin said sternly. “That should be enough for you,” with that he turned on his heel, leaving Tyrion to mull the concept of his wedding over. He sighed, returning to his chamber- he was in dire need of a drink.

**

As you walked up the steps to Casterly Rock your breath caught in your chest and you squeezed your uncle’s arm subconsciously as he escorted you.

As you entered the keep, Lord Tywin came around the corner, closely followed by his son. You gave a little curtsy to Tywin, before allowing Tyrion to kiss your knuckles. “My lady,” he said, his voice gentle. “I thought we might take a stroll through the garden. I’m afraid it’s not as impressive as the likes of the Reach, but it overlooks the sea,” your uncle gave a nod, allowing Tyrion to escort you on a tour of the gardens while he finalised the wedding plans with your soon to be father in law.

As you walked, Tyrion stole small glances sideways at you. It was undeniable that you were a Tully, possessive the sharp bone structure and deep red hair of your family. You knew your airs and graces, listening attentively as he told you about the history of Casterly rock. Sighing, he gestured for you to sit on an elaborately carved stone bench.

“My Lady… I know that this marriage is not… well it’s not anybody’s idea of perfection. I may be the ‘Imp’ but I promise to you I shall treat you well. I will protect you, honour you, treat you properly as my lady wife,”

You nibbled your lip nervously nodding slowly. “Thank you, Lord Tyrion,” you said softly, and he couldn’t help but stare longer than was decent into your piercing eyes.

“H-how old are you, Lady YN?” He asked gently, fearing the worst.

“My nineteenth name day will be in four moons,” you said. “Why?”

Tyrion shuffled slightly. “I only ask… these marriages usually do not take age into consideration. My father only told me you… were fertile. I feared that I would be wed to a child. And if that was the case, I would wait until you were older for the… I will still wait now, if that is your wish,” he promised, and you nodded, feeling much more at ease with the prospect of marrying the Imp.

***

The vows were said and you had been cloaked under the rich red and gold of house Lannister. Seated at the head table of the grand hall of Casterly Rock, you watched as the feast and the dancers went on. As Tyrion placed tidbits of the rich food on your plate, you were increasingly aware of the rising drunkenness in the room- over the hubbub of the feast, you could hear several bawdy jokes about the upcoming consummation of your marriage.

Tyrion noticed your growing anxiety, and placed his hand gently over yours. “Remember what I told you,” he said in a quiet voice, leaning close to your ear so that you could hear him. “If you want me to, I will wait,” you nodded at his reassurance, your shoulders relaxing slightly in your wedding gown, and you slipped your hand into his, giving it a gentle squeeze in thanks.

After the final course was served- small cakes decorated with and intricate motif of a lion frolicking in a river full of splashing trout in honour of the new alliance forged between the west and the riverlands- Lord Tywin and Lord Hoster rose from their table and made their way to the head table. Tywin gestured Tyrion away until you could no longer hear, though you were sure your father in law was lecturing him on his expectations for a son. Your uncle took a seat beside you, pouring you a half cup of wine.

“When your mother died,” he began. “I swore to the old gods and the new to protect you. The Lannisters are proud, and dangerous no doubt, but you are one of them now, my girl, and I’d rather you be married to the Lannisters with their power and wealth than to be treated like a whore by the Dornish or even the Baratheon… the Lannisters aren’t likely to let harm come to you, but I swear, if the imp ever hurts you, I will raise the men of the Riverlands, and I will get the Vale and the North on board as well. Even in Casterly Rock, you will be protected,”

You smiled. “Thank you, Uncle. But Lord Tyrion is a good man, kind and gentle. And even though I am a woman grown, he swore to me he would not force himself on me, nor would he betray my honour,” your uncle gave a tight smile, kissing the top of your head.

“Honour,” he said stiffly, stiffly, seeing Tywin and Tyrion returning to you. “Remember our words, My girl. Family, Duty, Honour,”

You nodded, squeezing his hand, before it was announced that it was time for the bedding. But instead of a boisterous display involving stripping both you and Tyrion out of your clothes on your way to your marriage chamber, Tyrion took your hand and led you out of the great hall alone, walking you to your new bedroom in relative silence.

As you shut the door, he looked at you, sighing quietly. “Shall we have some wine?” He said gently, gesturing to the table set out with wine and bread and fruit, in case the happy couple needed sustenance throughout the night. You gave him a small smile and nodded, letting him pull a chair out for you as you sipped on wine and nibbled on bread.

“I… expected a bedding ceremony, my Lord,” you said quietly, before quickly adding “I’m glad the traditional one didn’t happen though! My cousin, Catelyn didn’t have one, because her husband didn’t want to dishonour her,”

“Eddard Stark and I have that in common,” Tyrion said lightly. “And I told my father that I would not have his bannermen manhandle my wife to her room,”

You smiled gratefully, setting your cup down. Tyrion held up the jug, but you shook your head, not wanted to get too inebriated. You sighed softly, your fingers tracing over the embroidery on your wedding gown, and Tyrion watched as you worked over the stitched trouts- although Casterly rock glittered with jewels and gold, he had to admit that the embroidery of the riverlands and the north was superior to the rest of Westeros. “Are you nervous, My Lady?” He said gently, asking the obvious, before reminding you again of his promise.

“I am, a little,” you murmured. “But… I must do my duty and give you a son,” you looked away, taking a deep breath. “I am nervous because I’m a maid, and I am scared it will hurt, or I will not please you, or fulfil my duties to my family. But I… I trust, my Lord. I think I’ve trusted from the moment you invited me to Casterly Rock ahead of the wedding, despite that being only two weeks ago…”

Tyrion smiled gently as you rambled, taking both of your hands in his and leaning down to kiss both sets of knuckles. “I won’t hurt you. I’ll be gentle with you,” he promised. “I must ask one thing of you, YN… just call me Tyrion,”

You smiled gently, leaning down and pressing your lips gently to his. It was your first proper kiss, aside from the one under the eyes of the gods, and you were initiating it. Tyrion couldn’t help but smile against the cushion of your lips, finding your tentative gentleness endearing. He reached one hand up to curl around the back of your neck and was relieved to feel you relax as he stroked your deep red hair. He grazed his teeth against your bottom lip, before pressing them down gently, you let out a shudder and-gods- a moan.

“Tell me to stop and I will,” he murmured.

“Please don’t,” you replied, voice breathy as you felt unfamiliar heat and… longing stirring within you. With your gentle plea replaying in his head, he slipped his hand into yours, pulling you gently towards the canopied bed.

Slowly, you undressed one another down to your smallclothes. Tyrion gulped as he looked over you, the peaks of your breasts pushing against your chemise. “Magnificent,” he murmured, and you smiled, ducking your head down to hide your bashful expression.

“What do I… what do I do?” You whispered, sitting on the bed. Tyrion smiled gently.

“We must prepare you,” he said gently. At your frown, he carried on. “If we are to continue with comfort in mind, we must ensure your body is ready to… accommodate me. This will relax you… make you… slick,” he explained and you nodded slowly, shuffling back so you could lay on the pillows. As Tyrion made to climb up onto the bed, you took a deep breath, lifting your chemise up and over your head to bear your chest and cunt to him. Tyrion suppressed a groan at the sight, urging himself to go slow. You were his lady wife, not some whore. He approached you slowly, coming up to your side and pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek, before trailing his lips down. You gasped as you felt his teeth scrape against your skin, before you let out a low moan as his lips wrapped around your nipple, suckling gently. He waited until your breath came in little desperate pants, your body twisting and pushing up to him before he trailed his hand down to the thatch of curls between your thighs. You gasped and tensed up, but as he began rubbing your thigh gently and you soon relaxed, allowing him to push your thighs apart.

“T-Tyrion,” you whimpered, feeling the palm of his hand cup your pussy. He was about to ask if you were okay, but your next words put his mind at ease. “Please… more…”

He gave a light chuckle. “As my lady wife commands,” he said, a slight smirk tugging at his lip as his finger dragged between your folds, swirling around your clit on every other stroke, until you were dripping and squirming with anticipation, grasping onto his arm, little moans tumbling from your lips. Tyrion smiled slightly, sucking his finger clean and groaning at the taste. “Are you ready for my cock, YN?” He asked, and you bit your lip.

“I-I think so?” You murmured, watching with wide eyes as he undid his underwear and shoved it down his thighs, his straining cock springing free. You bit your lip hard, and Tyrion smiled softly.

“I will be gentle with you, YN, I promise,” you gulped and nodded, reaching for him.

“Please…” you murmured. “I-I’m ready,” Tyrion gave a slight smile as he moved to line up with your entrance, slowly pushing his cock into you. You whimpered, back arching, and when he hit the barrier of your maidenhead, you hissed.

Tyrion petted your thigh gently, shushing you. “This will hurt for just a moment, I promise,” he told you, and you nodded, squeezing your eyes shut as he breached your maidenhead. What was an uncomfortable stinging sensation soon dissolved into a feeling of fullness, of being stretched. It felt… good.

“M-move,” you begged, bucking your hips up despite yourself, and to your delight, Tyrion complied, groaning as he grasped your hips, his hips beginning to roll against yours, his girth caressing all of your most intimate pleasure points, watching the way your eyebrows tugged together and your mouth went slack as you let out needy gasps and moans, increasing in pitch and volume as he dragged you closer to the edge. He was close himself, his movements becoming more sloppy, his head tipping back as he groaned and grunted. “Tyrion,” you cried, back arching, and his mouth practically watered at the sign of your bouncing tits. “Tyrion I’m- I feel-”

“Let it happen,” he groaned, and when he felt your channel spasm around his length he grunted, spurting his seed into you with a shout of your name, spurred on by your cries of ecstasy.

Shaking, gasping, you whimpered as Tyrion pulled out of you, and smiled gently as you watched him pour you some wine and get you some fruit. You curled into his side, now under the covers as you sipped the more watered down wine, humming softly as Tyrion fed you plump, sweet berries. Sleepy, you settled down under the covers, resting your head on his bare chest, and as you nodded off to sleep, Tyrion swore to himself that he would put his young wife and any children you had before all else in his life.

Tags: @sociallyawkward-princess @lazyotakujen @janelongxox @honeyofthegods @lxoxtxtxi

#tyrion lannister x you #tyrion x you #tyrion lannister x reader smut #tyrion lannister x reader #tyrion Lannister imagine #request #2021 #game of thrones one shot #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones x reader

[lily-drake]

Photograph

Based on

Thank you @johannaiii for letting me write this!!!! It was so much fun and it was a really good prompt!

Talia didn’t like the process of giving birth, in fact she loathed it.  She swore she would never, and she meant never do it again.  But when she was giving birth, and she found out that she was having twins, and she got to hold her children that she sacrificed and suffered for, she loved them.  When she learned that one of them was a girl, she knew that her father would be furious and demand her death.  So she immediately summoned one of the monks from the Tibetan temple that her father was allying with and gave them the girl.  She demanded that they train her and protect, and that she would never, ever be mentioned to Ra’s.  She even killed the nurses who helped her give birth to make sure that there was no one left who would know.  It wouldn’t be hard to find replacements for them anyways, it’s not like their lives were significant.  They had served out their use, now there was no need for them.  When it was time she presented her son, Damian, to her father claiming him to be the only child and heir to the Demon’s Head.  Ra’s was very pleased with her and she felt pride at being able to carry out her task properly that her father was very much pleased with her and her child.

Even though Marinette, as she had named the child before she had given her up, was no longer in the league, she made sure she was still in her daughter’s life.  Once every year she left for “training” purposes with Damian and went to the ancient temple in Tibet to visit her daughter and make sure that the two siblings got to spend time with each other.  Marinette was growing up so fast and the monks would report to her of her daughter’s progress.  They told her that Marinette was destined for greatness and to be a powerful leader, and that pleased Talia greatly.  The man in charge of her daughter's training, Master Wang Fu, would show her photos of her daughter and her accomplishments; she wished that she would be allowed to do the same for Damian.  But the League and the Temple of Order, while partners, were two separate entities when it came to how they were trained and taught.  She smiled as she saw her children sparing on the temple’s grounds, each assessing how strong the other had become since their last meeting a year ago.

They were both 6-years-old now, and Marinette had lost one of her top baby teeth.  She wore the traditional light blue training robes the monks wore while Damian wore his traditional black and red armor with his katana sheathed on his back.  She watched her children and a small smile graced her lips as she watched the two.  They were opposites in almost everything, yet they were still so similar.  Damian’s fighting was aggressive and forceful while Marinette’s focussed on out maneuvering and tiring out the opponent from a distance before striking where it hurt the most.  Their personalities were like fire and ice with Damian being aggressive and mighty while Marinette was soft and humble.  Damian was assertive and forceful in the way he spoke, while Marinette was gentle and descriptive.  Though, like she said before they had many similarities that helped to cement their relationship.  They both were very artistic, in battle they both would get up and personal with their challenger if given the opportunity, both were very intelligent and soaked everything up like a sponge, and both were highly competitive.  The sound of metal being hit together sounded from the training grounds as Damian and Marinette fought with their respective weapons; Damian with his katana and Marinette with her two daggers.

“You’ve definitely improved since the last visit, 'ukht, but so have I.”

Damian announced as he went in to sweep his sister’s legs all while bringing his blade down towards her.  Marinette used her daggers to lift Damian’s blade and flipped backwards as Damian tried to perform his strike.  She was very flexible and graceful when she was in the air.  It sometimes looked as if she were flying when she performed some of her stunts.

“Maybe you have, Xiōngdì, but I seem to still have the upper hand.”

Marinette replied with smugness dripping from her voice as her brother glared at her.  Marinette carefully crafted her words to manipulate while Damian spoke his mind and used his to order and command.  They were opposites, but they completed each other in a way few will ever know.

The day Damian and Talia were to begin their trek back down the mountain Fu ran up to Damian and placed a piece of paper in his hands.  He bowed respectfully to the old man and looked at the picture.  It was a picture the old man had taken a few days ago.  Marinette was smiling brightly and had her arm around his shoulder while he had his arms crossed in front of him and leaned into his sister’s touch with a small smirk.  They were both in their training clothes and stood in front of the mountains that hid and protected the Temple of Order.  He smiled at it and glanced at his sister who was waving goodbye with a big sad smile.  He simply nodded and left not knowing that this would be the last time he would for many years that he would lay eyes on her once again.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Order, it was gone, destroyed!  Marinette felt tears rush down her face as she watched her friends and mentors perish in the flames of miraculous magic gone astray.  She could feel the cold wind passing by her as Master Fu dragged her away, but she couldn’t remove her gaze from her home that was falling into pieces.  What would Damian think, she had to leave something for him to let him know she was okay!  But she was never given the chance because she couldn’t pull away from her master.  They were the last ones left, and Marinette couldn’t wrap her mind around it at all.

~~~~~~~~~~

Damian and Talia hiked the trial many months later, and as they neared the top they could sense something was definitely off.  The top of the temple would usually be in view by now. When they finally reached the top they froze as they saw the ruins of the burned and destroyed temple in front of them.  Talia was the first to break from her daze and ran to the ruins searching through them to find any remains of her daughter.  Damian soon joined his mother, but it was no use.  Damian and Talia believed the worst had happened to her, and with silent tears flowing down his face he stabbed his sword into the ground in front of the burnt remains and fell onto his knees in front of it.  The sword would serve as a gravestone for the fallen warriors here, but it specifically would serve as Marinette’s grave marker.  She was a brave warrior, one of the best, and she was gone now.  Talia stood by her son’s side and soon kneeled in front of it as well with her hand placed on her son’s shoulder.  As they traveled down the mountain Damian swore that he would never be vulnerable again, he would never care about anyone ever again, because the pain he felt was too intense and never wanted to feel it ever again.

So both He and Talia took on more missions, Talia was rarely at the base, always gone doing whatever her father needed.  The training in Tibet never happened again, and Damian grew closer to his grandfather.  He trained harder, attacked ruthlessly, and channeled all his pain and rage into his strikes.  He held onto the photo that Fu had given him of the two of them so many years ago.  He had it tucked away in a secret place in his room where no one would ever find it, because he wanted to keep her with him in some way.  Never again, he wouldn’t be hurt like before ever again.

~~~~~~~~~~

Marinette lived with Master Fu in a tea parlor under the guise of Marin Fu.  She helped him run his parlor and distribute his charms to the people through the teas she brewed while he placed charms on people through the massage therapy he did.  Fu let her be home schooled as she already knew way more than any normal school could teach her.  She would just be repeating things when she could be learning more new material.  She was also taught how to better practice her magic and use the miraculous.  She was going to be the new guardian one day, she was going to be the last guardian one day, and that thought scared her and brought back all of the nightmares.  She locked that night and anything before the fire back up in her mind only remembering what she needed to when she needed to.

Fu wanted her to interact with people though, so with the money he made he sent her to a gymnastics class where she could still retain her skills and get better at them.  She honestly loved the classes and she felt so free when she did them.  Nobody could beat her, in fact she advanced to level 10 quickly and was well on her way to the elite by the time she was 13.  And that’s when Hawkmoth struck Paris.

Lady Rouge and her partner Chat Noir made a decent team, but he was nowhere near her skill level which often annoyed her.  He wasn’t a true black cat, her brother was.  He was her balanced counterpart, and this cat was just a stand in.  And as time went on the imbalance continued the boy became corrupted by the destructive energy of the ring.  She had continually told Master Fu about it, but he would not listen.  And then it was time for him to pass, and she became the grand guardian, the last grand guardian.  Tears fell down the young 15-year-olds face as she watched her mentor's spirit leave him in his peaceful slumber.  He was so old, and it was just his time for him to go, but now she had nowhere to go, but she knew what she had to do.

“Hello, M’lady.”

Chat Noir said in a flirty tone as he spun his staff as if the speed he was doing it at would impress her.

“Hello, Chat.”

She replied terse with her arms crossed in front of her as she leaned on the railing of the Eiffel Tower and gazed at the sky that held little stars due to all of the lights of the city below them.

“Are you not excited to see your soulmate?  Come on M’lady,”

He said grabbing one of her hands with a large smile and deep voice,

“let me take you out somewhere, just the two of us.”

It took everything in Marinette not to break his wrist in that moment, but she had to play along.

“Okay.”

Chat’s eyes widened and his leather tail began to move side to side in an excited manner.

“W-wait, really?!”

“You know what, ya.  This week has been really tough and I could use it.”

Chat’s smile turned into a smirk and a dark twinkle lit up his eyes.  He took a step back and held his hand, his ringed hand, out for her to take.  SHe smiled at him gently and innocently and took his hand, and as he was about to pull her forward she took hold of the rings and ripped her hand off, taking the ring with her.  There was a blonde boy with green eyes staring at her with shock and hurt written all over his face, then eventually anger.

“I am revoking you from being able to wield the Black Cat Miraculous.  You are not compatible to wield this power as you are not my balanced counterpart.  The ring has been corrupting and harming you after all of your exposure to it when you are not the right one to wear it while I hold the earrings.  Thank you for the help you have given me in the past, but I’m afraid that I can not risk hurting you any longer.”

The boy stared at her with wide shocked eyes and nodded.  She could see that he too had now noticed the change as with the ring it didn’t feel like he changed at all.  She helped him get to his house and left after shaking his hand and thanking him one last time for his help.  And as she was about to leave the property she heard the sound of something above her opening and through the now open window she saw an akuma flying out of it.

She quickly caught the akuma and crashed through the glass window into the dark room.  Before Hawkmoth could even realize what had happened she had tied him up in her yo-yo and he was pinned in place with the tight cord.  If she pulled it any tighter it would cut into his skin and draw blood.  She grabbed the broach from the middle of the suit --which was as hideous as his akuma designs, if not worse-- and watched the man detransform making sure the camera on her yo-yo recorded the whole thing.

“You will be subject to the curse of whatever your abused kwami sees fit for you, and then the people of Paris will have you.”

Was all she said as she brought the man onto his knees so he could properly respect the kwami and the God’s they are.  Nooroo appeared and stared down at the man in front of him with an angered fiery glare.

“Gabriel Agreste, you have abused me and my miraculous for too long!  I bring upon a curse upon you, that no one will ever believe a word you say, and that your craft of manipulation will only work against you!”

And with that, pain courses through Gabriel and the wings of a butterfly were branded on the left side of his chest just above his heart.  She left soon after that and sent the footage for the police.  She watched from a distance as the police took him in, and told one of the officers that Adrien was innocent and had no connection to his father’s scheme.  Once she was sure Gabriel would not be able to escape his justice she pulled the horse miraculous from her yo-yo and summoned a portal to wherever she needed to be next.

~~~~~~~~~~

Damian was in the cave training when Todd burst in and began to run towards him with a stupid smug grin on his face.  Damian rolled his eyes and watched Todd stop in front of him holding something small and flimsy in his hand.

“Demon Spawn,”

He breathed out, his smug smile growing wider,

“Did you have a girlfriend in the league?”

Damian was….confused.  He had no such thing, but as Todd showed him the thing in his hand his blood froze.  It was the photo of him and Marinette.  How did he find it?!  Why did he even have it?!

“Give it back, Todd.”

Damian growled lowly hands gripping the hilt of his sword tightly.

“She is!  Guys, Damian had a-“

He tackled Jason after that and wrestled the photo out of his grip and held it close to him.  He glared daggers at Todd and made absolutely sure that the old photo was still intact.  Once he was sure.  Todd was back on his feet and Damian had the urge to run him through with his sword for daring to rummage through his belongings and to dare touch his picture.  He opened his mouth to spit out fiery words of anger, when a portal opened right in front of Damian.  A girl walked out of it and the portal immediately closed.  It was absolutely silent in the cave as the other occupants who were also there stared at the person.  The girl was rigid as she stared Damian directly in the eyes, and he felt a familiar pull to her.

“Kaalki, Tikki separate.  Tikki spots off.”

She spoke quickly, and her voice, and those words, and he knew who she was.  But that was impossible, because she had died, hadn’t she?!  Arms wrapped around him and he could hear sniffles and he felt his arms wrap robotically around the small frame of his sister.

“Xiōngdì, I missed you so much!  I’m sorry I couldn’t get to you sooner!  Th-the Order was destroyed and Fu woul-wouldn’t let me leave a message, and-and someone was misusing the Butterfly in France (sniff).  And-and…..”

She took a long shaky breath in and sighed,

“I missed you so much.”

It took a while to realize that silent tears were falling down his face, and he hugged her even tighter against his chest.  Because his sister, his twin sister was alive, and she hadn’t died in the fire and destruction of the temple.

“It’s okay, 'ukht.  I’ve got you.”

They stayed like that for a few precious moments before Todd yelled,

“What the f*!”

———————

Permanent Taglist:

@aespades @adrestar

#maribat #sibling au #sibling daminette #marinette al ghul wayne #marinette fu #damian al ghul wayne #monk marinette #talia sugar #bio!dad bruce wayne #twins au #The Order #mlb x batman #dc x mlb #angst #fluff

[miekasa]

homecoming (levi ackerman)

↯ pairing: levi ackerman x (fem) reader

↯ genres and warnings: college au, how many ways can i fit levi’s captain status into the modern world, fluff

↯ notes: i love levi :// and i’m out of gifs to put at the top of these, so when i learn how to make headers i’ll let you guys know. also this isn’t proofread rip in peace 

↯ summary: there’s a pretty well known homecoming tradition, and levi’s hoping you’re willing to partake in it. 

“So,” you hum, wiping away any crumbs from your mouth, “Are you going to tell me exactly why you wanted to have a picnic at 2:30 in the afternoon on a random Thursday, or am I supposed to wait for a grand reveal?”

Levi rolls his eyes, and sips on his wine, ignoring your incoming giggles. “Can’t I want to take you on a date?” he clicks his tongue, setting his, now empty, plastic wine cup onto the picnic blanket, “Ungrateful brat.”

You smack him on the arm, mouth open in offense; but Levi’s chuckling, shoulder’s shaking at your reaction. “I am a very grateful brat,” you correct him, “But I am also very suspicious one.”

Levi hums, not bothering to reply. Instead, he separates the two halves of his sandwich, wraps one half around a napkin, and hands it to you. You accept it, albeit a little hesitantly, and watch as Levi pays you no mind, biting into his half neatly.

If it were any normal situation, you’d probably try to snap a picture of him—you have somewhat of an ongoing collection of sneaky pictures of Levi on your dates, particularly when he looks cute munching on his food, much to his disdain—but this was not a normal situation.

Levi is acting strange. It’s not just the nature of this date itself—it may be out of character for Levi to want to go on a picnic of all things, but could be quite the romantic at heart, and often planned very quaint dates for the both of you. It was everything that happened since you set up your picnic that was truly out of the ordinary.

Like the way he seemed distracted, getting lost in thought in a way you hadn’t seen before; and how he kept sweeping his hair out of his eyes, and readjusting his small silver earring. If you didn’t know any better, you would think he’s nervous about something.

“Seriously,” you say lightly, carefully setting your half-eaten portion of the sandwich back onto the blanket, “What’s this all about?”

Levi looks at you for a beat, once again using his free hand to brush his dark hair behind his ear, then with suspecting eyes, “You don’t like it?”

Your eyebrows draw together at his questioning, confused by the lack of sarcasm, or even hurt in his tone; like he was genuinely surprised.

“What? No, Levi, that’s not what I meant,” you assure him, “I just mean that this isn’t really us. You hate eating outside—you always make us wait for indoor seating—and, if I’m being honest, I’ve never seen a couple go on a picnic in real life.”

Levi reaches to pour more cheap wine into your faux glasses, “I guess romance really is dead.”

You squint your eyes, carefully tracking his movements as he hands you a plastic cup before refilling his own. Levi isn’t one to dodge questions, or any kind of confrontation. Now you know for sure that something’s up.

“Levi,” you call gently, feeling like you finally have his full focus when his eyes meet yours, “What’s going on?”

His gaze softens at your question this time, and you finally see a hint of the Levi you know behind his expression. He sighs, carefully closing the boxed wine, and taking his cup into his hand. With a slight head nod, he motions for you to come closer, and you obiiently shuffle closer to him, until you’re sitting side by side.

You take the liberty of resting your head on his shoulder, cheek soft against his coat. You can hear him take a deep breath, feel his exhale deflate his shoulders, before he speaks.

“Homecoming is next weekend,” he starts, “You’re going, yeah?”

You hum in affirmation, watching as he takes a careful sip from his cup before continuing.

“There’s this tradition. It’s stupid as shit, if you ask me, so you don’t have to say yes,” he mumbles, lips barely off of the plastic, before he takes another sip. “But, if you’re dating someone, they’re supposed to show up to the game in your jersey.”

You snap your head up from his shoulder, blinking at Levi and the implications of his words, as you begin to piece together the mystery of his actions from this afternoon. Levi—your Levi—took you on a picnic, complete with homemade sandwiches and cheap wine, to ask you to be his date to his homecoming game.

Your stunned silence is filled with light breeze that brushes past your hair, and makes Levi return to brushing his away again. He drinks in your expression, grey eyes growing cloudy as he assumes the worst of your silence.

“Like I said, you don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he explains cooly, bringing his cup to his mouth again for a bitter sip, “I didn’t know if you were going to stick around for the whole day anyways, you’ve probably got other shit to—”

You kiss him quiet. Levi is surprised at first, jolts a little bit when your actions cause him to spill some of his drink, but he kisses you back, a small wave of relief washing over him. At least he didn’t make a complete fool of himself just now.

“Of course I’ll wear your jersey, Levi.”

Most parents and alumni stuck around for the traditional football game, but the boys’ soccer team was always popular amongst students, and for good reason.

Not only did the university’s team have an exceptional record, but they had no shortage of eye-candy playing for them, either. Even the team’s managers were pretty cute. You were certain players like Armin Arlert and Eren Jaeger were not plastered all over the university website solely for their soccer skills.

Though, good looks aside, they were undeniably good, and made a damn impressive pair on the field. However, most of the crowd would agree that Jaeger, Arlert, and the entire team, could thank their captain for their win today.

You step onto the field with a wide grin as you watch Levi’s team wrangle him into the middle of their circle and toss him up in the air unceremoniously. You almost want to capture the moment for yourself, but to your left, Hange is already recording a video you’re certain Levi would threaten to have deleted.

Most of the mob had fizzled away after the exciting win, leaving behind the team themselves, and a couple of students—likely friends or family of the athletes. After their final huddle, the boys begin to dissipate, greet the remaining crowd. Hange leaves you to badger Erwin, who had been sitting out due to an injury.

You spot Levi carefully picking up his duffel bag, and take the opportunity to run up to him, encase in a sudden and warm hug. You wrap your arms around his neck, and Levi has but a moment’s notice to secure his hands around your back and steady your bodies, lest you both fall to the ground from your uncoordinated momentum.

“You played so well!” you exclaim, pulling back from your hug, but keeping your palms on his shoulders, bouncing excitedly, “I knew you were good, but I didn’t know you were that good! You’ve never played like that before!”

Levi admits to tuning out your praise in favor of drinking in your appearance. The green of his away jersey looks good against your skin, the fabric somewhat loose on your frame. His eyes trail down to the sleeve, a minuscule smirk growing on his lips as he reads his last name in all capital letters underneath his number.

“Come on, Hange and I are taking you guys out for lunch!” your words snap him back to reality, “Anything you want, it’s on me, Captain.”

Levi rolls his tongue against his inner cheek. That’s a promise he’d have to take you up on later. For now, he plays along with your childlike enthusiasm, agreeing to your plans.

He motions for the two of you to get going, but his stride is blocked when you refuse to move from in front of him. Instead, you let your hands crawl from his shoulder to his neck, fingers tickling the hairs at his nape, before you pull him forward into a gentle kiss.

“You really were great, Levi,” you tell him again, pressing another kiss to his lips sweetly.

Levi hums, indulging you one more time, before he hears gasps and not-so-subtle exclamations of “Captain has a girlfriend?!” coming from his annoying teammates. He scoffs when he pulls back to see Jaeger looking at him with his mouth open so wide he could catch flies.

“You’re kind of ruining my reputation,” Levi tells you, but there’s no real bark to his tone.

It’s your turn to scoff, slowly trailing your hands down his arms, and eventually back to your side. You turn and the both of you begin to walk, not before you note, “You ruined your own reputation when you invited me and Hange here.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

“Hey!” you whine, frown deepening as Levi chuckles at you, “You’re not supposed to agree, asshole.” 

Levi doesn’t stop laughing, but gently wraps his arms around your shoulder as the both of you follow behind Hange and Erwin, and back to your car. 

“Don’t think your unusual displays of affection are going to make me forgive you,” you pout, but reach your hand to wrap your fingers around his anyways; Levi doesn’t even bother to hide his smirk, “I don’t care if you scored the winning goal or not, just for that, I’m only buying you one appetizer.”

Levi hums noncommittally. That’s fine, he could think of at least three other things he would rather you do for him instead when you both got home. With and without that jersey on.

#aot x reader #snk x reader #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #aot imagines #snk imagines #levi ackerman fluff #levi ackerman smut #eren x reader

[dbnightingale24]

You’re My Drug (That’s The Problem)

Andy Barber ~ One Shot

~~

Honestly, I don’t even know what is wrong with me. No one asked for this and there’s no reason for this to be so long. My mind kinda just went to home wrecker hoe central, and now you have this. I’m so sorry, but I hope you enjoy it!

Warnings: SMUT, so much smut, cheating, depression, heartbreak, swearing, mentions of alcohol, abuse, angst, just A LOT of stuff, 18+, MINORS DNI!!!

Word Count: 10,210 (I honestly don’t know why I’m like this)

Song(s) That Inspired This Chapter:

That’s All - Genesis

Sweetest Taboo - Sade

If Your Girl Only Knew - Aaliyah

One Last Time - Ariana Grande

I do not consent to have any of my works/stories posted anywhere.

~~

Standing in Andy Barber’s living room, you try to remember when it all started, almost two years ago. He was never supposed to be anything other than a silly school girl crush and a late-night drunken fantasy. He was dating your favorite professor (who had basically acted as your mother when your own was too fucked up), and was so in love with him. Truly and completely. You still remember when she introduced you to him.

“Y/N! This is Professor Andy Barber!” Profession Daniels (Aunt Michelle is what you affectionately called her) beamed, walking over with her arm linked to the gorgeous and bearded professor.

“I know who he is,” you chuckled, holding your hand out to shake his.

Everyone on campus knew who Professor Barber was. Before he came to the university, he was a big time DA, and he was damn good at his job. After his divorce, he decided it was time for a change of scenery. So, he quit his job, packed up his things, and decided that NYC would be a good place to start over.

Every woman on campus was painfully aware of his presence because of his devilish good looks. It’s not like he strut about the campus or anything, it was just impossible not to notice. His beard was always full and trimmed perfectly, his voice was smoother than silk, his smile was infectious, and his body. Good God that was sculpted by God and the Devil. Such a gorgeous man but in a way that made all of them wickedly desperate for him.

The man had every reason to be a whore, but outside of class, he barely said two words to anyone. He came in, did what he needed to do, and went home. In fact, it’s still a mystery how Aunt Michelle got her hands on him, but never questioned it. She was happy and that’s all that you cared about. That really had been all you wanted.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Andy smiled at you, taking your hand and shaking it in a firm but gentle way. “I’ve heard so much about you, so it’s nice to finally put a face to a name.”

“Well, we’ll see how you feel about that after dinner! Why she chose to bring you out on ‘Whining Wednesday’ I have no clue, but if you’re still happy with her after all is said and done, I’ll approve of you,” you laughed while Professor Daniels shook her head.

“We’re not that bad!”

“We’re way worse, I know,” you teased. “We should get going before our booth is gone. I refuse to break tradition when we have a guest!”

‘Whining Wednesday’ was something started by both you and Professor Daniels to blow off some steam. She would go off about her worst students (only naming names sometimes), her workload, coworkers that drove her crazy (naming all names) and hating the pay cuts that seemed to be happening more often. You vented about the school workload, ridiculous essays, classmates that wouldn’t shut up when you were in your dorm at 2am trying to study, your mother, and your shitty on and off again boyfriend, Shawn. Also, you both did this while consuming food (mainly pizza) and drinks.

That Wednesday had been no different.

“Professor Cameron loves you!” your Aunt Michelle laughed as she finished her second Shirley Temple.

“Well then, can you tell him to ease up on my work load? Damn, I do have a job and other classes. I don’t even think I’m gonna pass this semester.”

“You’ve been saying that for two years and you do amazing each time, I’m sure this semester will be no different,” she shrugged, as the waiter dropped off another round of drinks and a large pizza pie with extra cheese.

“Eh, he is kind of a hard-ass,” Andy shrugged, grabbing a slice, as both you and Aunt Michelle gasped. “What?”

“You contributed!” you beamed, causing Andy to laugh, as you took a sip of your Jack and Coke.

“Professor Cameron isn’t a hard-ass, he just doesn’t like Andy,” Aunt Michelle laughed, grabbing her own slice.

“What did I ever do to him?”

“Every woman on campus loves you,” she scoffed “the guys at the University are split down the middle when it comes to you. Half of them love you and the other half wish you’d go back to Boston,” she smirked.

“How did I not know this?” Andy questioned in slight disbelief.

“You never hang around longer than you have to!” Aunt Michelle laughed.

“Don’t worry, the male students feels the same. Shawn complains about you all the time.”

“Shawn Toole? He doesn’t like me because I hold him accountable when he slacks off in my class,” Andy huffed.

“Yeah, he has a tendency to slack off about a lot of things,” you sighed, reaching for your drink “don’t take it personal.”

“Why are you back with him this time?” Aunt Michelle scowled.

“Why do I always take him back? Convenience, boredom, utter and sheer stupidity. I’d rather put myself through bullshit with him than be by myself.”

“You can do so much better!”

“Can I though? Like, lets really think about that one.”

“Y/N, you know you can.”

“It’s human nature. Why do we continue to drink when we know we’ve reached our limit? Why do junkies continue to do drugs even know they know it’s killing them? Why do people play extreme sports even know they know that every time they play it could be their last? Because we all live for the high. No matter how bad it can get, the high is always worth it. No matter how short lived it is. We’re all wired to self destruct in some way, some just find a way to last longer than others,” you shrugged before taking a bite of your pizza.

“Well shit, do you wanna teach my Psychology class tomorrow?” Aunt Michelle chuckled slightly.

“Fuck no, cause then I have to deal with all of the things that are wrong with me,” you laughed.

“For as long as I’ve been doing this, I’ve never thought about it that way,” Andy said after a beat. “You make an extremely good point.”

“See? I told you she was bright as hell!” Aunt Michelle gushed.

“Stop doing that,” you laughed, before downing the rest of your drink.

For the rest of that night, the conversation flowed easily and the three of you had an amazing time. Andy enjoyed the banter between you and Professor Daniels, and you truly loved watching them together. They both seemed extremely happy and enamored with each other.

Then the end of the night came.

“I’ve got it,” you slurred slightly, grabbing the check before either of them could get their hands on it.

“Oh? Did you rob a bank recently?” Aunt Michelle mused, a little tipsy herself.

“Not yet, but my mom did send me some guilt money, so I can afford this and much more,” you chuckled humorlessly.

“What happened this time?”

“She got drunk at my grandmother’s and made a complete twat out of herself. Decided that was the best time to tell me how I’m not doing enough and I’m not enough. Once again blaming me for her most recent boyfriend leaving, completely ignoring the fact that she’s the issue. Ya know, the usual” you shrugged, putting your debit card in the check holder.

“Why didn’t you tell me?!”

“Because it’s tiring always being upset about something. It’s tiring explaining, again, that someone I love and care about more than anything in the world treats me like trash. We’ve been having this talk since you found me crying in the library.”

“Y/N-”

“Stop, I’m really okay. She called me crying the next day and just kept apologizing.”

“What did you say?”

“I just told her to save it cause we have that huge family Gala coming up next weekend and it would save her time to just apologize for everything at once. Hence the reason I have all this money to burn,” you smiled as the waiter came over to grab the check.

“We can talk about it more tomorrow, if you want, during lunch.”

“Can’t do lunch tomorrow, dear old Dad is coming to visit.”

“What? Why?”

“Probably to tell me about his new engagement.”

“Didn’t he just get married?”

“Yeah, but she reached her age limit. I honestly don’t think my dad has stayed with any woman, besides my mother, past the age of 28. He meets em at 20, marries them by 22, divorces them between the ages of 25 and 28. She met this one at 26, so I knew she’d be packing as soon as she unpacked.”

“Your family is stressful,” Aunt Michelle sighed.

“I’m a product of chaos,” you smiled sarcastically, as the waiter came back with your debit card.

After giving in and letting Andy and Professor Daniels cover the tip, they both offered to get you home, seeing as it was late and it was a particularly cold night for early October, but you told them you’d be fine to walk the few short blocks.

“Are you sure? It’s no big deal, I don’t feel right letting you walk alone this late,” Andy sighed.

“I’m really okay, Professor Barber,” you smiled at him “thank you though, and thanks for coming out! I’m glad you had fun, you’re welcome to ‘whining Wednesdays’ whenever you want,” you giggled before giving Michelle a hug “as for you, I love you and I’ll see you at some point tomorrow, Profess-”

“We’re not at school. Call me Professor Daniels and I’ll scream,” she laughed, wrapping you in a tight hug. “Please let me know when you get home.”

“I will, I promise. Go home and have fun like the young lovers you are. Have sex or something,” you and she playfully swatted your arm. “Oh! Swing by my job tomorrow night! We can talk then!”

“Sounds good,” she smiled at you.

As you began walking in the other direction, Andy called after you “where do you work?”

“Um that Dive Bar a few block’s over! Tabitha’s!” you smiled, before resuming your walk home.

The next day, when walking across campus with your dad to get lunch, you ran into Andy.

“Oh, good afternoon Professor Barber,” you smiled at him.

“Y/N,” he nodded “I take it this is your father.”

“Uh yeah. Dad, this is Professor Barber, Professor Barber, my dad” you smiled anxiously.

“Good to meet you, Mr. Barber,” your father smiled, taking Andy’s hand in his giving it a firm shake. “You teach my daughter?”

“No, I’m good friends with Professor Daniels though, and she introduced me.”

‘That’s weird,’ you thought to yourself. ‘Good friend? Well, it’s not like he knows my dad at all, and Professor Barber is a private man. Makes sense.’

“Professor Daniels is an amazing woman. I don’t know what we’d do without her looking after my little flower” he smiled at Andy and you cringed inwardly. You’d started hating that nickname after you heard him call one of his young brides the same thing.

“Well, we’ve gotta get going. Don’t wanna be late for lunch,” you smiled, wanting to end the awkward moment as quickly possible.

“You have a really great daughter,” Andy said before you and your father started walking away. “Make sure you don’t lose sight of that.”

Your father gave you a look as Andy turned and walked and you just responded with a shrug, because you genuinely had no idea what had just happened.

When Professor Daniels came to see you at work later that night, she brought Andy with her. They stayed until closing and Andy insisted on driving you home again. You were so tired that you it wasn’t hard to convince you. Professor Daniels gave directions while you tried to force yourself to stay awake in the backseat. When you finally got to your building, Andy decided to walk you to your room, despite you telling him it’s not a big deal.

You two made small talk on the way up, which was his way of trying to help you stay awake.

“How was lunch with your dad?” Andy asked as the elevator finally reached your floor.

“Oh...it was okay. He did wanna tell me about his engagement, but he also wanted to bitch about my mom. He did occasionally ask about my classes and how they were going, so I guess that was nice,” you shrugged as you finally reached your apartment.

“I’m sorry you have to deal with that...you come across as just so...I know what its like to have unstable parents,” he sighed, looking down at his feet.

You knew he was referring to his father and it made your heart ache. “Hey,” you smiled, placing hand gently on his arm “I’m alright. I mean, it’s no walk in the park, but I manage. It’s nowhere near as bad as it was, Professor Barber,” you finished softly.

“Please, call me Andy,” he chuckled. “Well, in case you ever want to talk about it, you know where to find me. I know you talk to Michelle about everything, but if you ever wanna talk to someone who can relate, you know where to find me,” he smiled at you.

Maybe it was because you were so tired or because of how naive you were, but you didn’t suspect a thing when he said that. Though you were more sure than ever now, that was when things shifted. Had it really happened so quickly?

Maybe it was when you started seeing him more often around campus and he always offered to walk you to your classes, or when he started showing up more at your your job (without Professor Daniels) and you two would talk like you had known each other for years. Maybe it was when he chose to sit between you and Professor Daniels when you all went to college football games together and sometimes he would brush his leg against yours in the most innocent way, but his eyes would linger a little bit longer than they should have. Maybe when you two kept running into each other early in the morning at the school pool? Sometimes swimming together or getting caught up in conversations about nothing in particular.

But how could it have been those things? It was all innocent because he and Professor Daniels were like school children in love. No, all of those things were innocent and coincidental. At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself, which is probably what led to the incident that took place two days before that Thanksgiving break.

“Hello?” Aunt Michelle answered groggily, finally silencing her annoying ring tone.

“Fuck! Of course you’re sleeping! I’m so sorry, I’ll just-”

“What’s wrong? Where are you?” she said frantically, hearing your sobs and panicked voice.

“It’s not-”

“Y/N, please tell me what’s going on...I don’t know what’s wrong, Andy!” she snapped at him angrily.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck! I’m so sorry! I ruined-”

“You didn’t ruin anything. Just tell me where you are and we’ll come and get you,” she pleaded, trying to sound as calm as possible.

“Shawn took me to this party at 13th Step and-”

“Open the fucking door, Y/N!” Shawn yelled from the other side of the bathroom door, banging on it as if he were trying to break it down.

“Oh my God, okay. Where are you?”

“I’m in the bathroom. I don’t know...his friends are trying to calm him down, but he’s in a rage.”

“We’ll be right there. Do not leave that bathroom unless you have to, do you understand me?”

“Yes,” you sobbed out, wincing as as Shawn continued to pound harder on the door.

They were at your rescue in 10 minutes. While Professor Daniels came to collect you from the bathroom, Andy stayed in the bar area, doing his best to calm the situation down.

“Look at you! You’re so pathetic! Little slut, we’re fucking done! Don’t even-”

“Fucking watch it-” Andy growled, doing his best to keep his cool in front of both you and Professor Daniels.

“Or what? You’ll fucking fail me? You think I haven’t heard about you two? How you two are always together? Football games and shit?”

“It’s the three of us, Toole. Watch it,” Andy warned again through gritted teeth.

“Fuck you, Barber. Couldn’t make your marriage work, so you steal my girl? Or is that just what you do?” Shawn shouted at you. “You fuck professors to-”

Shawn was cut off by Andy’s right fist connecting with his jaw. “I told you to fucking watch it!” Andy yelled.

“Andy, stop!” Aunt Michelle yelled, running from you to Andy, trying to stop him from hitting Shawn again.

“You put your fucking hands on her?! Your own fucking girlfriend?!” Andy yelled, connecting another hit.

“Professor Barber, please!” you pleaded, tears streaming down your face, just wanting the night to end.

The sound of your voice made Andy compose himself and slowly get himself together. “Touch her again and you’ll end up with way worse than this, understand me?”

Shawn was silent.

“I asked if you understand me?!” Andy asked again, kicking Shawn in the stomach.

“Fine! Yes! Okay!” Shawn howled in pain, as the cops finally showed up.

“Nothing to see here, it’s taken care of,” Andy muttered before storming out of the bar.

That night, you kept telling Professor Daniels that nothing happened between you and Andy, and you didn’t know why Shawn had snapped, cause at that point, nothing had happened.

“Oh honey, I believe you! Please don’t worry about it,” she cooed, trying to calm you down as you all made your way back her place.

“I just...I’m so-”

“Don’t you dare apologize because he’s unhinged! You’re okay now, please don’t worry. You’re safe now,” she cooed as Andy pulled up to her place.

She had the spare room made up almost instantly and you felt guilty staying there. No, you hadn’t done anything with Andy, but still. If other people were noticing and saying things to Shawn, maybe you were in the wrong.

That night, they fought like a married couple on the brink of divorce.

“You can’t just fly off the handle like that, Andy!”

“Did you not see her busted lip?! What the hell was I supposed to do?!”

“You don’t think I wanted to attack him?! Do you know how much I love her?! She’s practically family to me! You’re a professor, Andy! Do you understand that she saved your ass tonight? If she hadn’t threatened him with pressing charges, he would’ve pressed charges against you! You can’t just-”

“I know, okay?! I know! I just...that’s not right! No matter how angry you are, you don’t put your hands on a woman! Did you see how scared she was?! I just...” Andy sighed “I need to go for a walk,” he all but muttered before storming out.

Professor Daniels kept watch over you almost all night. Checking the room almost every hour, until she finally succumbed to sleep. When Andy came back, he sat at the foot of the guest bed, rubbing your feet softly and quietly apologizing profusely. He had no idea that you were still awake and it broke your heart. However, it also made you feel cared for.

Men in your life didn’t defend you, fight for you, or get angry for you. Let alone get angry over you. Yes, Professor Daniels had been looking out for you since you got there, but she wasn’t him. Andy filled you with something you weren’t quite sure of and it made you feel things you shouldn’t, which is why you decided you couldn’t see him anymore.

You did your absolute best to avoid him, no matter the cost. You stopped doing ‘whining Wednesdays’ (telling Professor Daniels that you picked up more shifts at work), you cut lunches short so you could avoid bumping into him when you made your way back to class, and hiding in the back when he would show up during your shift at work. Anything to keep from seeing him. Your relationship going to shit was one thing, but the one person who saved you from the hell that was your life? You would do anything to keep her safe and happy.

The plan worked great until you fell asleep in the library during Winter break.

“Y/N?” Andy asked, shaking you softly.

“Hm? What? Oh shit!” you exclaimed once you saw Andy’s face. “I didn’t mean to...what time is it?”

“It’s almost 12am,” he chuckled at your slightly frightened state.

“Fuck, thanks for waking me,” you smiled weakly at him, gathering your notes and books quickly.

“You should stay at my place,” he suggested nonchalantly, but it was enough to get your anxiety kicking.

“No, I’m not too far-”

“I don’t want you going anywhere this late alone and I have a feeling that you’ll put up a fight if I offer to take you home,” he smirked.

“I don’t want-”

“It’s Winter Break, sweetheart. He’s not here, Michelle isn’t here, there’s almost no one here. It’s just late and I don’t want you walking home this late. Help me put my mind at ease and just stay at my place tonight,” he offered again with a sigh.

He was right. With all of the anxiety and guilt you had been feeling with everything since what happened with Shawn, you were opposed to spending any time with him, let alone staying at his place. However, it was late and you did have fears about walking home that late. It was easily a 15 minute walk, but it was also the City.

So, you made the mistake of agreeing to stay at Andy’s place.

“The spare room is down the hall to the right and there should be sweats in there. Michelle has kind of made a habit of keeping clothes in there on the off chance she stays over,” he smiled softly. “She says I have too many things in my drawer so she just uses the one in the spare room,” he softly chuckled once he saw the confused look on your face.

At then mention of Michelle’s name, you gather your thoughts quickly. It didn’t matter that you had gotten off to the thought of you fucking him senseless the night before, because it could never happen. “I can stay in my-”

“Y/N, it’s Winter break. Please relax. Change into something that’s more comfortable and go to sleep,” he smiled before going into his kitchen and grabbing a glass.

“Professor-”

“Andy,” he gently corrected.

“Andy,” you smiled “I really do appreciate you letting me stay here. I’ll do my best to not disturb your routine.”

“Are you always this anxious?”

“Yes,” you answered quickly and honestly, and his response was a deep and hearty laugh. You could’ve listen to him laugh all night.

“Please don’t worry. You can use whatever you want, eat whatever you want, and lay wherever you want. Just relax, okay?” he smiled before taking out a second glass. “You want a drink?”

“No no, I’ll probably just sleep,” you smiled. “Thank you...again,” you smiled before making your way to the spare bedroom.

The room was beautiful but you could tell it had rarely been slept in. The bed was spacious and the pillows extremely comfortable. You took a deep breath and tried to get yourself to relax. When you opened the drawer, you saw Professor Daniel’s sweats, tank tops, and intimate wear.

‘You’re not doing anything wrong. Just text her before you fall asleep,’ you mentally told yourself, trying to calm the voice in your head.

You changed into a pair of her sweats before settling into the bed and sending her a text explaining what happened. Her response came a few a moments later simply saying “Thank you! I know you’re probably uncomfortable, but it’s just a night and he’s a total sweetheart. You’re safe there and I feel so much better knowing you’re there! Thanks for letting me know!”

You did your best to get comfortable so that you could fall asleep, but all of a sudden you were wide awake. It’s not like it wasn’t a comfortable mattress or there was anything wrong with the room, you just couldn’t get comfortable knowing he was was sharing the same space as you. You thought about getting a drink to calm your nerves, but you didn’t want to risk getting caught up in conversation with him.

When you heard the laugh track coming from the living room, you decided that maybe getting off wouldn’t be a bad idea. It did always leave you feeling sleepy and you could be quiet. No, it wasn’t ideal, but anything that could make you sleep faster so you could leave faster was ideal.

It wasn’t hard for you to get yourself worked up: you were in Andy’s apartment and had just heard his voice moments ago. It was only matter of seconds before your fingers found your clit, playing with it a little before slipping two inside yourself. Eyes clenched shut and his name softly escaping your lips, it didn’t take long for you to get yourself over the edge.

Taking deep breaths and giving yourself a little time to come down from your high, you felt yourself getting sleepy and a small smile came to your face. Slowly getting up, you decide to clean yourself up before finally getting some rest.

Had you known what was coming next, you would’ve stayed in bed.

“Profess...Andy, where’s your bathroom?” you asked shyly, standing right outside of the living room.

“Down the hall to your left,” he smiled at you.

You quickly clean yourself up and relieve yourself, before quickly and quietly making your way back to the spare bedroom.

“Would you mind sitting with me for a bit? Having a hard time falling asleep tonight,” Andy asked right before you closed the door.

“Is it because I’m here?” you ask, ready to get yourself a car service and go home. “I can leave, I’m so-”

“Please calm down,” he chucked, only putting you at ease a little. “I just have a lot on my mind and it would help to get some advice is all. I understand if you just wanna sleep, it looks like you’ve had a long day,” he smiled.

You argued with yourself before you came to the conclusion that an innocent conversation wouldn’t be so bad. “I can hang for a little bit,” you smile at him before taking a seat not too far from him on the sofa.

You talked about everything and nothing that night and at some point he talked you into having a drink with him.. He asked for your advice about personal issues with his wife and son, work, and getting used to his new life.

“I know you’re tired but I need your advice on one more thing,” he smiled as you finished the drink he poured you.

“I’ll do my best,” you smiled, turning your attention to him.

“I’ve done something and I...I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know if I can,” he sighed, running his hand through his hair.

“It can’t be that bad, what happened?”

“I....you know what? Don’t worry about it. Get some sleep.”

“Andy, you can talk to me,” you smile sweetly, inching closer to him.

“I did this all wrong,” he sighed. “What would you do if you were in my position?”

“What position are you in?”

“I fell for someone when I first got to the university. We didn’t say a word to each other and I honestly don’t know if she even saw me, but she just caught me off guard. Her hair, how hard she was focusing on her studies, the smile that came to her face once she figured something out...I watched her longer than I should have. I went to Michelle about her, cause they seemed to get along well, but Michelle kinda fell for me in the process. I fell for her too. Please don’t get me wrong. Michelle is wonderful in every way possible and beautiful as hell, but she isn’t...she isn’t this person. This person is gorgeous, funny, witty, strong, a nervous wreck...so many things. I don’t know what to do,” he confessed softly.

You told yourself that the pang of jealousy you felt was for Aunt Michelle and the fact that she’d be getting her heart broken soon, but you knew it was because you desperately wanted to be the other person. What kind of person did that make you? A terrible one. “I mean, you definitely need to break up with Michelle and then tell this person how you feel. They both deserve to know,” you huff.

“It’s not that simple,” Andy shook his head.

“Of course it isn’t simple, but-”

“No,” he interrupted softly. “I’ll end up hurting both of them and I can’t...they deserve so much better than that. Better than me.”

“How would you hurt the other person?”

“Because how can I tell you that I’m in love with you and expect it to go over well when you call her your ‘Aunt’?” he asked, finally meeting your gaze with desperate eyes.

Your heart almost stopped. How could he be in love with you? “Andy-”

“I have tried so hard to ignore this,” he sighed. “The moment I saw you sitting alone in the library, I wanted to know everything about you. But you’re a fucking student. Even if you aren’t my student, you’re still a student. Then I just kept seeing you everywhere and most of the time you were with Michelle. I only wanted to pick her brain about you, I definitely didn’t expect it to turn into a relationship. Then, when you started to make yourself unavailable, I knew it was for the best. We were spending too much time together and even though it was innocent, we were tiptoeing a line. You did what I couldn’t do. I forced myself to be okay with it, cause it was for the best.”

“Andy, you can’t-”

“When I came by the spare bedroom tonight to check on you and I heard you...I finally felt confident that it wasn’t just me. You feel every thing I feel, but this is wrong. It’s so wrong, but I want you. I need you,” he finished, resting his hand on your thigh.

“Andy...we can’t...this isn’t...I can’t do this to her,” you almost sobbed. “She has done so much for me and has taken care of me...I could never-”

“I know and I hate myself for this, but I can’t deny it anymore,” he practically whispered, as his hands slowly made their way up to the hem of the sweats you were wearing. Aunt Michelle’s sweatpants.

“She loves you, Andy,” you said defiantly, trying your hardest to not give in to your traitorous desires.

“And I love you. I tried to fight this, but I can’t anymore. I can’t and I don’t want to. Tell me you don’t want this and I’ll stop. You’ll never see me again. I’ll drive you home right now.”

“It doesn’t matter what I want, cause this is...s-shit” you moan, feeling his finger softly trace up and down the thin material that was keeping him from making direct contact with your most sensitive nerve. “A-Andy, if we do this...we can’t take it back and we’ll both feel terrible. This is...it’s wrong.”

“I’ve been watching you for so long. Do you know how many times I’ve gotten off to the thought of you bouncing up and down my cock? Hearing you scream my name while I make you feel things you’ve never felt before? I know I’m a complete piece of shit for this, but I can’t ignore this. Not anymore,” he groaned, using a finger to push the material to the side before slipping two fingers in. “I can tell you need this too.”

“Andy,” you moaned, your hand traveling up his arm.

“That’s it baby, let me make you feel good like I know you’ve been dreaming of,” he sighed, using his free hand to pull down both the sweats and your panties and you kicked them off the rest of the way. “Such a perfect pussy,” he moaned “lets see if you taste as sweet as you are,” he all but muttered before moving in close and removing his fingers, only to replace them with his mouth.

“Shit!” you cried out, arching your back at the feel of him sucking and licking on your clit. You had never been eaten out before. You had only had one other boyfriend before Shawn and they both refused to do it even though they insisted upon you blow them before sex. “I just...oh my God!” you whimpered.

Andy hooked your leg over his shoulder and only let you hold on. He didn’t slow down when you gabbed a fist full of his hair and screamed obscenities when your first orgasm hit. He only gripped you tighter and sped up when you begged him to slow down, letting his hand trace up your body until it found one of your boobs and messaging your nipple between two fingers, sending you quickly into your second orgasm. When you told him that it was too much, he pushed two fingers into soaked folds and found that place deep inside you that you blossoming like a little flower for him.

“Never felt so good before, have you?” he asked sitting up and smirking at you in your blissed out state.

All you could do was shake your head ‘no’.

“Are you gonna be a good girl for me tonight and cum on my cock?” he questioned, wrapping your legs around him.

“Andy, we can’t-”

“We’ve already gone this for, baby” he sighed, a flicker of shame in his eyes “why deny ourselves any further?”

“I can go now.”

“Do you want to?”

“Of course not,” you sighed, turning your head away from his overwhelming gaze.

“Don’t think about everything else right now, just focus on right now,” he demanded softly, taking your face in his hand and making you look at him.

You slowly nodded and sat up. Ignoring the last bit of fight left in you, you placed your arms around his neck and pulled him in for a deep and passionate kiss. “this is where I want to be,” you told him softly, giving into the feelings you had been harboring for over a year.

He carried you to his bedroom and laid you softly on the bed. You pushed out the thought that he had shared that bed with Aunt...Professor Daniels more times than you cared to know as Andy removed his shirt. It didn’t matter that you had seen him shirtless a handful of times, his beauty always caught you off guard.

“Take off your shirt, baby,” he commanded sliding his hand down his own sweats, taking himself in his hands and stroking his cock. “wanna see all of tthat gorgeous body.”

You wasted no time getting rid of your shirt, before getting on your knees and crawling towards the side of bed he was standing on. “Can I suck your cock?” You couldn’t believe yourself but you also couldn’t stop yourself.

“Your really want to?” he asked before pulling down his sweats and stepping out of them.

Neither of your boyfriends had come close to the size of Andy and you were starting to understand why Professor Daniels would come to work exhausted some days. “I’ve thought about it so much,” you confessed, feeling yourself get worked up again.

“Mmm,” Andy moaned, starting to stroking himself again “you can only suck it if you tell me what else you’ve fantasized about.”

“Professor Barber, please don’t make me,”

“Fuck,” he groaned, he loved hearing you call him that, “gotta tell me kitten, or I won’t let you touch me. Is that what you want?”

“No Professor,” you whined.

“Then tell me.”

You looked away, feeling too ashamed of yourself for being as desperate as you were. “I-”

“Look at me when you tell me, baby. Don’t be shy,” he cooed, using his free hand to cup your face and bring your attention back to him.

“I...I’ve thought about you fucking me on your desk, right after your last class...” you trailed off.

“I think you’ve thought about more than that,” he coaxed.

“Fucking me in my ass while I’m bent over doing my homework.”

“Oh? My little kitten likes anal?”

“I’ve never done it, but I want to try it with you. I want to try everything with you, Professor,” you moan, pressing your thighs together trying to relieve some of the pressure building up between your legs.

“You ever seen a cock this big, baby?”

“No, and I’m honestly a little nervous,” you confessed.

“Don’t you worry, kitten. I’m gonna make you feel so good, but you gotta tell me one more fantasy before I let you put your mouth on me,” he instructed. You tried to turn your head away, but he held it in place. “What did I say? Don’t be shy. Now tell me.”

“I...I’ve thought about keeping your cock warm with a vibrator shoved in my pussy, while you teach class. I would stay under your desk and blow you or just keeping it in mouth.”

“You want us to get caught?”

“No, but I wouldn’t mind if people saw...I want people to watch you control me, so they know I’m yours. They can see but they can’t touch.”

“I didn’t know my good girl was so bad,” he smirked “you still wanna suck your professor’s cock?”

“Please!” you cried out, desperate for mouth to be on any part of him.

“Open wide, kitten,” he instructed, before shoving his cock in. “Oh fuck! Do you know how many times I’ve thought of you taking my cock in that pretty little mouth? You take it so well,” he grunted, doing his best to let you control the situation and not face fuck you.

Andy could only let you stay in control for so long. The moment you started gagging on him, he knew he was done for. “Lay down and open those pretty legs for me,” he breathed out, once he got you off of his cock. “Gonna fuck you so good, I’ll ruin you for ever other man.”

“Please destroy my pussy,” you whined, ignoring all the voices telling you to run away as fast as you could.

“Fuck!” Andy hissed, slowly pushing his way into you as you wrapped your arms around him and held on tight. “You’re so fucking tight! Gonna have to fuck this beautiful pussy a few times so you can used to me,” he huffed, bottoming out.

“Jesus Christ!” you cried, getting lost in the pleasurable pain that was him stretching you out.

“So perfect for me,” Andy grunted, slowly starting to move within you. “How are you so....fuck, this is better than anything I’ve ever imagined. I’ve been dreaming of this for so long...now you’re all mine!”

“Fuck, don’t stop! You feel so good!”

“Yeah? Shawn ever fill you up this much?”

“Never!” you whimpered, tightening your grip. “I don’t think I can...fuck, I’m gonna cum!”

“Give it to me, kitten,” he demanded, pounding harder and harder into your pussy. “Coat my cock with your sweet cum,” he whispered hotly against your ear, before licking and biting on it.

“Fuck! Andy!” you cried out, coming undone almost on command.

“I love you so much,” he moaned, clenching his eyes shut, trying to hold back his own release. “I’m gonna show you over and over again just how much I love you. You want that baby? You want me to fuck you senseless?”

“Fuck Andy,” you whined, clawing at his back “please do it! I wanna feel you cum deep inside my pussy! Show me how much you love me,” you pleaded, part of you in disbelief at the words leaving your mouth.

“Do you love me, baby?” he asked breathlessly, opening his eyes to meet your gaze.

You wanted to lie so bad but he was literally fucking the truth out of you. “So much, Andy. I don’t wanna fight it anymore! I...I don’t care if you ruin me for anyone else! I just....fuck Andy, just like that! I just want to love and feel you, only you!” you whimpered, before pulling him closer to you for a passionate and powerful kiss.

Andy fucked you into sunrise that night; only stopping to make you beg. When you woke up later that afternoon, he was still sound asleep. You quickly snuck out of the room and got dressed as quick as you could, trying your best to ignore the guilt you felt when you saw Professor Daniel’s sweatpants on the floor by the sofa. While you were on your way home, after you snuck out, she called you and asked you how your night went. You kept the facade up the entire call, pretending that you had gone to sleep almost instantly.

When you got back to your apartment, you broke down cried for hours. You showered and tried to scrub the previous night off of you, but you knew that you’d never be able to. That night would live in your memory forever.

Andy let you ignore him for two days before he showed up at your apartment and claimed you in your own little kitchen.

He spent the rest of Winter Break with you and you almost let yourself forget that you were a homewrecker. He truly didn’t want just sex from you. He took an interest in the shows you liked, made you dinner, took you out to different jazz clubs and nice restaurants, and indulged in your silly obsession with ‘Mad Libs’. It really felt like you two were a happy couple...until Winter Break was over.

Then Professor Daniels came back and you were forced to remember how terrible you truly were.

The sight of them together made you truly sick and angry. Angry mainly with yourself, because how could you have been so stupid? However, you were also angry with Professor Daniels for being with Andy, because he was yours. He made a habit of telling you that every time you two had sex that you both belong to one another. However, if that was the case, then why hadn’t he broken up with her?

This thought only made you more fed up with yourself, because you fell for it. You became one of the women you always made fun of. The type of woman your dad chased around and cheated on his young brides with.

“Fuck you, Andy!” you yelled, as he pleaded with you to just hear him out, as he followed you around your small apartment. “I don’t want to hear it! You parade her around in public and fuck me senseless when no one’s looking, right?! I’m the stupid little college side piece, right?! Jesus, you have me furious with the one person who gives a fuck about me!”

“I give-”

“Don’t! Don’t fucking tell me you give a shit about me when you have me going through this!”

“Y/N, please just listen to me,” he begged, placing his hand on your shoulder.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” you yelled, turning around and slapping him hard across the face. “Get out!”

“Do it again,” Andy said lowly after a beat “slap me again.”

You slapped him again but harder, “I said to get out!”

“Do it again,” he growled.

*SLAP* “Get-” you were cut off by Andy’s lips crashing into yours.

He shoved you against the wall and kissed you again. “I almost went to jail for you Kitten, , and you’re gonna stand here and tell me I don’t care about you?” growled, pinning your hands above your head. “Those fucking diamonds around your neck aren’t proof that I love you?”

“I don’t care about the fucking diamonds!” you spat! “Love me only and stop making me a second choice!”

“I will figure it out! It’s not the right time and you know it,” he muttered against your neck,using one hand to force your pants and panties down before undoing his own pants. “You want to hurt her?”

“We’re already hurting her!” you snapped, hating how desperate your body was for him. “This is wrong and it needs to stop!” you yelled, fighting against him to no avail.

In one swift move, Andy used his free hand to force your legs around his waist before plunging into you. “We won’t stop this because we can’t stop it. I’m a selfish fuck and I’m not going to give you up. We will be together once I figure out how to do it and can hurt her as little as possible,” he grunted, each thrust coming harder and harder.

“Andy,” you moaned, arching your back to feel as much of him as possible “we can’t....fuck! This is...holy shit, this is wrong!”

“It’s not so wrong when I fuck you senseless in the back of the library is it?” he questioned as he shoved two fingers into to your tightest hole.

“Oh my God!” you mewled, leaning your head back against the wall.

“How about when I fuck you in the bathroom at your job, hmm? Or when I have you exploding all over my desk at work? Does it feel so bad then?”

“Shit!” you cried out. You hated how he made you feel so good and so terrible at the same time.

“Or how about last week, huh?”

“Don’t,” you moaned, finally making eye contact with him.

“When I fucked you right after she left. Making me tell you that your pussy is better than hers. Was it wrong then? Cause you were begging like a pretty little whore while you were bouncing up and down on my cock!” he grunted, feeling your walls clench around him as you tried to fight off your release. “Oh? You like that memory? Tell me which part you like the best: the part where I told you that this pussy was the best I’ve ever had, or the part where you were on your knees for me as soon as you locked the door? Maybe, it’s just the fact that she didn’t know I was there and had no clue that I had you calling me Daddy all day,” he taunted, feeling you clench around him again. “Oh, that’s it. You love it don’t you?”

“No,” you mewled, refusing to accept that you were that awful of a person.  

“Yes you do, don’t try to deny it while I’m inside you,” he grunted, finger fucking your ass faster. “You love that I can’t quit you and you can’t quit me. No matter how terrible you feel, you love the fact that I keep choosing you over her!”

“You clearly...shit! You don’t choose me! I’m still playing...playing second fiddle to her!”

“She plays second fiddle to you! Who do you think I’m thinking of when I fuck her? Do you know how close I’ve come to moaning your name when I’m inside her? Fuck, I can’t even get it up without thinking of you! Do you know how sick that makes me? I am constantly choosing you...fuck! I will make this right,” he grunted, as you came undone all over his cock, sending him off into his own earth shattering orgasm. He leaned his head against your chest and took a moment to catch his breath. “I promise you that I will make this right, I just...I just need time,” he panted.

That conversation had happened almost 8 months ago. You kept letting it slide, because he kept promising you that things would change. It didn’t matter how terrible you felt after sex or how loved you felt after every date, because he would choose you. He always promised he would choose you, so you waited and hung on to his every word.

You fooled yourself into thinking that every thing was fine until, Professor Daniels showed at your apartment in tears.

“I know he’s cheating, Y/N. I just know it! I’ve found panties that aren’t mine on more than one occasion, there were lipstick smears on his pillow last night, and he’s distant. He’s so fucking distant!”

“Just calm down, please,” you begged, grabbing tissues and ignoring the extreme guilt you were feeling. How could he have been so careless? So heartless? How could you be so heartless? “Have you talked to him about it?”

“He won’t talk to me! He just swears the underwear is mine and that I’m making something out of nothing! I know the kind of clothes I wear and I would never wear anything like that!” she sobbed before harshly blowing her nose. “It’s probably that little slut, Samantha. She sleeps with all of the professors,” she sniffed.

“Michelle, don’t do that! Why don’t you just leave him?”

“Because I love him, Y/N,” she sobbed, looking you in the eyes. “I love him so much and I just can’t walk away.”

And that’s how you wound up in Andy’s apartment. Waiting for him to get off the phone, you play with your hands and take a deep breath. Last night made you certain that whatever was going on between you and Andy needs to come to an end.

“Hey, I thought I wasn’t see you until later,” he smiles, walking in ready to kiss you, but you back away.

“We can’t do this anymore, Andy,” you say softly, looking towards your feet.

“Y/N-”

“No Andy,” you interrupt, taking a deep breath “she came over last night and cried to me for hours about how she knows you’re cheating on her and how much she loves you and can’t bring herself to walk away. How could you leave my underwear lying around? Not change the pillow covers? Christ Andy!”

“I figured she’d see it and hate me, leave, and you’d be in the clear,” he sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just wanted you to be in the clear,”

“Andy,” you sigh, blinking back tears “she should hate me. It’s the least of what I deserve. What we’ve been doing is so incredibly...I hate myself. What the fuck were we thinking?! What are we doing?! I was so stupid-”

“Y/N, don’t do this to yourself,” Andy interrupts. “I made you do this and-”

“Oh come on, don’t do that. Don’t try to shield me. You may be the older one, but we’re both adults,” you scoff. “You didn’t make me do anything I didn’t want to do. No, I fell in love with someone who was with someone else, someone who means the world to me, and I chose that over her. I was so desperate for everything you made me feel...your love, but I can’t be with you, Andy. Being with you means she’s out of my life for good. My happiness has to come at the expense of her broken heart? What kind of a monster does that make me?” you question, tears finally falling from your eyes.

“Please, we can figure this out-”

“Andy, there’s nothing to figure out! There’s no way I can have you both in my life and it’s my selfishness that that led to this. They’re so many times I could have and should have walked away, but I just...this would have been so much easier if it was just sex. I could have walked away months ago, but no. I love you and maybe I always have, but this...”

“Y/N, I already told you. I didn’t even mean for her and I to end up together!”

“But you did-”

“Only because it felt like the right thing! I thought I could be with her and all of this would go away! I’d be with someone my own age and would stop obsessing over you! Fuck, none of this was supposed to go this way!” Andy sighed, his own tears starting to spill over as he ran a frustrated hand through his hair.

“Andy...I can’t do this. I don’t deserve you and I sure as shit don’t deserve to have her in my life. This can’t go on anymore, Andy. We’ve done enough damage,” you sob quietly, as you come to terms with the decision yourself. “Thank you...for loving me, showing me what it’s like to be actually loved...I’m sorry,”

“Y/N, after some time-”

“I just don’t think I can take anymore of this,” a voice comes from the spare bedroom. The door opens to reveal a teary eyed Professor Daniels.

“Michelle,” you gasp, covering your mouth. “Michelle please...I-”

“Just...just tell me every thing, from the beginning,”

“I just-”

“Not from you,” she snaps coldly “from you,” she breathes as her attention turns to Andy.

He takes a deep breath and runs his hands through his hair, again. “It’s only right, take a seat and I’ll tell you everything.”

~~

@whxre4cevans, @sweetflowerdreams, @itsbrittany425,

#Andy Barber #andy barber x you #andy barber fic #andy barber x y/n #andy barber x reader #Andy Barber Smut #One Shot #Fan fic #fanfiction #fanfic #fan fiction #Defending Jacob #Defending Jacob One Shot #Defending Jacob Fanfic #Professor! Andy Barber #Professor Andy Barber #Professor Andy Barber x Y/N #professor andy barber x reader #Professor! Andy Barber x Y/N #Professor! Andy Barber x Reader #Professor! Andy Barber Smut #Professor Andy Barber smut

[kpopfanfictrash]

Raise the Barre (Ch. 6)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: Jimin / Reader

Rating: 18+ (Eventual Smut)

Genre: Enemies to Lovers / Dance Academy!AU

Warnings: Underage drinking, sexual harassment (not from any of the main characters) 

Word Count: 7,295

Summary: You and Park Jimin have been rivals for as long as you’ve known one another; ever since he tripped you in the front row of your first dance convention. When you graduate from high school and enter Russet Ballet Academy, you tell yourself you’re leaving all past quarrels behind. The main problem with this though, is that your past seems determined not to leave you alone.

Worse still, the obstacles you face while out in the real world might prove more challenging than anything your enemy has to offer.  

Dr. Gonzalez’s assessment of your ankle turned out to be correct; by the end of the week, you were feeling much better. You had to give some of the credit to Jimin, who’d been like a hawk in his watchfulness all week. The second you landed a difficult jump, Jimin would pop up beside you like the worst kind of clickbait, scolding you for not marking your movements.

At first, it drove you crazy – it was like having your parents out on the dance floor. Each time you pliéd, Jimin would clench his jaw hard enough to crack walnuts. It got to the point though, where you began to find it amusing, pretending to do something full-out just to mess with him.

Jimin didn’t find this as amusing as you did.

The Monday following your injury, you returned to Dr. Gonzalez’s office for a check-up. After examining your ankle and a few routine tests, she nodded in satisfaction and declared you fit to dance. A massive weight lifted from your chest, you practically bounded upstairs and into ballet.

Mr. Vlad’s ballet class wasn’t the type of place people usually bounded to, so you drew several stares when you entered the room. Dropping your bag beside Noelle, you stood at the barre and began to shed your warm-ups.

“It feels so good to be back,” you groaned, lifting your leg.

Noelle grinned, mirroring your movement. “It’s good to have you back,” she agreed. “I felt like a worried mom all week, constantly watching out for your ankle. Now, I can finally be selfish again.”

You laughed. “Well, thank god for that.”

“Miss Y/L/N!” Smiling, Mr. Vlad came to a stop alongside you. “Good as new, I take it?” he said, glancing down.

“Yep,” you said, rolling your ankle in a circle to show. “Dr. Gonzalez cleared me to dance earlier this morning.”

“Good, good.” He nodded. “I’m glad to hear it. It’s always a shame to see talented dancers injured. Make sure you don’t jump back in too quickly, though. Take it easy.”

“Will do,” you said, somewhat dazed as he turned to walk away.

Noelle leaned forward. “Dude,” she whispered, staring at his back. “Mr. Vlad just called you a talented dancer. Mr. Vlad. Vlad Copson.”

“I know,” you whispered, trying to stifle a laugh. “Wow.”

It was a wow moment indeed, since before now you hadn’t been sure whether Mr. Vlad even liked you. He’d given you and Jimin a compliment a few weeks prior, but everything else you received from him was criticism. Despite knowing this to be his reputation as a teacher, you honestly had no idea where you stood with him at all.

Hearing him call you talented was enough for you to hope it would be a good day. Barre passed by quickly and, true to your word, you tried not to overdo things. Despite your initial positivity, it soon became apparent you’d fallen behind. By the time you finished barre and walked to the center, your earlier enthusiasm had somewhat waned.

Although you’d improved since the start of the year, taking a week off had put a damper on your progress. Even just seven days of marking was enough for you to feel lost while moving through the combinations. Luckily, Jimin was there to help you remember the steps.

‘Luckily, Jimin’ was never a phrase you thought you’d say and yet, here you were. Aligned by the same goal, Jimin had proven himself to be a useful partner. Nearly a month into your truce, things were going well between you. Steps came easier once you were certain he wouldn’t drop you on purpose.

Obviously, you still had work to do between you, but it was easier without constantly wondering what Jimin was thinking. Trust was tricky enough without years of rancor between you, but somehow you and Jimin were making this work.

Miss Britt had explained during your first week that pairings at Russet were random on purpose. It was one of the most valuable lessons your first year could teach you, she’d said – learning to trust someone you didn’t choose for yourself.

Oftentimes, your company or choreographer would pick your partner. Even if you didn’t like them as a person, you needed to learn to trust them as a dancer, which was something you had no experience in before. By this point though, you found you no longer harbored dislike for Jimin as a person or as a dancer.

Jimin helped you during the week, walking you through tricky steps you’d missed the week prior. He even stayed late one night to practice a lift without you even needing to ask. By the time Friday rolled around, you felt almost completely caught up in your classes.

Miss Britt’s class was quickly becoming a favorite. She was more modern than some of the other teachers, choreographing to contemporary music instead of the traditional classical. This alone was enough to make you ecstatic, but she also encouraged improvisation.

You supposed this was why Miss Britt had suggested you practice the fundamentals. It was impossible to learn the fun, partner lifts if you couldn’t even complete a pirouette.

Today’s combination was one of the hard ones – Miss Britt tended to do that on Fridays, adding more complicated moves as a way to end the week. This turned out to be both blessing and curse, since it was fun to branch out, but it came at a cost.

“And – from the top!” Miss Britt called from the front. “Sissonne, sissonne! Cabriole, and chassé – tour jeté! Plié! And rise – hold! Plié, battement and grand fouetté!”

Seokjin stood at her side, demonstrating the moves with grace and poise. Every now and again, Miss Britt would join in to show particularly tricky footwork.

By the time you executed the combination full out, you and Jimin were sweating, fingers slipping while you grabbed at each other’s hands. Grand fouettés – sometimes called Italian fouettés – were difficult enough without adding pointe shoes and a partner. In grand fouettés, the woman did a grand battement effacé (facing forward), swept her leg through first position while turning, only to end up facing the same way with her leg in attitude derriére (behind her, and bent). All of this, of course, occurred within two counts of eight.

Jimin helped you balance, although he needed to move fast to avoid getting kicked in the head by your leg. The combination moved across the floor, starting in one corner of the room and ending up in another. By the time you’d practiced the moves a few times, both of you were dripping sweat on the floor.

“Shit.” Gasping for air, Jimin lowered both hands to his knees. “Miss Britt isn’t taking things easy on us, huh?”

Silently, you shook your head no, as you fought to catch your breath.

“Alright!” Miss Britt clapped her hands together. “Line up in the corner and we’ll go two couples at a time. Sabrina, Paulo, Alex and Jasmine – you’re first.”

Sabrina and Paulo were practicing close by, dutifully finishing the steps of the combination. While you watched, you saw Sabrina wobble and Paulo’s hand slip from hers. Sabrina managed to keep her balance, but her timing was thrown, and she missed the last fouetté.

“Sabrina!” Miss Britt called out sharply. “Be sure to stay on the beat!”

Stricken, Sabrina’s head turned as she finished. Landing in fifth, she managed a nod before she turned to cross the room. Paulo followed suit, swallowing at the look of annoyance she shot him.

Once they were in the corner and ready to go, Miss Britt motioned the accompanist to play as she crossed her arms.

As the music began, the first group moved forward. This time, Sabrina got her timing right for the fouetté turns, but still didn’t seem happy. Finishing the combination, Sabrina struck her ending pose – only to exhale, expression dropping as soon as she stalked from the floor.

Miss Britt didn’t seem to notice, her attention already moved on to watch the next group. Nudging Jimin with your elbow, you indicated you both should move up in line. Noelle and Eamon were in the second group across the floor, so you two would be next, along with Irene and Brian.

Waiting to start, Jimin exhaled and rolled his neck. Glancing sideways, you were surprised to find you also felt nervous. This was a difficult combination, so you couldn’t expect to do things perfectly, but the fact that Sabrina had failed didn’t bode well for you at all.

“Next group!” Miss Britt called.

Breathing deeply, you placed your hand in Jimin’s and fell into tombé. Your first steps were in unison, feet skimming the floor while you traveled forward. Jimin’s hands gripped your waist, lifting you easily to set you back on the ground. Each step flowed to the next, barely allowing time to think as your limbs found each other.

Even the complicated footwork section was in tandem, Jimin’s plié matching yours when he lifted you overhead. The ending segment – a series of partnered jetés, culminating in a grand jeté – happened easily, making you feel as though you were floating on air. When you landed and struck your ending pose, your heart hammered against your ribcage.

“Very good, Y/N and Jimin!” Miss Britt smiled before she moved on.

Schooling your expression to stay calm, you felt almost giddy as you ran from center. Jimin was close behind, barely able to contain his excitement.

“Did you hear that?” you gasped, spinning to face him.

“A very good from Miss Britt.” Jimin wriggled both brows. “Might as well move us to the top of the class now.”

“Don’t get cocky,” you warned, though you laughed when he high-fived you.

Walking off to the side, you joined the rest of your classmates who were waiting in line. As you waited to reverse the combination on the left, you practiced the steps in your mind.

Miss Britt continued to yell corrections and when your turn finally came, you took a deep breath to relax. Emptying your mind, you forced yourself to focus only on the movement. For the first time since your arrival at Russet, the steps felt almost natural.

Partnering had been difficult for you to learn after so many years of solo competition. Unlearning your independence as a dancer was hard, but you finally felt as though you were making progress. When you and Jimin finished on the left side, you realized with some amazement Miss Britt hadn’t yelled out any suggestions.

As soon as everyone had gone, Miss Britt motioned for the pianist to stop and walked to the center.

“Good job, everyone,” she called. “Just a few notes today. Irene, be sure and keep your weight centered in attitude. Don’t rely on your partner to keep you steady. Louis, make sure you really push Ari across the floor. Her momentum should come from you, not just her legs. And Sabrina,” Miss Britt said as she turned.

Sabrina straightened, clearly expecting a big heaping of praise. Miss Britt always had something nice to say for her star pupil. It wasn’t bitterness which made you say this – Sabrina was just that good at ballet. As much as you disliked her as a person, you couldn’t deny Sabrina’s prowess as a dancer.

Miss Britt frowned. “Don’t step so far forward next time. Paulo had to rush to catch up, which is why your timing was off. And Y/N,” she said, moving on.

Sabrina froze, staring wide-eyed at Miss Britt’s back. The shock in her expression was clear and if Miss Britt hadn’t moved on to you, you would’ve relished for longer in Sabrina’s confusion.

“Excellent work.” Miss Britt smiled. “That was a beautiful combination. Have you been practicing with Jimin as I suggested, Y/N?”

Instantly, heat rose to your face.

“I, uh,” you stammered, searching for words. “I’ve been working with Sana Minatozaki, actually. She graduated last year from Russet?”

“Ah, Sana!” Miss Britt’s face lit up. “Did Seokjin introduce you?”

Seokjin nodded, giving you a thumbs up as soon as Miss Britt turned.

“Well, it was wonderful,” Miss Britt continued. “Much improved, both of you – keep it up. Jasmine,” she said, moving on. “You’re lowering your chin right before you turn.”

In the corner of your eyes, you saw Jimin glance in your direction, but chose instead to stare at the clock. Pretending as though the time needed your undivided attention, you managed to avoid him for the rest of class.

Across the floor leaps were always the last combination of class – they were considered the ‘fun’ part of ballet, so of course teachers chose to save them for the end. As you turned and jetéd across the floor, your stomach churned imagining what to say to Jimin.

Maybe you could pretend Miss Britt had been confused. You could say she mistook you for another student, or that you’d never considered asking Jimin for help – even as you thought this, you released a small sigh. You should just tell him the truth and get it over with. If Jimin had proven one thing to you over the past couple of weeks, it was that he wasn’t the person you’d always made him out to be.

Still, it would be humiliating for Jimin to know how close you’d been to being kicked out. Miss Britt had told you to seek help barely a week into classes and now, Jimin would know that.

A part of you hated this since that same part of you thought often about that one practice session. The night Jimin had stopped and said he loved watching you dance.

You still weren’t sure what to make of that night, but you couldn’t deny it was something you often returned to.

As soon as Miss Britt ended class, you made a beeline for your things and plopped down on the floor. Undoing your pointe shoes as fast as you could, you tossed these in your bag and pulled on some sweats. Throwing your bag over your shoulder, you garbled an excuse to Noelle about needing to go and frankly ran towards the hall.

Glancing over your shoulder, you checked to make sure the coast was clear – only to crash into Jimin as soon as you left the room.

“Whoa!” Jimin caught you by the arms. “Careful, Y/N. You’ll sprain your other ankle.”

“I didn’t sprain my ankle,” you huffed.

Arching a brow, Jimin continued to hold your arms. His dance bag was slung over a shoulder, sweatpants pulled on over his ballet clothes. Dimly, you realized he hadn’t had to take off any pointe shoes. Stupid male dancers and their stupid male benefits.

Behind Jimin, you saw Noelle exit the classroom. Tossing a beseeching glance in her direction, Noelle saw you and paused – only to wink and continue walking away. Aghast, you stared in shock at her back. 

Traitor, you decided. She’d pay for that later.

“Can we talk over there?” Jimin nodded down the hall.

“I – sure,” you said, unable to think of an excuse. Why couldn’t you think of an excuse?

Releasing your arms, Jimin turned to leave and you followed. Once you were far enough away from class to not be overheard, he turned around. Coming to a stop, you fiddled with the strap of your bag pulled across your chest.

Oddly enough, Jimin seemed as nervous as you were. “What… was that?” he asked, glancing towards the ballet room.

“What was what?”

Jimin gave you a look. “That comment from Miss Britt. Were you going to ask me for help, or something?”

Wincing, you glanced away. Hearing Jimin speak brought back all the resentment you felt when Miss Britt first pulled you aside. You thought you’d grown since then – and maybe you had – but remembering that day still made your stomach sink. If there was one thing you hated, it was admitting you weren’t perfect.

“I – well, no,” you said, looking up.

Jimin’s expression remained unsure and after a moment, you sighed.

“Alright, yeah,” you said. “Kind off. Miss Britt… suggested I ask you for help at the start of the year.”

“Oh.” Jimin’s face was unreadable.

Someone laughed far off down the hall and another door banged open, a different ballet class letting out. Jimin glanced away, hesitating a moment before his gaze returned to yours.

“Want to get going?” Jimin offered. “The next class is starting, so Danley is going to get crowded.”

“Sure,” you said, following as Jimin turned around.

You were silent the entire trip down the hall and even outside, as you began to walk down the sidewalk. Jimin was correct; Danley Hall was crowded at this time of day. After Miss Britt’s classes on Fridays, you didn’t have any set schedule unless you chose to take an afternoon master class.

Jimin walked next to you on the sidewalk, brow furrowed and seemingly lost in thought. About a block away from Danley, he glanced in your direction.

“Why didn’t you ask me for help?” Jimin said.

Rolling your eyes, you hitched your bag higher. “Oh, come on,” you sighed, shooting him a look. “It wasn’t like we were on the best of terms. You wouldn’t have said yes.”

“Maybe I would’ve.”

“Be serious.”

“Maybe I would’ve!” he insisted, cracking a smile. “Look – you’re not the only one who needs extra practice. What did Miss Britt say you needed to work on?”

Falling silent, you stared straight ahead and considered what to reveal. The air around you was crisp, the sky blue overhead and the leaves orange against it – in other words, it was a perfect fall day. You hated to ruin something so wonderful with talk of improvement.

At long last, you sighed.

“Technique,” you admitted. “You know that my background isn’t as a ballerina. Miss Britt thought it would be a good idea for me to take lessons from someone strong in ballet.”

“Hm.” Jimin considered. “I guess that makes sense.”

“Hey!”

He looked your way in surprise. “What? You’re the one who said it was something you needed to work on!”

“I know,” you grumbled. “It just sucks hearing you say it.”

“What’s wrong with hearing me say it?”

“You know,” you said, gesturing vaguely. “You’re you. Park Jimin. Hearing you say it just reminds me of all the ways we’re different. All the ways you’re… better than I am.”

Jimin didn’t react in the way you expected. You thought maybe he’d deny it, or maybe even gloat, but instead he just frowned.

“Different doesn’t mean worse,” Jimin said slowly. “It just means… different. You need help with ballet technique? Well, I need help with performance.”

“You – what?” you said, caught off guard.

Jimin gave you a rueful smile. “I kind of wish you’d said something sooner. I got feedback last month that I needed to work on emoting. Apparently, my technique is good, but I forget what to do with my face in difficult combinations.”

“Really?” you blinked, somewhat amazed. “I’ve always thought you were good at that.”

“Well, I’ve always thought you had great technique.”

“Was that... an actual compliment, Park?”

“Don’t act so surprised.” Jimin snorted. “Most people think I’m a really nice guy.”

“Yeah, well. Most people haven’t had you tell them to break a leg and mean it.”

“I didn’t mean it.” Jimin’s lip twitched. “Most of the time, anyways.”

“Aha!” you said, leveling a finger in his direction. “So, you admit it. You meant it some of the time.”

Jimin shrugged. “What can I say? I wanted to win. Sometimes it felt like… I don’t know, sometimes it felt like you were the only thing pushing me.” He paused, then continued, “There were some days things were so bad, I just wanted to quit. I wanted to give up, but then I’d think about you. I’d think about our bet, our next competition and… I’d keep going,” he said, finishing quietly.

You remained silent for a moment, allowing this to sink in.

Deep down, you understood what Jimin meant. Dance was difficult; that much was obvious from your first semester at Russet. It was hard to find the drive to keep going. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t sometimes felt the same way. There had been weekends in high school you just wanted to be a normal student and hang out at the mall – but then you’d remember Jimin’s maddening smirk when he won and force yourself to work harder.

“I guess fear is a great motivator,” you said softly.

Jimin hesitated, then nodded. “Don’t get me wrong. It’s not like you were the only reason I danced. It’s just… on some days, you were that push.”

Again, you knew what he meant. The mental, physical and emotional exhaustion of dance could eat at a person until there was nothing left. An iron-clad will only got you so far – on some days, you just needed something more, something external. That push.

“I get it,” you said, glancing his way. “I felt that way sometimes about you, too.”

Jimin straightened. “Really?”

“Yeah.” After a moment, you shook your head. “But seriously – would you be interested?”

“Interested in what?”

“In helping me practice,” you said before you could talk yourself out of it.

The words hung in the air between you, Jimin blinking while he considered your proposition. 

Immediately, you wondered if you’d made a mistake. Sabrina’s easy dismissal came to mind, but you tried not to jump to any negative conclusions. For all the difficulties you’d had in your past, Jimin hadn’t done anything detrimental to you in nearly a month. 

At some point, you needed to learn to move on.

“Does that mean you’ll help me, too?” Jimin glanced hopefully sideways. “I wasn’t kidding about the feedback I got. I’ve been trying to find someone to teach me for weeks.”

“Deal,” you said, offering him a smile.

Jimin nodded, digging around in his pocket for his cell phone. “What’s your number?” he said, glancing up. “I can check the practice room schedule and let you know what’s available.”

Rattling off your information, you waited for Jimin to send you a text. When he did, you pulled out your phone and saved his information.

“Cool.” Jimin shoved his phone back in his pocket. “I guess I’ll see you around, then. What’re you doing tonight?”

Normally on Fridays, you’d take one of the available master classes, but part of your new deal with Finn had been to see each other at least once a week. Tonight, you were heading to a club with Finn and his friends despite having ballet tomorrow. This had been a compromise on your end, which was something you realized you hadn’t done much of.

“I’m going out,” you said with a shrug. “What about you?”

“Before Mr. Vlad’s ballet class?” Jimin raised a brow. “Brave of you, Y/N. I’m probably just going to read, go to bed early. Real wild stuff.”

Adjusting your bag, you laughed and turned away. “Brave or stupid?” you called as you climbed the steps. “Don’t knock yourself, though. Your night sounds pretty great to me. Self-care and all that.”

“Yeah, sure.” Jimin laughed. “Have fun at your thing. See you tomorrow, Y/N!”

When you reached the top of the stairs, you turned and saw him wave goodbye. Returning the gesture, you pulled your key from your pocket and let yourself in. As soon as the door swung shut, leaving you in darkness, you realized Jimin was saved in your phone.

After a moment of pause, you continued your walk down the hall. If you’d told yourself one year ago that this would happen, you would’ve assumed it to be a prank or a joke. 

It only went to show how easily people changed.

Except for people in clubs, it seemed.

Seated in a back booth of Excelsior nightclub, you drummed a hand on your knee and gazed around the warehouse. A strobe-lit dance floor lay directly before you, a DJ booth situated on a table several feet above the dancers.

Sweaty, half-naked bodies writhed to the beat of deafening music. Watching this from afar, you couldn’t help but wince. It wasn’t that you hated dancing – obviously, not. It was just this form of dancing which always confused you. There was no intimacy to it, no emotion, and no connection to gain from grinding your ass on someone’s crotch.

Most men didn’t bother learning to dance, anyways. Most were content just to sway side to side, watching their woman do all the work. Finn was amongst this crowd, but you couldn’t really blame him for that – the man truly had no rhythm. This led to you oftentimes being bored on the dance floor; there was only so much you could grind with a stationary being.

Even the people who went to these clubs were annoying. Eager, college freshman waiting to try out their new fake IDs. Tipsy sorority girls at the bar, sipping on cranberry vodkas and scanning the room for a partner. Around the edges of the dance floor lurked creepy men, attempting to grab on before their faces were seen.

You hated all of it, but you especially hated it sober. Had you been drunk, maybe you would’ve found the noise and crowd to be tolerable. As it was though, you were completely sober and found everything around you to be incessantly annoying.

Finn and his friends had pre-gamed before your arrival at his dorm. By the time you reached them, Finn was already three beers deep, red-faced and tipsy when he threw open the door.

“Y/N!” he had cheered, pulling you in for a hug.

You’d already forgotten several of his friends’ names by now, although this wasn’t entirely due to your faulty memory. Half kept calling one another by nicknames, making it difficult for you to keep up with their discourse.

Compared to the other girls in the party, you found yourself to be severely underdressed. They all were wearing tight body-con dresses and stilettoed heels. You, on the other hand, had thrown a cardigan over your tank top before you left in case it was cold.

The look on the other girls’ faces when you entered continued to burn uncomfortably in your mind. They’d looked at each other over the rims of their drinks, clearly unimpressed. Their meaning had been clear enough. This was Finn’s girlfriend?

Usually, you didn’t care what other people thought. As Jimin had pointed out, you weren’t the type who acted insecure. In that moment though, surrounded by Finn’s inner circle and feeling entirely out of place, you’d had a brief lapse of inadequacy.

Not being able to drink had solidified this wedge between you. Friendships were often forged in the throes of drunken adversity – your sobriety placed you firmly on the outside.

To his credit, Finn did his best to include you. He’d stayed by your side the entire evening, pulling you into games and introducing you to everyone in the room as his girlfriend. It was physically impossible for him to be everywhere at once though, so there were some unavoidable moments when you were left alone.

The pregame had started nearly four hours previous – sometime around midnight, you’d traveled downtown to the club and now the time was close to 1:00 AM. You kept glancing at your watch, wondering with increasing anxiety when you would leave. The group showed no signs of slowing down and your ballet class started at 8:00 AM the next morning.

You probably should’ve discussed this with Finn earlier, but he’d just been so happy to know you were coming. You hadn’t wanted to throw a wrench in this excitement by demanding he make a schedule.

Toying with the rim of your water, you glanced over at Finn and realized he didn’t seem bored. Ben was seated on his other side, a guy named Rico across the table and two of the blondes were sandwiched on either side.

The rest of Finn’s group were already on the dance floor, having found suitable partners soon after arrival. Two of his friends were currently sucking face by the DJ booth, and you’d seen another two earlier try and sneak towards the bathrooms.

Rico snorted, which prompted laughter from the rest of them. You didn’t see what had been so funny about Ben’s joke – it had seemed kind of demeaning towards women – but the two blondes at the table didn’t seem to mind. You tried not to think less of them for that, lips tightening as you looked away.

Given how stifling the club was, you’d removed your cardigan soon after arrival and tied it around your waist. The air felt sticky on your skin, heavy with the musk of so many people. Finn had smiled when you did this, slipping an arm around your waist to pull you closer. It’d been a sweet gesture at the time, but now the warehouse was boiling and you felt dangerously close to overheating.

As the music switched to a new song, one of the girls across the table gasped and jumped to her feet.

“This is my song,” she said, clapping both hands. “Come on, guys – let’s dance!”

Grabbing her friend and Rico, she pulled them onto the dance floor. Ben downed his drink and joined them, so Finn moved to stand.

“You in?” he said with a grin.

Hesitant, you glanced around. “Can we sit for a while?” you yelled, fighting to be heard over the music. “I’m kind of tired after today.”

“You sure?” Finn called back, also fighting to be heard. He frowned. “Come on, Y/N. Just one dance!”

The rest of the group proceeded to enter the dance floor, hands up while they sandwiched themselves between other people. The sight looked frankly nauseating, but you caught the look of open desire on Finn’s expression.

Knowing he wanted to join them, you pushed aside a sigh and stood. “Okay,” you said, slipping your hand into his. “One dance.”

Finn instantly brightened, tugging you along towards his friends. Shoving your way through the crowd, you tried your best not to breathe through your nose. Slightly claustrophobic at the best of times, clubs had the ability to become your worst nightmare. Especially when everyone was drunk except for you; it made you feel even less in control.

Turning around, Finn lifted your arms and placed them on his shoulders. “See?” he said, sliding closer. “This is fun, right?”

Tilting your head upwards, you nodded and concentrated solely on him. Usually, you found Finn’s touch soothing, but tonight his grip felt too hot and people kept bumping into you from behind. All you could think about was how badly you wanted to leave. It had been such a long day of dance and you needed to wake up early tomorrow.

Pressing yourself closer, you tried to lose yourself in Finn’s normally clean scent. Tonight though, he smelled like sweat and alcohol, and so you released a sigh. 

Hearing this, you felt Finn’s arms tense around you. Lowering his lips, he brushed them to your ear. “You’re not having fun, are you?”

Stricken, you looked up. “No – no! I am.”

Finn gave you a look.

“Alright, fine,” you admitted. “I’m just… tired, Finn. I didn’t know we’d be out so late.”

Rather than apologize or offer an explanation, Finn tensed a bit more. You knew from his face he was drunk; you’d known this objectively, given all the beer he consumed. When Finn drank though, he tended to resort to stubbornness. Seeing his expression harden, your heart slowly sank.

“You didn’t think we’d be out late at a club?” he asked you, brows raised.

“I thought we’d pregame, head to the club and then leave,” you said, somewhat defensive. “How long can you dance with the same, sweaty bodies?”

Finn’s jaw clenched and he looked away. “Don’t you mean – how long can you dance with me?”

Eyes widening, you pulled away. 

“What? No! Finn, what are you even saying?”

Although his hands remained on your waist, his grip wasn’t gentle. Finn’s expression stayed tight, looking over your shoulder in order to avoid your gaze.

“You love to dance,” he said slowly. “So, what you’re saying is you don’t want to dance with me.”

“Finn.” You stared at him in amazement. “That’s not what I’m saying. I’m just tired – that’s all! I had dance early today, I have dance early tomorrow. Can’t we go and grab food somewhere? Just the two of us?”

Finn exhaled and it seemed as though he might acquiesce – but then he exhaled and returned to you.

His gaze seemed clouded, and you wondered in alarm how much Finn had drank. You didn’t know how much he’d had to pregame and found yourself wondering if he might throw up. Finn had a very thin line between tipsy and puking.

“Why don’t you like my friends?” he demanded, hurt in his gaze.

Taken aback, you could only stare. “I – what?”

“See?” Finn looked away. “You didn’t even deny it.”

“No, I – you just took me by surprise,” you said, reeling a little. “Your friends are fine, Finn. They’re just not my friends. I don’t know them very well.”

“Well… alright,” he said, slightly chastised.

Unsure where this was coming from, you stood there a moment and let everything sink in. Finn wasn’t a yeller – he still wasn’t really yelling – but something was clearly bothering him. Maybe it was the dance club around you, but you had a feeling it wasn’t just that.

“What’s this really about?” you said, having to yell in order to be heard over the music.

Finn shrugged. “Nothing.”

“Finn.”

“Nothing!”

“Why don’t we go somewhere so we can talk,” you said, stepping back. “My head’s starting to hurt, anyways. We can go –”

“No,” Finn said abruptly, cutting you off. “I don’t want to leave.”

Your eyes widened in amazement. “No?”

Finn met your gaze. “You said this was our night, Y/N,” he said, stepping closer. “I haven’t seen you all week and you promised we’d go out together tonight. This is what being out looks like, Y/N!” he said, sweeping an arm. “Look around!”

“I – okay,” you said, baffled. “But I have class in the morning.”

“You always have class the next morning.”

“Because I do!”

Dropping both arms, Finn took a step backwards. His expression hardened a little, but beneath all that exterior you saw an undercurrent of hurt.

Lifting a hand, you rubbed at your temples. You hadn’t been lying when you said you felt a headache coming on. This was the same argument you’d had weeks ago, but you thought that had been settled. A few weeks prior, you wouldn’t have come out to the club at all but now here you were, nearing 1:00 AM.

“Nothing’s changed, has it?” Finn asked, his voice louder than normal. “You still don’t want to be here, do you?”

“Want to be here?” you blurted. “I mean, no – not really, Finn! I wanted to spend time with you and instead, here we are. Clubs kind of suck!”

“Well, sorry the things I want to do aren’t fun enough for you.”

“Do you seriously want to be here?” you asked in disbelief. “You want to be sweat on by strangers while drinking a watered-down rum and coke at 1:00 in the morning?”

“Yeah, kind of!” Finn huffed. “Sorry if my interests aren’t high-brow enough for you, or whatever.”

“That’s not what I meant,” you groaned.

“Well, that’s what you said.” Shaking his head, Finn glanced away. “Fine. You know what? If you want to leave so badly, then go.”

“Well, I don’t want us to leave if –”

“Not us,” he corrected, returning his gaze to yours. “You. You can go if you want Y/N, but I’m staying.”

Before you could respond, Finn spun on his heel and shoved into the crowd.

You stared after him in shock, jaw dropping as he disappeared between people. Before you could run after, someone stumbled into you hard from behind. Cold soda and ice poured down your back, making you yelp as you jumped.

Nearly slipping on liquid, you spun around – only to realize your perpetrator was wasted. The girl giggled, then hiccupped, not realizing her drink was empty as she raised it.

“Sorry,” she slurred, blind to your distress.

Rolling your eyes, you stalked past her. Yelling at someone that drunk would offer no sense of retribution.

Scanning the crowd, you searched for Finn’s clothing but saw nothing. He’d been wearing a dark t-shirt and jeans, so he unfortunately blended easily into the crowd. After tapping several strangers on the shoulder and in turn, getting hit on by several strangers – probably due to your soaked, see-through tank top – you gave up and walked towards the edge of the dance floor.

Vision starting to blur, you yanked out your cell phone and swiped up. Your fingers hovered over the call button a few times before you gave up and shoved your phone in your bag. The logical thing to do would’ve been to find Finn, or to find one of Finn’s friends and convince them to leave but for some reason, you just couldn’t.

The idea of seeing Finn right now made you furious. He’d been a jerk and you knew if you saw him, you’d only end up saying things you’d regret. Instead, you clutched your bag tighter and spun towards the front.

As you passed by the coat check, you slowed enough to notice the line outside. People stretched down the block – if you left the club now, there’d be no getting back in. Turning around, you once again searched the crowd.

The booth you’d sat in wasn’t far away, but it remained empty, all of Finn’s friends still out on the dance floor. Had you seen Finn at that point – had you seen anyone familiar – you might have decided to stay, but as it was, you saw no one. Finn hadn’t run after you, he hadn’t called and he hadn’t sent a text. Clearly, he didn’t care what happened to you tonight.

Buoyed by this knowledge, you gritted your teeth and walked out the door.

As soon as you stepped outside, the air dropped ten degrees. Shivering a little, you pulled out your phone and checked the Uber app. The moment you saw the surcharge, you winced. The cost for a cab back to Russet was three times the normal price. If you had to pay that, you’d be screwed.

Exiting Uber, you opened the train schedule and again checked the time. When you saw 1:15 AM, you groaned. All trains in this neighborhood stopped running at 1:00 AM. This was why you’d planned on splitting an Uber home with all of Finn’s friends.

“Hey, you! Princess!”

Head jerking upwards, you found an unfamiliar guy leering at you from line. Glancing over your shoulder, you realized he was talking to you.

“Yeah, you!” he said, hanging over the ropes. “Want to come in the club with us, princess?”

Immediately, you wrinkled your nose. “Why would I want to go back in the club?” you responded. “Didn’t you just see me leave?”

His smile dropped. “Damn, I was just asking. No need to be rude!”

Rolling your eyes, you stuck your middle finger up in the air as you walked away.

“Whatever, bitch!”

Fighting back a shiver, you continued to walk until you were halfway down the block. It was quieter there, but that wasn’t always a good thing. Glancing around, you saw several alleys and tried to place yourself strategically away from the shadows. You hated going to parts of town you didn’t know, especially at night and especially alone.

Suddenly, your rash decision to leave the club struck you as foolish. Opening your phone, you pulled up Finn’s number and pressed call. Screw your dumb pride – you’d forget all about the fight if he’d come stand outside. Finn may have been drunk, but he wasn’t an asshole. You knew if Finn knew your situation, he’d immediately leave the club.

His phone went straight to voicemail.

Blood turning cold, you stared straight ahead for a moment. Hand shaking, you pulled your phone away and stared at the screen. Finn’s outgoing message continued to jabber, but to you the audio seemed almost blurred.

Trying his number again, you once more reached voicemail. At this point, you began to see red. No matter how annoyed he’d been at you, Finn had absolutely no reason to turn off his cell phone. And yet, it was the only explanation.

Spinning around on your heel, you marched back up the block and to the front of the line. Tapping the bouncer on the shoulder, you waited until he turned around.

“Yeah, hi,” you said, not bothering with a preamble. “I need to get in.”

The man gave you a strange look. “Huh?”

“To the club,” you said, jerking your chin. “I need to get back inside.”

“Uh, sure. You and the rest of the line.”

“No, you don’t understand,” you said, crossing both arms over your chest. You were just now remembering the spilled drink from earlier. “I was in there earlier. Look,” you said, showing the stamp on your wrist. “You must’ve seen me exit a few minutes ago. Just let me back in!”

“No can do, sweetheart.” He shook his head. “Rules are rules. When you left, we let someone else in. The club’s already at capacity.”

Stomach sinking, you stared at him for a moment, but he refused to budge. Glancing over his shoulder, you could see the dance floor in the distance, strobe lights flashing and bass thumping. Before you could try anything else, the leering guy from the line reached the front.

Seeing you, he did a double take. “Princess!” he said, slurring a bit. “Did you change your mind? You want to come party? I’ll forgive you if you give me somethin’ in return…”

Teeth gritted, you immediately turned and walked away. The guy continued to call after you, so you sped up your pace to put distance between you. Fighting another chill, you forced yourself to keep walking and not turn around.

In one hand, your thumb hovered over the emergency button on your phone. If the guy broke from the line, you weren’t above calling the cops. Finally, both his shouts and the sound of the club faded away.

Paused on the sidewalk, you realized you were in the same place as before. Knowing this was a bad situation, you reluctantly opened the Uber app once again. Screw the cost – better to be in debt than abducted from an alley.

As soon as you opened the app, you saw the surcharge remained at 3x and the wait time had risen to fifty minutes.

“Oh, hell no,” you groaned, closing the app.

Staring at the street, you went through your mental checklist of options again.

The train was a no, as was Uber – you could walk and find a cab, but this was an unfamiliar part of the city and you didn’t like those odds. You had none of Finn’s friends’ numbers and Noelle was likely asleep. She didn’t have a car to come get you, anyways.

Still, she could probably figure out a way to find you if you asked. Sighing, you thumbed through your contacts until you found the right number. It took you a long moment before you forced yourself to press call.

Lifting the phone to your ear, you hugged yourself with one arm while you waited. When the person on the other end answered, you squeezed your eyes shut.

“Hey,” you sighed. “It’s me. Can you… come pick me up?”

Author’s Note: Thank you for reading 😊 New chapters of Raise the Barre will be posted weekly; dates are listed on the series Master List. Requests for updates will be deleted.

RAISE THE BARRE MASTERLIST

© kpopfanfictrash, 2020. Do not copy or repost without permission.

#bangtanarmynet #btsbookclub #jimin fanfic #bts fanfic #jimin writing #bts writing #jimin series #bts series #jimin dance au #bts dance au

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Michelangelo’s The Risen Christ: Discovering the sacred in the profane.

The true work of art is but a shadow of the divine perfection.

- Michelangelo Buonarroti

While a visit to Rome’s grand squares like Piazza Navona is at the top of everyone’s list, there is much more to the Eternal City. The Piazza della Minerva, is one of Rome’s more peculiar squares and is a must-see for lovers of Bernini’s work.

As one of the smaller squares in Rome, Piazza della Minerva holds some interesting sites. Built during Roman times, the square derives its name from the Goddess, Minerva, the Roman Goddess of wisdom and strategic warfare. During the 13th Century, the decision was made to build a Christian Church on top of what was once a square dedicated to a pagan Goddess – and so the church of Santa Maria Sopra Minerva was born, a beautiful example of Gothic architecture and Rome’s only Gothic church.

In fact this is the only Gothic church in Rome. It resembles the famous Church of Santa Maria Novella in Florence. There are three aisles inside the church. The soaring arches and the ceiling in blue are outstanding. The deep blue colours dominate the structure while the golden touches promote the intricate design. There are paintings of gold stars and saints. The stained glass windows are beautiful too.

In the centre of the Piazza is an elephant with an Egyptian obelisk on its back, one of Bernini’s last sculptures erected by Bernini for Pope Alexander VII and possibly one of the most unusual sculptures in Rome. There are several theories which aim to decipher Bernini’s inspiration for the sculpture, some of which point to Bernini’s study of the first elephant to visit Rome, while others point to a more satirical combination of a pagan stone with a baroque elephant in front of a Christian church.

Tourists flock to see the elephant but more often than not they miss out visiting an almost forgotten marble masterpeiece by Michelangelo himself inside the church. This controversial statue has resided in the Santa Maria sopra Minerva Church in Rome for almost five hundred years. Indeed The Risen Christ by Michelangelo is one of the artist's least admired works. While modern observers frequently have found fault with the statue, it satisfied its patrons enormously and was widely admired by contemporaries. Not least, the sculpture has suffered from the manner in which it is presently displayed and from biased photographic reproduction that emphasises unfavorable and inappropriate views of Christ.

Around 2017 I was fortunate on a visit back to London to see once again Michelangelo’s marble masterpiece, The Risen Christ, which was being displayed in all its naked glory at an exhibition at the National Gallery.

This was another version of this great sculpture that no one has got round to covering up. It has just come to Britain. Michelangelo’s first version has been lent to the National Gallery, in London, for its exhibition Michelangelo and Sebastiano del Piombo in 2017. It came from San Vincenzo Monastery in Bassano Romano, where it languished in obscurity until it was recognised as Michelangelo’s lost work in 1997.

I found it profoundly moving then as I had seen the other partially clothed one on several visits to the church in Rome. It has always perplexed me why this beautiful work of art has been either shunned to the side with hidden shame or embarrassment when it holds up such profound sacred truth for both art lover or a Christian believer (or both as I am).

Michelangelo made a contract in June 1514 AD that he would make a sculpture of a standing, naked figure of Christ holding a cross, and that the sculpture would be completed within four years of the contract. Michelangelo had a problem because the marble he started carving was defective and had a black streak in the area of the face. His patrons, Bernardo Cencio, Mario Scapucci, and Metello Vari de' Pocari, were wondering what happened when they hadn't heard for a while from Michelangelo. Michelangelo had stopped work on The Risen Christ due to the blemish in the marble, and he was working on another project, the San Lorenzo facade. Michelangelo felt grief because this project of The Risen Christ was delayed. Michelangelo ordered a new marble block from Pisa which was to arrive on the first boat. When The Risen Christ was finally finished in March 1521 AD Michelangelo was only 46 years old.

It was transported to Rome and this 80.75 inches tall marble statue was installed at the left pillar of the choir in the church Santa Maria sopra Minerva, by Pietro Urbano, Michelangelo's assistant (Hughes, 1999). It turns out that Urbano did a finish to the feet, hands, nostrils, and beard of Christ, that many friends of Michelangelo described as disastrous). Furthermore, later-on in history, nail-holes were pierced in Christ's hands, and Christ's genitalia were hidden behind a bronze loincloth.

Because people have changed this sculpture over time; many are disappointed with this work of art because it is presently different than the original work that Michelangelo made. The Risen Christ had no title during Michelangelo's lifetime. This sculpture was given the name it has now, because Christ is standing like the traditional resurrected saviour, as seen in other similar works of art.

It was in discussion with an art historian friend of mine currently teaching I was surprised through her to discover the sculpture’s uncomfortably controversial history. There is no doubt Michelangelo’s marvellous marble creation has  raised robust debates about where beauty as an aesthetic sits between the sacred and the profane. And nothing exemplifies that better than the phallus on Michelangelo’s The Risen Christ.

For the majority of its time there, however, the phallus has been carefully draped with a bronze loincloth - incongruous at best, and prudish at worst, but either way a less than subtle display of the historic Church’s discomfort with the full physicality of Christ.

Indeed, it is worth noting that this attitude prevails, at least in some sense, into the twentieth-century: the version of the statue in Rome remains covered to this day, and much of the critical attention the sculpture has received after Michelangelo’s death has been grating. Romain Rolland, an early biographer, described it as ‘the coldest and dullest thing he ever did’, whilst Linda Murray bluntly dubbed the work ‘Michelangelo’s chief and perhaps only total failure’. But Michelangelo himself saw no such mistake. The censored statue seen in Santa Maria sopra Minerva is what we might call his second draft.

It’s interesting to note that when artist was originally commissioned to sculpt a risen Christ in 1514, he had all but completed it before realising that a vein of black marble ran across Jesus’ face, marring the image of classical perfection which he so wished to emulate. It had nothing to do with the phallus. Furious, Michelangelo abandoned this Christ - the one I saw at the National Gallery - and began again. Even given a fresh chance, he chose to retain Christ’s complete nudity.

Why was this of such importance to Michelangelo? Why did he so strongly wish to craft the literal manhood of Christ, as never depicted before? Part of the answer may lie in his historical context: the Renaissance in Italy was driven in the part by the remains of Roman antiquity discovered there; study of the classics became commonplace, and scholars tended to consider the Graeco-Roman world as a cultural ideal, with ancient art in particular being emblematic of a lost Golden Age. Famously, classical sculpture was almost always nude.

In his interview with The Telegraph in 2015, Ian Jenkins, curator of the British Museum exhibition “Defining Beauty: The Body in Ancient Greek Art”, attempted to explain this tradition. ‘The Greeks … didn’t walk down the High Street in Athens naked … But to the Greeks [nudity] was the mark of a hero. It was not about representing the literal world, but a world which was mythologised.’

We see evidence for this trend in Greek literature as well as sculpture: Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey, considered by some to be the earliest known works of Western literature, were likely written between the 8th and 7th centuries BC, but their setting is in Mycenaean Greece in the 12th century. The Greeks believed that this earlier Bronze Age was an epoch of heroism, wherein gods walked the earth alongside mortals and the human experience was generally more sublime. In setting the texts at this earlier stage in Greece’s history, Homer echoes the belief held within his contemporary society that mankind had been better before (what we might now call nostalgia, or, more colloquially, “The Good Old Days syndrome”). There is a real feeling of delight present in the distance Homer creates between his actual, flawed society, and the idealised past.

Indeed, it calls to mind a line I once read in an introduction to L.P. Hartley’s The Go-Between, by Douglas Brookes-Davies: ‘Memory idealises the past’. Though modernist texts such as The Go-Between problematise this, in antiquity it was not only commonplace but celebrated to look back to a more perfect existence and relive it through art. The very fact that Michelangelo abandoned his sculpture after years of work on account of a barely noticeable flaw in the marble is evidence that he, too, was striving towards the classical ideal of perfection. ‘Unfortunately,’ Hazel Stanier has commented, ‘this has resulted in unintentionally making Christ appear like a pagan god.’

This opens up another question – why does such a rift exist between the way ancient cultures envisaged their divinity and our own conceptions of a Christian God? Why are we not allowed to anthropomorphise the deus of the Bible in the same way that the Roman gods were?

Christ, of course, makes this somewhat confusing, given that he is described in the Bible as ‘the Word made flesh’, a physical and very human incarnation of the spiritual being that we call God. Theology tells us that he is fully human and fully divine, and yet the Church have excluded him from many aspects of life that a majority of us see as typifying a human being. Christ has no apparent sexual desires or romantic relationships, and though not exempt from suffering, he does not play any part in sin (which, as the saying goes, is ‘only human’). I think that the enormous controversy caused by films such as The Last Temptation of Christ (1988), which explore the possibility of Jesus having a sex life, is reflective of the possibility that - though in theory the Christian messiah is fully human - we feel significant discomfort at the notion that he may have explored particular aspects of the human experience.

Purists and the prude and liberals rush to opposite sides of the debate. If purists run one way to completely deny Christ had any sexual desires or even inclinations as all humans are want to do, liberals commit the sin of rushing to the other extreme end and presuppose that Jesus did act on sexual impulses simply because it was inevitable of his human nature.

I think the truth lies somewhere between but what that truth might actually be is simply speculation on my part. It doesn’t detract for me the life and saving mission of redemption that Jesus was on - to suffer and die for our sins as well as the Godhead reconciling itself to sacrificing the Son for Man’s sins and just punishment.  

Of course, it is well-known that the classical gods had no qualms about sexual activity. It is difficult to make retrospective judgements about citizens’ opinions on this but, as it was the norm, we might assume that they felt it was rather a non-issue. I can empathise with some critics who reason that the Christian God is not entitled to sexual expression is because of the traditional Christian idea that sex is inherently sinful – that original sin is passed on seminally and so by having sex we continue to spread darkness and provoke further transgression. It is from this early idea that theological issues such as the need for Mary to have been immaculately conceived (she was not created out of a sexual union, much like her son) have stemmed. But here - the immaculate conception - the critics are profoundly wrong in their theological understanding of why God had to enter the world as Immanuel in this miraculous way.

Some Christian critics - and I would agree with them - assert that the vision of a naked Christ might make a powerful theological point in a world where sex still carries these connotations. They rightly point out that clothing - and I might extend this to mean the covering-up of the sexual parts of our body - was only adopted by humankind after the Fall, the nudity of Christ is making a statement about his unfallen nature as the second Adam. In other words, Christ has no shame, because he is sinless and has no need for shame. Perhaps what Michelangelo intended was actually to disentangle nudity from its sexual, sinful associations, instead presenting us with a pre-lapsarian image of purity taking the form of the classical Bronze Age hero.

There is another, less theological explanation for the sculptor’s obvious use of the classical form. It reminds us of a time when gods walked the earth alongside us, when they were fully human – us, only immortal. Maybe he wanted to emphasise that fully human aspect of Christ’s being. Questionable as much of their behaviour was, the classical gods were certainly easy to identify with. For Michelangelo, this may have been his own way of embodying John 1:14 in marble: ‘The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us’.

It is here critics may have gotten hold of the wrong end of the stick with The Risen Christ when they point out the odd proportions of the figure: that it has a weighty torso, or the broad hips atop a pair of tapered and rather spindly legs, or even a side or rear view of the figure that show Christ’s buttocks.

For a start, this ungainly rear view was not supposed to be seen. The statue was meant to go in a wall niche, so that the back of the statue was hidden. Michelangelo of course knew this, and shaped the statue so that it would appear well proportioned from the front. If we view the sculpture from the front left, perhaps its best side, then Christ is no longer a thickset figure. Rather, his body merges with the cross in a graceful and harmonious composition.

The turn of Christ’s body and his averted face suggest something like the shunning of physical contact that is central to another post-Resurrection subject, the Noli me tangere (“Touch Me Not”). The turned head is a poignant way of making Christ seem inaccessible even as the reality of his living flesh is manifest.

We are encouraged to look at not Christ’s face, but the instruments of his Passion. Our attention is directed to the cross by the effortless cross-body gesture of the left arm and the entwining movement of the right leg. With his powerful but graceful hands, Christ cradles the cross, and the separated index fingers direct us first to the cross and then heavenward. Christ presents us with the symbols of his Passion – the tangible recollection of his earthly suffering. Behind Christ and barely visible between his legs we see the cloth in which Christ was wrapped when he was in the tomb. He has just shed the earthly shroud; it is in the midst of slipping to earth. In this suspended instant, Christ is completely and properly nude.

We must imagine how the figure must have appeared in its original setting, within the darkened confines of an elevated niche. Christ steps forth, as though from the tomb and the shadow of death. Foremost are the symbols of the Passion, which Christ will leave behind when he ascends to heaven.

Why was Michelangelo compelled to portray Christ completely naked in a way that was bound to trouble some Christians? It was not out of a desire to blaspheme. On the contrary, this genius – poet, architect and painter as well as the greatest sculptor who has ever lived – was not only a faithful Christian but someone who thought deeply about theology. You can bet he had good religious reasons to depict Christ in full nudity.

But it would be complacent to think there was no tension in showing Christ nude. The fact that The Risen Christ in Santa Maria still has its covering proves how real those tensions are. The fundamental reason Michelangelo could get away with it was that he was Michelangelo. By the time he created this statue, he had the Sistine Chapel ceiling (with all its male nudes) under his belt and was the most famous artist in the world.

For centuries, the faithful have kissed the advanced foot of Christ, for like Mary Magdalene and doubting Thomas, they wish for some sort of physical contact with the Risen Christ. To carve a life-size marble statue of a naked Christ certainly was audacious, but it is also theologically appropriate. Michelangelo’s contemporaries recognised, more easily than modern viewers, that the Risen Christ was a moving and profoundly beautiful sculpture that was true to the sacred story.

#the risen christ #michelangelo #marble #church #christian #beauty #aesthetics #statue #religious #renaissance #history #rome #bernini #art #arts #culture #society #religion #sculpture

[bitch-biblioklept]

The Darkling x f!oc

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 <you are here> Part 8

Chapter-7 The Winter Fete

Chapter Summary: With Alina finally harnessing her powers, revenge seems closer than ever to the Darkling. Baghra is afraid of losing the human her son was, and regrets making some decisions.

Word Count: 1.7k

(my gif)

It was done, the sun summoner had finally learnt to harness her powers. Revenge had never seemed closer than now.

The Darkling was ecstatic on finding out that Alina had finally summoned. He might even have done a little happy dance when he was alone, but he would never admit it.

The Grand Palace and the Little Palace had been decorated wildly, untastefully, but he didn’t care much. His time to avenge the assassination of his wife was close, and Zlatan was finally going to pay for his sins. The Darkling even agreed to put up a show for the sake of entertainment.

Alina had started looking better, her face was fuller and less sallow so her similarity to Serephina had almost entirely disappeared. And her blue and gold kefta was a big difference as well. His darling had always adorned a black kefta with silver embroideries on it, and the colors of all the classes; Coporalki, Etherealki, Materialki on the cuff of the sleeves. She had also preferred to wear traditional Suli clothes, even if that made most of the counts mad. She had never shied away from her heritage.

Aleksander had vividly remembered the functions in their wedding with the Suli people, it had been grander than anything he had ever seen since. The Suli were great people too, warm and welcoming to everyone. On finding that they were Grisha, they worshiped them like saints. Sankt Colvin and Sankta Rohini, they were given these lovely names to keep their identity a secret.

He didn’t dwell on the memory too much, but kept it in the back of his mind, in the reachable range to keep up his happy spirits, to remind himself of what Ravka had taken from him after he had worshipped her all his life. Ravka was a drowning woman who dragged his lover with her.

Koroleva Alina, the people chanted on seeing her display of her powers. Koroleva Alina, this is what Serephina had been called when she had caught the attention of the king. The trust between the Grisha and the non-Grisha was fragile and there just because he had won a war for him.

The king had been a recent widower, having lost his queen in the battle between the Ravkan kingdom and the Shu queendom. He was looking for a queen, and that was when he had caught Serephina, who was going by the name Alina at the time, catering to the guests dressed in a servant’s uniform.

“You, you right there,” the king pointed in her direction, and she stilled wondering if she did something wrong. “Come here,”

And keeping the mask of a meek, terrified woman afraid she had done something to offend the king, she walked. Her eyes briefly found his, and she found the grey eyes a bit wide in anticipation.

The noblemen eyed her up and down as she walked in the center of the throne room, a few even making passing remarks on her beauty. Aleksander would have clawed their eyes out right then and there if it weren’t for a gentle gust of wind asking him to calm down.

“You are so beautiful, dear.” The King said. The entire throne room quieted. “What is your name?”

She kept her eyes trained to the marble floor. “Alina, Moi tsar.”

“I am making you one of my personal servants from now on, Alina.” the king declared. “You will be taking care of my son, the prince.”

She looked at him for help, but said, “As you wish, Moi tsar,”

“Good, you are dismissed for now.” The king said. She hurriedly left, but her eyes found his from across the throne room. What had just happened?

They hadn’t guessed that it would be for keeping an eye on her, her behavior, who she met and how she acted. And on seeing perfection, the king had decided that she would be his Queen.

The Darkling gripped his flute of champagne too tightly, hearing a crack and loosened his grip. He downed the contents and left the glass for a servant to take. Serephina said the king had never touched her, and he knew she wouldn’t lie to him. They had even had separate chambers, (he would know, he visited her almost every night,) and her only job was the raise the prince and host the important political guests.

It had hurt him, it had hurt him terribly to see them in public, to see the king holding her nimble hand, kissing her cheek, having her at him arm, when he should have been the one doing all this. The King had loved her, he truly had. But to him she was Alina, and he died knowing that she was Alina.

But for Aleksander she had been Serephina, and she would always be Serephina.

And when the king had taken ill and died around two years later, Koroleva Alina had been given the throne, for the prince was too young to rule. She had raised the prince to become a king, she was raising him to become the king, but he was still too young.

And the years she had ruled had been Ravka’s golden age. The fifteen years she had sat on the throne were the best Ravka had ever seen. The young king took that further after she had faked her demise and it was more than half a century of prosperity and peace for the people.

It was then that he had decided he had to marry her with proper customs and had taken her to the thorn wood monastery in the forest. There the Suli had taken care of them, organized their grand wedding and had made them their Saints.

He was forcing himself out of his memories of her when Ivan had tapped his shoulder to get his attention.

“The trackers have returned.” Ivan said.

“What do they say?” The Darkling asked.

“They found it.”

This was the happiest he had been in fifteen years. His plans would unravel themselves soon enough.

Soon, Moya milaya. Soon. He promised.

.

Baghra was in her hut, pacing around, and waiting for her maid to return with information. She had never before felt this anxious. Maybe, maybe she should just tell him the truth.

She was just pondering all her options when the maid returned, panting. “They found the stag.” She said.

They couldn’t have, it was supposed to be a myth! No one had ever seen it before, then how did the trackers find it? Were they lying to get away from the Darkling’s wrath? Yes, that should be it. There wasn’t any stag found and the trackers were lying. But who would even dare to lie to the Darkling?

So many things were swarming in her head, and there had to be a way that would stop him. If he found the stag and took control of Alina’s powers, he was done for. Ravka was done for. Her son would be gone, pushed beyond the edge of redemption.

She will have to stop him before her son becomes one of his own abominations. There should be a way.

If Serephina was here, she would have thought fast. What would she have done? Baghra paced around, her fingers dancing against each other as her palms sweat. Sere had known Aleksander better than anyone, better than Baghra knew her own son, and that had been a cause of beef between the two of them, albeit it was mostly from her own side because she wanted to spare her son from the heart break and pain of separation that she had suffered.

What would she do? What would she do?

Nothing would distract him, no. She could pretend to faint, but he would call a healer and everything would be a waste of time. Maybe she should run away. She knew him well enough that he would come looking for her first and then go after the stag.

Serephina wouldn’t need anything to distract him. She would have just smiled in his face and he would melt instantly, Baghra scowled at the thought. She wouldn’t even have to smile… she could ask him for his head and he wouldn’t even blink before agreeing. How did Sere get that kind of trust from Aleksander, that would always be a mystery for her, but Sere would do anything for him too. Hell, she had done a lot things for his gain or to save his life.

She decided to think of something else. She wasn’t Serephina and she couldn’t do anything of what Sere could do. It was wasting a lot of her precious minutes.

Baghra didn’t even have much time to think before the Darkling was at her door, knocking. The maid rushed out on seeing him, bowing her head in greeting, muttered a quick “Moi soverennyi,” and then disappeared behind the woods somewhere. Hopefully she wouldn’t be here to hear the experience firsthand.

“My men have found the stag,” He declared. His slate eyes were dancing with amusement she had never seen on him. His thirst for revenge had pulled him under.

There was only one way to stop him now. Maybe if she had had more time, Baghra would have thought a way to stop him without really telling him the truth. Maybe the truth wouldn’t have been uncovered this way. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

But she was old, and her mind wasn’t as sharp as it had once been. So she told him the truth, the only way that she thought was appropriate in that moment. She knew it would stop him, change his sense of reality. He might even attack her for lying to him. But it would save him from falling over the edge. He will still be human.

Baghra knew she was going to regret it, that one decision had been the worst she had ever made in her life, but that had seemed like the good way back then. She hadn’t considered that he would drown himself in this thirst for a bloody revenge.

“Serephina is alive,” Baghra’s mouth told the truth before her mind could think of anything else.

*sorry for the cliffhanger there 🤓*

#shadow and bone #the darkling #aleksander morozova #general kirigan #ben barnes #general kirigan imagine #shadow and bone imagine #the darkling imagine #the darkling x f!oc #the darkling x reader

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Baby, Please Come Home // A Very Harry Potter Christmas (D.M.)

Summary: For as long as you have loved Draco Malfoy, you had celebrated Christmas with him. This year, however, things could be different.

A/N: Here is my fic for A Very Harry Potter Christmas orchestrated by @whack-ed and @jamilelucato! My prompt is day five: digging out christmas ornaments. I hope you all like!

Warnings: fluff, christmas decorations, missing someone, lots of feelings

Word count: 2k (I’m sorry it isn't longer!)

There was one time of year that you simply adored. From the moment the hands of the clock ticked over to the first of December, childish excitement and glee filled you.

It was the build-up combined with the shopping and innocent secrets to do with gifts that had your stomach in a whirl and your heart pounding. Each year you tried to outdo yourself; searching for the one gift that would bring out the shine in Draco’s smile, though he liked to remind you that you were indeed the cause of such a shine.

This year felt different, however. It wasn’t that you weren’t excited, and it wasn’t that you weren’t prepared. It was the fact that there was worry brewing deep within you that Draco would not be able to make it home in time for Christmas.

Sending him away had been hard on you both, but it had to be done. An opportunity such as the one he had been offered was not something to be missed. Invited back to the school of witchcraft and wizardry that had educated him so thoroughly, Draco had been offered the chance to lecture some of the advance students in the art of healing.

The letter offering him the job arrived on the doorstep in the last week of August. Thinking back to it, you remember the trembling of his hands as he read over McGonagall’s words and what she was proposing. There hadn’t been any other answer than yes. You had seen it in his eyes when he handed you the letter; promising not to go, but to stay with you.

A shake of your head stopped his rambling; kept him frozen to the spot as you called him a fool for thinking he would turn this opportunity down. Draco had argued; he didn’t want to leave you for so long, knowing he would miss you too much. Whilst it flattered and sent your heart racing in your chest, you urged him to accept, telling him how good this would be for him.

Eventually, he relented. Draco wrote back to McGonagall, accepting the job offer and tell her he would see her on the first day of term.

Three months on and it was hard. It had been hard to wave him away; bag in hand, filled with his belongings. Draco had left you with a long, hard kiss, promising to be back in time for Christmas.

December brought with it colder days and longer nights. It brought with it frozen breath and warm scarves. To you, December was the month of traditions.

The first weekend in December was time dedicated to decorating the house you have shared with Draco for the last two years. Moving in together once spotting the perfect cottage for you to make your first home.

The attic is warm and musty when you open the door, switching on the small light. Wiping a hand across your forehead, it takes no time at all to spy the boxes. They’re piled up to the left of the door, strings of red and gold tinsel peeking out of the top as if they were too excited for the holiday season to descend and chose to start the decorating without you.

As you place the final box in the living room, your phone rings. The smile that crosses your face when you see Draco’s name flash on the screen is large and filled with love.

“Love,” You greet.

“Darling,” He replies, “How are you?”

“I’m okay,” You comment, opening the closest box to you. “How are you? How is Hogwarts?”

“Hogwarts is fine. It’s just not the same without you.”

You smile though he cannot see you. It had been at Hogwarts that your friendship first developed which then grew into a relationship in your Fifth Year when Draco quietly confessed his feelings for you. He had wanted you to know the truth, he said, in case things start to take a turn for the worse.

Things did take a turn for the worst; a war broke out, but you persisted. You kept your hold of Draco, standing by his side through it all. Even now, years later, Draco reminded you that he would never be able to pay you back for the kindness you showed him through those years.

You laugh, memories of the enchanting castle and searing kisses behind tapestries taking over your mind, “Do you remember-”

“That night in the Room of Requirement?” Draco finishes: laughter lightening his voice as he remembers the very same night.

You snort, “I think we missed all our morning classes the day after.”

“We did,” Draco confirms; his voice warm, “But I would do it all again.”

Heat fills your face and you’re suddenly hit with how much you miss him. It came and went in waves; each one stronger than the last but as you look at the numerous boxes labelled ‘Christmas decorations’ in Draco’s elegant scrawl, you cannot help but miss him fiercely.

If he were here right now, music would be playing, and smiles would be bright. Draco’s area of expertise was always the tree; it was his job to place the tree topper on at the end. The tree would be glowing with its lights, the tinsel would be shimmering away, but the tree was not complete until Draco had placed the golden tree topper on.

A deep ache fills you at the awful realisation that it may have to be you to finish the tree this year.

Quietly, you mumble into the phone, “I miss you.”

“I miss you too. So much. I’ll try to be home as fast as I can,” Draco whispers; his voice filled with promise.

“I know you will,” You murmur, willing yourself not to cry on the phone to him.

“How is the decorating going?” Draco asks, desperate to change the subject and not linger on uncertainties.

You laugh mirthlessly, glancing around the bare living room filled with boxes, “I haven’t started.”

“What?” Draco exclaims, shock resounding through his tone, “You’re usually done by now and I’m trying to persuade you otherwise.”

You shrug your shoulders even though Draco can’t see you. “I don’t know,” You state, trailing off before picking your train of thought back up, “It just didn’t feel the same without you.”

Draco is silent for a minute. No sound comes from his end of the phone until you hear him whisper, “Darling…”

“I know, I know,” You repeat, “You’ll try to be home as fast as you can but love, please come home.”

Draco hangs up, whispering an ‘I love you’ before coming off the phone. Pulling the device away from your ear, you stare down at your wallpaper. An image of you and Draco from last Christmas – his arm hooked around your waist with his body angled towards you. Hermione had snapped the photo without either of your noticing. The smile on your face the result of whatever draco happened to be whispering in your ear.

Looking around the too-large living room, you found it hard to remember a single Christmas without Draco. The boxes of Christmas decorations all called to you; all wanting to be put up and shown to the world.

Digging through the first box, you feel tears spring to your eyes as you hold the first ornament daintily in both hands. A grand glass bauble given to you by Draco; inside holds a small winter scene that never fails to remind you of a winter holiday shared some years ago. Draco bought it on a whim; being reminded of the very same holiday. He had presented it to you, smiling through the kiss you had given him before placing the bauble on the forever green tree.

Sighing, you fold your arms, protecting yourself from the dread wanting to crush you. He had to come home for Christmas; he simply had to.

-----------

The day continues to be slow; small decorations placed on the mantle piece and bookshelves. It is just about as much as you can handle without Draco by your side.

As night descends, you climb the stairs, filled with the increasing hope that Draco would be home soon to finish adorning your home with Christmas cheer.

Settling your head on your pillow, you automatically reach out to the other side of the bed, already beginning to dream of a morning when you wake to find him lying beside you.

A crash and a bang from down below has you leaping out of bed and reaching for your wand. Your heart pounds in your chest as you hold your wand to your chest, ready to hex whoever it may be in your home. In your head, you go through possible reasons for anyone to enter your home. The war had been over for years; Draco had repented – there had been no sense of danger for a long time.

Adrenaline courses through your veins as you tiptoe downstairs. Pausing at the door to the living room, you spy a figure rifling through the boxes of decorations still left to put up. The figure is tall and lithe, yet it is too dark to see any defining features.

You let out a screech as you force your way into the room, wand at the ready.

“Darling! It’s me!” The voice shouts, hands coming up to rest above their head.

“Draco!” You shout, “What are you doing here?”

“I heard the sadness in your voice, and I knew I had to come home to you.”

“And give me a heart attack?”

Draco smiles bashfully, “That part was accident, I promise.”

“I’d hope so.”

“Darling?” Draco calls.

“Yes?”

“Will you put your wand down now? There’s no threat.”

“Oh,” you gasp, realising you still had the wand pointed at the love of your life. You drop your wand, placing it gently on the chest of drawers before turning back to face the man who had stolen your heart and had yet to give to back.

It is then that you realise who exactly stands before you with a boyish grin and mischief bright in his grey eyes. You launch yourself into his arms; Draco catching you in his own. He laughs, the sound loud in your ear. His strong arms are tight around your waist as he buried his face in your neck, inhaling deeply, feeling evermore at home in your arms.

“You’re home,” You whisper, voice full of awe.

“I’m home,” He confirms, lips brushing over the soft skin of your neck making you shiver.

Stepping away from him, you take your first look at the newly decorated living room. A dark green wreath sits on the living room door, centred perfectly. Next, your eyes spy the garland wrapping around the mantle piece, warm lights shining from it as they reflect from the metallic snowmen standing behind it.

It’s like a winter wonderland.

Draco keeps a tight hold on you, his arm wrapped around your waist. You spin his arms, your face a picture of wonderment, “Draco, did you do all this?”

Draco leans down, pressing a long awaited kiss to your cheek before replying. “I started it without you, but I think I need your help for the rest.”

“Why?”

“You sounded so sad on the phone. I know how much you love traditions and decorating the house is one of ours. I asked McGonagall to leave early, and she said yes.”

“She said yes?”

Draco nods, smiling, “She said yes, so I walked to Hogsmeade and apparated home… to you.”

“I’m glad you’re home,” You whisper, voice truthful.

“I’m glad I’m home too.”

You smile, leaning into his warm body. Turning your face to him, you smile widely before pulling him in for a long kiss. Breaking away, you ask, “What else is there left to do?”

He laughs, ducking down for one more kiss before answering, “Just the tree. Do you think you’re up for it?”

Leaving the warmth of his arms, you wander over to the box of decorations you had brought downstairs only yesterday. Reaching for a golden bauble, you hold it out to Draco, “More than up for it.”

*****

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen @theweasleysredhair @harrypotter289 @kalimagik @heloisedaphnebrightmore @nebulablakemurphy @figlia--della--luna @idont-knowrn @liilyevanss @big-galaxy-chaos @black-lake-confessions @annasofiaearlobe @imboredandneedalife @levylovegood @mytreec @haphazardhufflepuff @teheharrypotter @chaoticgirl04 @accio-rogers @starlightweasley @dreaming-about-fanfictions @lestersglitterglue @msmimimerton @obx-beach @izzytheninja @slytherinprincess03 @bbeauttyybbx @breadqueen95 @acciotwinz @kylosleftbuttcheek @kashishwrites @slytherinsunrise @remmyswritings @they-write-once-in-a-blue-moon @ria-rests-here @superbturtlemakerathlete @inglourious-imagines @ithilwen-lionheart @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown @ilovejjmaybank @theonly1outof-a-billion @phuvioqhile @moatsnow

Draco Malfoy taglist: @the--queen-of-hell @sycathorn-slush @obxmxybxnk @obx-beach​ @dracomalfoyswifey​ @kashishwrites​ @justmesadgirl​ @detroitobsessed​ @reaganwonders​ @aspiringsloth20​ @just-a-belgian-girl​ @lahoete​ @minty-malfoy​ @fallinallinmendes​ @ravenclawbitch426​ @ochrythum​ @beiahadid​ @gryffindors-weasley​ @dracosathenaeum​

#Draco Malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco x reader #draco malfoy imagines #a very harry potter christmas