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bitchassbucky · 3 years

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.eps (explicit)

Word Count: 2k

Warning/s: dark!bucky x dark!reader, MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, blood mention, gore and dismemberment/beheading, murder, toxic/abusive relationship dynamics, sedation/drugging/use of sedative, stockholm syndrome-ish, one very special character reveal

A/N: i told y'all there's more <3 the special character treat is for @sarge-barnes-sir mwah!

this is queued shdhhsh gonna fix the links in the mornin’

PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS ABOVE, IF YOU DON'T WANT TO READ THIS VERSION, GO AND CHECK OUT THE NON-EXPLICIT VERSION.

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Safeness, comfortability, warmth are all but a false sense of reality.

When a prey takes down its walls, the predator moves in. Camouflaged in familiar colors, in words that you’re used to hearing, in praises, in lies. Most predators use the mask of the night to move in darkness—unyielding and calculated. Come morning, there will be only one left alive, tainted with victory and bloodshed.

You and Bucky have been engaging in a dance for two—a battle of who’s willing to take the leap of faith and unleash hell upon the other.

Stifled smiles and pursed lips.

The air is filled with unsaid irritants, little things that ticked away like bombs.

There was no time for pleading, no time for mercy, no rest for the wicked.

Did you still love each other?

How far are you willing to go to keep up with his… complacency?

Bucky’s mundane life already taking a toll on you. The endless nightmares of him feeling you. The swirling vision of Bucky being with you every waking—and sleeping—moment: it grates your soul to shreds.

“We’ll be together forever, right?”

“Yes, darling.”

“What about the day after forever?”

“That too, honey.”

Where was the man you loved so deeply? The man that broke his morals just to be with you?

Was he under this hull of a Yes Man? A poor little thing that says ‘yes’ to everything like a puppy.

The man you held so dearly now slipping away, chipping his humanity, shedding the once-human.

“Would you marry me tomorrow if I asked you?”

“Of course, baby, why wouldn’t I?”

“Would you kill for me?”

“I’m meant to do the same for you.”

It’s irritating how Bucky gave up too quickly. Too fast, moving too fast. The gazelle let the lion tear its neck as it lay there, unmoving, letting the blood seep into its hide.

When you first met Bucky, it was your own fairytale unfolding before your eyes. Kismet, reality, forgiveness from above. He was soft and shy, passionate, lively.

Far from what you expected from a man his age—you blame Steve for forcing you into his narrative before. That all men are out to get you. They will hurt you. They will use you and leave you for good. But Bucky? Bucky came in like a knight. He saved you from the carcass of your past. He saved you from the sins that you prayed and knelt for.

Bucky taught you how to love.

Bucky taught you how to live for yourself.

Bucky taught you that being alone doesn’t mean you have to be lonely.

“It was an unspoken little thing, wasn’t it?”

“What thing, baby?”

“Our love.”

“Yes, honey, it was.”

He worships you.

He worships you like a fucking God and you hate it.

Suffocating, too suffocating. You dove straight for the water and now you’re drowning.

Do you still love each other? The question hangs in the air, heavy with its weight, light as a feather.

It’s all your fault. It’s all your fault. It’s all your fault. It’s all your fault.

So you stand there with a syringe half-filled with a horse sedative. It’s a concern how easy it is to waltz into a pet store and pick up a general anesthetic. You make a mental note to look at it later.

Bucky’s body slumps forward, his forehead meeting the edge of the table with a dull thud. If the overdose doesn’t kill him, the weeping crack in his head will.

Holy fuck, humans bleed a lot. And fast. Good thing you already have that clear tarp taped down. Even with the hush money stuffed down your throat, it would take a good nick to regrout the kitchen.

“What is that for, honey?”

“I’m painting the cabinets.”

“Okay, darling.”

So you let him bleed, surprised that the liquid is redder than what you thought it would be. A soft gurgling noise came from Bucky, the last of air escaping his dead body. You stood there, syringe in hand, as you thought how to dispose of a six-foot-tall man without arousing suspicion.

Not that he’ll be missed anyway: the local news and the internet already branded him as a psycho and you as a victim. You were both victims in this fairytale. They reported his case as “skipped the town like the sicko he is.” So, no—no one’s going to look for him.

The sun was high up in the sky and there was a dead body in your kitchen.

A butcher and a surgeon walks into a bar for a drink. “What do you do for a living?” Said the butcher, “I save lives! What about you?” The doctor answers. “I save animals from dying slowly. We’re basically the same. You’re just very clean.” You see, the butcher comes into the bar covered in blood, reeking of death. The surgeon, on the other hand, wears his white coat with pride even though he’s surrounded by death every passing second.

Today was the day you learned that you have the tools of a butcher and the precision of a surgeon. Unlike before.

You carefully take Bucky’s fingers off of his left hand, leaving a skin flap on the edge of the last knuckle for you to stitch close later. Four promises. Four goddamn promises and he broke all of them.

It was his fault that he’s dead. He made you do this.

Starting with his left shoulder, you jab the knife between the bone and the soft flesh of his armpit, bringing the blade downwards. The sickening smell of blood swirled along with the image of muscle and fat being sliced made you gag.

Does the brain know that it’s seeing something it shouldn’t?

A rational part of you wanted to look away but the time is ticking, it’ll be much harder once rigor mortis sets in an hour.

You swing the knife down, cracking the bone once, and then again, and again, and again until the shoulder bone splinters and dislocates itself from the rest of Bucky’s torso. You had to switch knives and blades and a fucking bone saw to get through the rest of his limbs, leaving only his chest, head, and stomach untouched. After taping up and packing the arms and the legs, you work on putting the rest of Bucky into a nondescript suitcase.

The only problem being his head getting into the way of things.

Wanting to preserve even a shred of his dignity, you left his face untouched. Well, save from the crack in his skull.

You begrudgingly take a hefty chef’s knife and start cutting through the jugular vein, only stopping when the blade hits the spinal cord by his nape. The serrated blade of the bone saw sits on your blood-soaked gloves, scrape-scrape-scraping until it snaps into two.

The human head weighs around 10 pounds, kinda like a bowling ball.

An opaque black garbage bag containing Bucky’s head looks nothing suspicious as you put it inside a backpack—into a firepit you go.

His limbs—arms and legs alike—are going deep into the ocean, forgotten and to be used as fish food.

The limbless torso will be finding its home in a deep hole in the middle of a densely wooded area, far from the city.

But you’re not quite sure what to do with the mason jar of teeth though; the clinking noises of it remind you of the seashells you used to collect when you were a kid. Maybe you’ll stash it away with the torso.

Placing the bags into the trunk of a rental, you begin your journey to the end of your fairytale.

The drive to and from the places was tiring, to say the least. The internet connection of the diners was spotty at best. Locals were overly friendly with the city folks who came passing through their towns. The roads reek of roadkill and manure from the farm animals that were left to roam for fresh grass.

At least you get to come home in a spotless apartment, alone once again.

But not lonely.

Your space is yours again. No trace of anyone anywhere. Immaculately yours.

—

Humans are social creatures.

No one can truly be alone, especially in today’s world where we’re connected to everyone—whether we liked it or not.

Leaving your wretched job behind was an easy feat to do. No one can say no to the victim of such a vile crime. That’s all they saw you: a helpless little thing. So off you went; saying half-assed goodbyes and sending emails of courage and hope and fucking resilience.

Your resignation meant that the company’s free of any dirt from you, Bucky’s disappearance quickly becoming a joke and a rumor blending in one.

They let you leave: in your bank account a fat check ensuring that you’d shut up about the scandal for months until you can’t feed yourself no more. So you packed your bags and jet off without looking back. You never liked that apartment anyway.

Nevertheless, you found yourself looking into another dead-end job in one of the towns you stopped over before. It’s a charming place like time froze in their plaza while the rest of the world went on. You found a small studio apartment in a street tuckered away from the main avenue, you settled there as days became nights and nights turned into days.

You woke up one morning craving a healthy serving of coffee and pancakes, luckily the town’s local diner wasn’t far from your new home.

The coffee was too hot, the pancakes were amazing, fluffy, and just right. You’re sitting in a sunny booth, the warmth doing its wonders.

“Hi, can I get today’s paper, please?” Your voice is sweet as you call your server, giving her a quick smile.

A pair of Raybans adorn your face, unconsciously hiding behind its darkened glasses. The waitress gives you a thick stack of newspapers, refilling your cup with black coffee.

Upon opening the paper, you ignore the town’s headlines and went straight for the job postings. The door jingled open as patrons come in and go, waving to familiar faces.

Job Vacancy Announcements

Secretary to the Town Sheriff

You skimmed over the rest of the details, only noting the address of the office. The job looks quite lucrative for someone who would only take messages and organize files for the sheriff.

Looking over the job posting again, you read over the words walk-ins only. That shouldn’t be hard enough.

The diner looked deserted save from the man sitting behind your booth. Leaning over and tapping his shoulder, you put on a polite smile, “Hi, sorry, do you know how to get to the sheriff’s office from here?”

“Hello, darling.” The man croons in an accent, he looks over to you, “join me in my booth, will ‘ya?”

You’re in no position to reject his proposal, you’re the one who needed an answer.

Taking your coffee cup, you slide into his booth, “hi.”

“Just the face I wanted to see.” Clean-shaven, a hint of mint and smoke, and something woody; a worn leather jacket and white button-up shirt hugging his soft frame. “Some folks over on the apartment complex were talkin’ about a city girl wanting to rent a studio all by herself. That happen to be you?”

You look over to him, trying to understand how that small of news spread like a wildfire, “yeah. I moved in a week ago.”

He leans over, smiling sweetly as he unabashedly lets his eyes roam your features, “What’s a city girl like you doin’ in a place like this? I hope we ain’t too boring for you, gal.”

Chatty—he’s way too chatty.

“Just wanted a change of pace, really. Away from the bustle of the city.” You rustle the paper, clearing your throat to get back on the matter on hand, “so the sheriff’s office? Is it too far from here?”

“What business are ‘ya bringing into the office?”

“A job, actually. Says here that they’re looking for a secretary.” You might as well tell him everything, he seems too chatty to be dismissed over and over again.

“Well, darlin’, today’s your lucky day. No need to drive down the old road.” He reaches down to his seat, pulling up a brown hat, “Hi, I’m Sheriff Bodecker. Now, to whom do I owe the pleasure?”

You bite back a giggle, you’ve always wanted to be involved with the law.

#bitchassbucky writes #dark!bucky #dark!bucky x reader #dark!bucky x reader smut #dark!bucky barnes x fluff #dark!bucky x reader angst #dark!bucky barnes x reader #dark!bucky barnes x reader smut #dark!bucky barnes x reader angst

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earliebirb · 4 years

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under the silvery moon

An Anon asked for some dancing stevetony! I hope you like it, Anon! 🤍

under the silvery moon

steve/tony, fluff, established relationship, 1912 words

“Captain, you have truly outdone yourself.”

Steve feels his own lips break into an answering grin at the familiar voice.

Tony pads across the wide stretch of distance between the entrance to the rooftop and where Steve is seated on a picnic blanket, spread on top of the grass Tony had had installed to replace the linoleum flooring—something he did to cater to Steve’s love of gardening. The previously sleek, minimalistic, and barren rooftop has been converted into a flourishing garden filled with various plants and flowers of different colors, shapes, and sizes courtesy of Steve’s green thumb.

Right now, the garden has fairy lights strung all over it. They are hung on the branches of various plants, looping around bushes and flowers, giving off a magical yellow glow that is reminiscent of fireflies.

On the picnic blanket, Steve has prepared multiple layers of fluffy blankets for them to snuggle under, as well as several cushions and pillows. A bottle of wine is sitting in a bucket of ice and a bag filled with takeout from their favorite Italian restaurant is sitting right next to it.

He watches Tony approach him, unabashedly indulging in the sight of him. Tony’s steps are easy and unhurried. Still dressed in a crisp white shirt and black pants, suit jacket slung over his shoulder and red tie loosened haphazardly, he gazes at Steve with a warm smile and a pair of tired eyes—remnants of a long work day.

Steve’s heart clenches at how much Tony looks like home—Steve’s home. There is nothing he wants more in the world than an armful of Tony right now—his weary eyes, his messy hair, the scrape of his goatee against Steve’s skin. Steve wants all of it.

So when Tony finally reaches him and lies comfortably on the picnic blanket, head nestled in Steve’s lap and legs stretched out, it doesn’t come as a surprise when a knot loosens in his chest, an immediate reaction to Tony’s touch—the ache that only Tony can soothe finally ebbing away. It is as if his heart has decided that this is the way things ought to be—both of them pressed close together, all day, everyday.

“The garden’s beautiful,” Tony says.

Steve smiles and Tony blinks when Steve’s fingers brush his hair back in slow, sweeping strokes.

“I had to do something of this caliber, at the very least, to beat the lovely evening you planned for us last week.”

“Why did you cancel the reservation, anyway? You were really excited to go to Romano’s just a few days ago.”

“No special reason. Just didn’t feel like going out and dealing with people after all.” Steve strokes the soft hair of Tony’s right eyebrow absentmindedly. “I want you all to myself tonight.”

A radiant smile blooms on Tony’s face, accentuating all the laugh lines he has accumulated over the years. The glow of the fairy lights is reflected in his eyes, twinkling gold flecks swimming in brown irises.

Tony fakes a scandalous gasp, eyes blinking up at Steve with mischief.

“Are the rumors true, Captain? Is Tony Stark-Rogers your favorite person on earth?”

Steve raises an eyebrow, playing along. “Oh,” he whispers conspiratorially, leaning down to bring their mouths together in a kiss that leaves Tony mesmerized and panting, “Tony Stark-Rogers is my favorite human being in the entire universe.”

He kisses the space between Tony’s eyebrows, chuckling when he sees Tony’s eyes cross as they try to track the movement of Steve’s face leaning in.

When Steve pulls back, Tony intertwines his fingers with Steve’s, squeezing his hand lightly. Tony lets their joined hands rest atop his chest, on the spot where the arc reactor used to be. The heat of Tony’s skin seeps through his shirt.

“You’re my favorite person, too, honey bunches.”

They stay like that for a while, relishing the quiet intimacy of each other’s company, the sound of New York City’s busy nightlife accompanying them from way down below. It all sounds far away, though. Up here, everything is tranquil and peaceful, just he and Tony in a world of their own.

“Let’s eat before the food gets cold.” Tony sits up. Immediately, Steve’s thighs feel cold and bereft.

When Tony stretches his limbs, groaning at the release of endorphins in his body, his ankle grazes the sole of Steve’s foot. He startles at the contact, surprised by Steve’s freezing cold skin.

“You feeling cold, sweetheart?” Tony’s eyebrows crease together in concern. He grabs one of the fleece blankets, wrapping the soft fabric snug around Steve’s cold feet. “I can go down and get you a pair of socks.”

“No, it’s fine. Just a bit chilly,” Steve says, heart warm at how taking care of Steve has become something second nature to Tony. Something done without conscious thought, akin to muscle memory.

Among Tony’s many expressions of love, small gestures during quiet moments like this are the ones Steve cherishes the most. He falls just a little bit deeper in love with Tony, every single time.

After making sure no part of Steve’s feet are exposed to the cold night air, Tony rummages in the takeout bag. “Which one’s mine?”

“Yours is the carbonara. Mine’s the aglio e olio. There’s garlic bread and caprese salad, too.”

They wolf down the food with a few glasses of wine, talking about the day they had. Steve grumbles about SHIELD paperwork and a mishap during weapons training. Tony rambles about a promising new deal with a biotech company in Japan that is still in the works. Their work separates the two of them more often than Steve would have liked, and not for the first time, he is immensely glad for the system they have taken years to cultivate: having weekly date nights whenever possible and not being away from each other for more than two weeks at a time. Three, if push comes to shove.

After an anecdote about Happy’s driving antics that has Tony giggling uncontrollably, Steve reaches over to turn on the speaker Tony gave him for his birthday a few years ago. Although Tony has thoughtfully modeled its vintage design after old radios from the forties, the sound it produces is of the highest quality—Tony wouldn’t settle for anything less, of course.

Steve connects the speaker to his phone before picking something slow and sweet out of a playlist of his favorites, old jazz that reminds him of the neighborhood he grew up in. It is the kind of song he would hear coming out of one of his neighbors’ windows, one that would linger in his head for days afterward.

A gentle melody on the piano begins and a lady starts to croon sweetly about tender love and foolish hearts.

Turning to Tony, he holds out a hand. “Dance with me?”

With Tony’s hand in his, Steve leads him off the blanket, both of them standing barefoot on the grass. Tony loops his hands around Steve’s neck and Steve settles his hands on Tony’s hips. They begin to sway gently in tune to the music, falling into a companionable silence. When Tony rests his cheek against Steve’s chest, eyes gazing at the skyscrapers in the distance, Steve rests his chin on the crown of Tony’s head, closing his eyes.

Somewhere during the second verse of the next song on Steve’s playlist, Tony says something, breaking Steve’s reverie. He opens his eyes.

“What?”

“I can hear your heartbeat.”

“Yeah? How does it sound?”

“Steady. It usually lulls me to sleep.” Tony yawns.

“You sleepy, sweetheart?” Steve plants a kiss into Tony’s hair.

A beat, and then:

“A little. But let’s stay like this for a little longer.”

At the end of the fourth song, Tony pulls back from his resting place on Steve’s chest to look up at him. Steve meets his gaze, warmth flooding his chest at the sight of the content smile on Tony’s face.

Maybe it’s New York City’s night air, or the fairy lights illuminating the rooftop, or the sentimental love songs flowing from the speaker, or the way Tony is gazing up at him like there is nowhere else he would rather be, or perhaps even all of those things combined, but the next thing Steve knows, he finds himself saying:

“Do me a favor, sweetheart?”

Tony tilts his head, curiosity bleeding into his eyes.

“Never change. Stay like this forever,” Steve whispers.

“What? Super sexy and irresistible?”

Steve chuckles, burying his laughter in Tony’s dark locks. He pulls Tony close as he looks up at the night sky.

“Stay like this. Stay mine. Stay with me.” Steve swallows. “Please never get tired of me.”

That gives Tony pause. Steve feels him still, pausing their slow dance. Then Steve feels warm hands cupping his cheeks, bringing his gaze back down to earth, back home, back to Tony.

Something shifts in Tony’s eyes upon catching sight of Steve’s watery eyes.

“Hey, what brought this on?” Tony asks, voice uncharacteristically gentle.

Steve sniffs, laughing sheepishly, a little embarrassed at being so sentimental.

“Nothing, I’m just—” Steve takes a deep breath, tightening his hold around Tony. “Just really grateful for you.”

Tony’s thumbs sweep his eyelids gently, wiping his tears away.

“Hey, look at me.”

When Steve opens his eyes, lovely brown eyes are staring right at him.

“I don’t know about staying like this forever, sweetheart. I mean, I know I look absolutely ravishing right now, but you know I already have a few wrinkles and some white hair here and there.”

Steve rolls his eyes. As if those would ever render Tony less beautiful in his eyes. He even has a not-so-secret partiality for Tony’s salt-and-pepper hair—something Tony still finds difficult to believe.

“But! You have my word that you are, quite unfortunately, stuck with me for the rest of your life. I’m sorry, darling, but I did warn you that marrying Tony Stark comes with a no-return policy.”

Steve laughs even as he feels something glow incandescent within him, brighter and warmer than the sun on a hot summer day.

“In fact, I’m more afraid of you getting tired of me. In a few years, there will be more wrinkles, more white hair, and who knows? Maybe I’ll even go bald. My skin’s going to get all saggy and disgusting and then—”

Steve leans in to press his lips against Tony’s, one of the tried-and-true methods to effectively shut him up.

When he leans back, it is to glare at Tony.

“Don’t you ever use the word ‘disgusting’ to refer to my husband.”

Tony blinks. “Not even to say disgustingly attractive?”

Steve’s lips twitch. “Okay, maybe that one’s acceptable.”

Tony smiles smugly. Then he narrows his eyes. “But I’m serious, Steven. You better prepare yourself for my deteriorating beauty. It is not going to be pretty, I’m—”

Steve pushes Tony’s face back into his chest so the rest of his passionate tirade comes out all garbled and muffled.

“I’ll love you forever. Wrinkles, white hair, saggy skin, and all.”

“Don’t forget the balding—”

“I will love you even if there isn’t a single strand of hair on your head.”

Tony stills.

“You’d better,” he says, voice still muffled, poking a finger into Steve’s side in warning.

Steve’s hand reaches down to find the accusing finger. Ever so gently, he splays the rest of Tony’s fingers apart to interlock them with his own as he plants a kiss on Tony’s temple.

“I promise, sweetheart.”

#stevetony #stevetony fic #stony #stony fic #superhusbands #steve/tony #steve x tony #mine #earl wrote something #earl answers #anonymous

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sergeant-donny-donowitz · 4 years

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Making Friends: Basterds Imagine-Fem!Reader

Requested by @cass-danvers

@owba-chan @war-obsessed @inglourious-imagines @tealaquinn @struggling-bee @frozenhuntress67 @kwyloz @sodapop182 @marlenemarauders @what-the--curtains @taikawho @spookybearlandtaco Let me know if you wanna be added to the IB or OUATIH taglists! :)

___________ It was a cool Sunday evening. The basterds marched into an A-list, luxurious club in the middle of Paris, in the middle of the nazi occupation. It was a bold move. Some may even say stupid. But it was necessary. Besides, they were the basterds. Bolder still was something they'd come to see in a few moments. It was you. You, in your long, glamorous red evening gown, with a slit down your leg, and black gloves half way up your arm. And bolder still, the bright spotlight shining directly onto you with a loud click, just as the band began to play. The basterds had never seen you before...but the light that flowed onto the crowd immediately around you was quite revealing. They'd seen every single one of those spectators before. They were all high ranking, high profile, high-on-their-kill-list nazis. All of them were targets the basterds had been pursuing from the moment they landed in France a year before. And there they were, all in one place. Donny instinctively reached for a pistol hidden in his coat, but Hugo signaled him off, shaking his head slightly. If Donny did what all the basterds wanted to do, none of them would make it out alive. Aldo looked around at the basterds, with stark eyes indicating one word they often did not listen to: "Wait." Since it was an order, they had to do just that, while clenching their fists and jaws seeing their prime targets slip through their fingers. In order to fit in, they ordered a round of drinks, and lit up some cigarettes. They had no choice but to listen...and watch... your performance. "When they had the earthquake in San Francisco, back in 19-6..." You were singing put the Blame on Mame. It wasn't quite what they expected to hear, but, they weren't exactly complaining. And yet...

Aldo leaned into the table, and muttered low enough so no outsiders could hear, "Look for anyone that might be Y/n L/n. Got it?" Aldo rolled his eyes, seeing Hirschberg's eyes were glued to the stage. "Got it, Hirschberg?" "Uh huh..." Aldo muttered, "Damn it, Hirschberg," and glanced at the stage... He wasn't disappointed. The light from the chandeliers reflected off your eyes, beaming flares of danger and daring as you sang and swayed with the band, walking out toward the crowd, "Put the blame on Mame, boys..." The basterds scanned the room, looking for anyone that looked like a Y/N L/N. "Mame did a dance called the hoochy coo-" Hirschberg's elbow rested on the table, and his chin dug into the palm of his hand as he sighed, "Hm...she really did." Smitty rolled his eyes, nudging Hirschberg out of his day dream. "Look for L/N." "I'm lookin'..." "Not at the right-" With that, the song ended, and the announcer spoke in French while the crowd called out for an encore. The one thing all the basterds were able to pick out, even though they didn't speak French, was two words: Y/N L/N. Donny laughed in disbelief, "No fucken' way..." "This is crazy..." Omar shook his head,, watching as you blew kisses out to the crowd with a wide smile. "She's crazy..." Wicki muttered, lighting a cigarette that rested between his lips.

Aldo shrugged, "Well shit..." He chuckled, and sighed, "Well best damn place to hide is right out in the open, some times." Hirschberg elbowed Smitty, remarking "Told ya I was lookin' the right fucken way." They sat through the encore, and the encore to the encore, and the roaring applause. They watched as you spent the night moving from enemy to enemy, spilling their drunken and careless secrets right into your ears. Eventually, the club was empty except for one of the bar tenders set to lock up, you, and a few disguised soldiers. "Des amis à vous?" He chuckled lightly as he wiped down a glass. "Friends of yours?" "J'espère" you sighed, as you took a drink for yourself, "Hopefully." The bartender, Marius, leaned over the counter and presented you with your purse. "Merci," you chuckled as you pulled out a folder. You made your way to the table in the back of the club where ten young men were sitting. You stopped at the edge of the table. Though the lights were fully on, there was still a sharp streak of intrigue and hazard cutting through your smile. You were one dangerous woman, any basterd could see that. You looked them over, barely half a moment studying each of their faces. You slid the folder onto the table, and it met the hands of the man at the very end of the table: Aldo Raine. A round of whiskey and packs of smokes were brought to the table as he briefly filed through the thick stack of bloodstained information. It was exactly what he was looking for...which was suspicious. Aldo sniffed some tobacco before looking up at you, "So uh, where does a pretty lil' parisian singer like you get information like this?" You spoke suddenly, in what could without a doubt be identified as a Brummie accent, "Get yourselves some friends, mate." Hirschberg smiled blankly with dreamy eyes as he nodded "So you're British..." Your accent changed suddenly, sounding like an equally dreamy California girl as you shrugged, "Depends who's asking." Aldo had his fair share of run ins with spies and double agents. He laughed, "Aw you tommy's don't know wh-" You suddenly mimicked his accent, "Tommy, huh? Ain't that nice." He was startled, but then smirked a little "Well I'll be damned..." You shrugged, now in your natural tone and accent, "Sometimes, darlings, the best informants are only great pretenders." Hirschberg could hardly contain his excitement, asking with a wide grin, "Who are you?" Smitty rolled his eyes, though he had to admit, "You do look familiar." "Oh," You shrugged, "I've been here and there." "Where?" Even Wicki was a little curious.

Seeing as you'd all be there for quite some time, a pot of coffee was brought over by Marius.

Hugo finally spoke up, "You make friends with the nazis?" "I make them think I do." You shrugged, taking a sip of coffee, with a sly grin. "Rub elbows with the higher-ups, get them piss-drunk. A few drinks loosens anyone up...And loose lips sink ships," you winked as you stirred your coffee. Something about the way you smirked told them you were one hell of a spy. You could tell your enemies the loveliest lies of all, and they'd believe you. You were dangerous... But to the basterds, you were now an ally and an advantage. Donny raised his eyebrow, remembering their briefing before finding you. It wasn't just a folder with names and rumors. You had indispensible, indisposable insight. This folder was only the tip of the iceberg. You had names, you knew faces, voices, wives, families, addresses, plans and plots, back alleys, back ups, and back stabbers, spies, and double-agents. You knew the worst of the worst, and they knew you. Just what the basterds needed. Not only that, but you were supposed to house the basterds in your apartment in the dead center of Paris while you helped them piece everything together and create a plan of attack. Donny asked, "They know where to find you?" "No one gets in without an invite. Every one of those damn animals stationed in France knows that," you smirked, "But, for the next few weeks, only you boys have an invite. No one gets in or out." The doorman, after all, was a friend of the resistance. He packed a gun. A knife. Not only that, he literally owed you his life. Marius vouched for that as you walked toward the stage. You'd left your keys backstage.

"So how do we know you won't double cross us?" Wicki wanted to trust someone, he really did... But that got harder to do as the war went on. You stopped by the stage, looking back at him, you lifted your leg onto the stage, your heel producing a powerful, echoing thud. The slit of your dress shifted, revealing a knife strapped to your thigh. "This knife belonged to-" you trailed off, knowing you'd never see his face again. You'd used that very knife to exact revenge on the nazi that took him from you. "Someone I used to know. Using it won't bring him back...but it does make the world a little brighter." Hirschberg sighed, resting his face on his palms, murmuring "Marry me..." You giggled, disappearing behind the stage's velvet curtains. You soon reappeared with the keys, then quietly led the basterds through Paris. Louis, the doorman, kind as ever, let you all in through a hidden back door. He familiarized himself with the basterds, taking note of their faces. They were the only ones to be allowed in to see you for the next few weeks. As the basterds followed you to the elevators, and you made sure no one saw them walking into your apartment. You quickly unlocked the door, and drew the curtains before turning on the lights, then welcomed them all in. For the next couple of weeks, this would be their headquarters. You showed them around. It was a big place. You had a few guest rooms, showers, and had stocked up the kitchen. The flat itself was about as luxurious as the club. "Nice place ya got here, kid." Donny smirked as he sat on the couch, which was the first couch he had sat on in well over a year. Aldo nodded, looking around, noting the thick walls and quiet area. "This'll do..." Wicki wasn't so sure. He stood behind you as you cleared things off the large dining room table, and began to set down files, maps, and photographs that they'd need for the mission. "The nazis know where you live, don't they? What if-" You shook your head. "I wouldn't bring you somewhere it was dangerous. Believe me, corporal. I want this war to end, too." You sighed, "Besides....it'd be rather ungentlemanly to just barge into a lady's home, knowing she lives alone. As a matter of fact, it's scandalous." "How can you be so sure?" You shrugged, as you organized some of the papers, "Would you rather these meeting be held somewhere more public?" Omar smirked, "She's got ya there, Wicki." You sighed, glancing at the clock on the wall. It was just past 2:30 in the morning. You welcomed them to make themselves at home. They slept in a warm, quiet place for once. Though it was safer than what they were used to, there was still a lingering fear that any moment, the sound of marching boots would echo in the hallway leading to your front door. They were soldiers, far behind enemy lines. There was always a chance of something going wrong. You weren't a soldier, but you were in no less danger. It was Wednesday now. You spent the first few days going through files, showing them what information and photographs you had about their targets before even starting to come up with a plan of attack. It was now nearing midnight, and you noticed Aldo was tense, snapping a bit at his men. He wasn't uneasy because of the information you were giving them, in fact, the things you gave them gave him the most peace of mind he'd had since he left Tennessee. You slipped away for a moment, and found Utivich in the kitchen, eating a pastry you'd left out for them. You noticed he had a bit of a sweet tooth, and made a point of saving a few extra treats for him (because Donny tended to eat way more than his fair share). "So your lieutenant's a little-" "On edge?" Smitty chuckled a little with a sigh, "Aren't we all, miss?" "Y/n." You smiled kindly as you sat by him, handing him another pastry. He smiled with bright, grateful eyes, "Thanks, Y/n." You nodded once, and after a moment you asked, "He a smoker?" You hadn't seen Aldo light up a cigarette, and wondered if he'd gone through his ration...and subsequently gone through a bit of a withdrawal Smitty shook his head, "Snorter, though. Man loves his snuff." "Ah," you nodded, understanding as you made your way to a cabinet. You pulled out five tins of snuff, or so, and Smitty watched in awe. "I told you, make friends to survive this," you winked as you walked back out to the main room. The rest of the basterds were calling it a day, and finding a place around the radio to sit. Aldo was standing by the window, looking across the street. There was an operahouse and a theater there, which was going to play a part in the big plan. "No one's going to talk. You're not the first man anyone's seen on this balcony," You chuckled as you pulled him out to the balcony for a breath of fresh air. He looked up at the stars. The big black canvas with an infinite splatter of stars, reminding him of the southern night sky. He smiled softly. You slipped the tins into his hands, and he turned to you "What's this for?" You shrugged, "A little birdy..." You glanced out at the sky, and the Parisian skyline. Sure it was bright...but this night didn't hold a candle to what you knew before the war. You smiled softly, nostalgia clouding your eyes. It was a familiar feeling, and you saw it in Aldo's eyes, picturing a sky an ocean away. You left him there, knowing soldiers like Aldo had a lot to think about, and a world on their shoulders. So you sat with the others by the radio for a while, looking at them once in a while, wondering where they'd be a year from then. Maybe they'd be home by then... At least, you hoped they would be.

Later that night, you woke to the sound of footsteps. Your eyes shot open, fearing the worst, as you reached for your knife. You snuck to your doorway, ready for anything... Except for what you saw. Sgt. Hugo Stiglitz pacing around, murmuring things to himself every so often. "Hugo." Your voice was soft...and that's what startled him most. You motioned for him to come in. He hestitated for a moment. He spoke lowly, "Sie könnten die falsche Idee bekommen ..." 'They might get the wrong idea...' How he knew you could speak German, you didn't know. He lingered outside of your bedroom, and you giggled, rolling your eyes as you pulled him in, "Schlimmeres kann über Menschen wie uns gesagt werden." 'Worse things can be said about people like us." He smiled briefly, though it was dark, you couldn't see it. You flipped a dim lamp on, and shuffled through a hidden drawer, till you pulled out a key. You smiled, hoping he'd be a bit patient with your system. You opened a jewelry box...though there was no jewelry in it. Just cartridges and bullets for guns Hugo hadn't seen around. He was a little impressed, though he'd only admit it to you years later on a visit. You pulled out another key, then pulled out a box, and unlocked it. Hugo wasn't a nosy person. But...seeing the lengths at which you'd gone in such a short time during the war, he was a little curious at just how much information you had hidden away for the allies. In that box, no more than two feet across, he saw carefully folded notes, clipped to photographs, sketches, seeming to never end. In the blink of an eye, you snapped the box shut, and handed Hugo a folded, handwritten note and a photograph. His eyes narrowed, and his knuckles went white as his eyes locked onto the photograph. "So I was right..." You sighed as you sat on the bed, "You know him." Hugo looked up at you, and nodded slightly. You handed over the other scrap of paper. It contained an address, a phone number, and a few other details Hugo may have deemed useful. The nazi in the photograph was the one responsible for torturing Hugo when he was detained. That same nazi happened to be transferred to Paris just after Hugo's escape... and he happened to make his way into the club...regularly, every Friday and Saturday night. He often bragged about being the one to capture and torture the great Hugo Stiglitz, to your face... He slowly smiled again... He was going to sneak out, without a doubt. You saw him to the door, and winked, "Habe Spaß," 'Have fun.' It was now Friday afternoon, and you had to go to the club to perform for the evening.

The basterds were a little reluctant in letting you go. What if someone followed you? Or what if- You immediately shut down all worries and disguised suspicions. "It'd be far more suspicious if I didn't show up, since I've been there every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday evening for the past four years, with no exceptions. That's how I've made it this far." Aldo nodded, then said, "Omar. Why don't you go with Y/n?" Omar nodded, "Yes, sir," while Hirschberg muttered "Are you fucking kidding me?!" After you slipped into a long black dress, satin gloves, and shimmering heels, Hirschberg lingered by the door. "How do you do it?" "Do what?" You asked passively, as you slipped a deep red shade of red lipstick over your lips. "Do this job. Talk to them nazi fucks, and not blow their brains out?" Your heels clicked over the wooden floor was you down the hall, "I wouldn't get very far if I did, now would I?" "Huh..." He shrugged chuckling, "Maybe not in those shoes." "Mm," You smiled, resting your gloved palm against his cheek, remarking quietly with a smirk "Don't wait up." His heart melted, he sighed deeply with parted lips, watching you walk out the door. Omar walked out with you, and followed you to the club. Not closely enough for there to be questions, but close enough to get a good seat...for..."safety measures." The truth was, you reminded Omar of his kid sister. He got a letter, just before leaving England for France with the newly formed team of basterds, a year earlier. She'd gotten married, and Omar never forgave himself for having to miss it. She was so much like you, it kind of hurt him. He didn't know much about you, and frankly, he didn't bother asking. It was a dangerous thing to do in these times. But it broke his heart, knowing you probably had a family waiting for you to come home, somewhere in the world, just like he did. Still, he tended to keep distant from you. For a moment, toward the end of your performance, there was a glimmer of a tear in the corner of his eye. For a moment, as you sang on that stage, you smiled just like his sister did, and it broke his heart. It was three AM by the time you were both back at your apartment, and he didn't say much. You didn't ask what was wrong. You knew soldiers, and you knew better. Besides, he seemed tired, and headed to bed right away. He didn't seem to notice the figure looming over the table with all the plans and information charted out. "Wilhelm?" You called out quietly, in case a few basterds had fallen asleep nearby. You set down your keys, and slipped off your heels with a breath of relief, and walked over to him, looking down at the plans, "What did we miss?" He shook his head, "Nothing..." He spoke sincerely, but you noted a twinge of worry in his voice. "You need some rest," you sat, resting the side of your face against your palm, and your elbow on the table. He shook his head again, "No matter how much we plan..." "You're basterds," you smiled a little, not understanding yet. "It'll work. It has to work." He spoke suddenly, which wasn't something he did often. "There used to be more of us," he sank into a chair beside you. "I see..." you looked at him, "Maybe I will never understand what it is to be a basterd. But...I understand what it feels to be scared of losing everything." He only raised an eyebrow, as he turned to look at you. You weren't just a singing spy in over her head. You had a story, as detailed, and mysterious as any of the basterds. In that moment, when he looked in your eyes, he felt as though he'd known you, at some time. And yet, you seemed distant. You smiled, "So the only thing we can do is raise the stakes." "What do you mean?" You shrugged, "I can make a few calls....figuratively." "To?" "A few Soviets. Andrei, Mikhail, Yura, Irina. They're all snipers. I can get some resistance fighters in, some rebels, some double-agents. I know people on the inside, that can get in with no suspicions. No questions asked." He smiled a little, beginning to feel a little relieved."You've already called them." He was half asking, half confirming. You smiled with a nod, "I was going to mention it in the morning." "Mention it?" He chuckled a little, "You really are the greatest agent I've never heard of." You laughed softly, "Goodnight, Wilhelm." "Goodnight," he smiled, as he found a place to sleep in one of the guest rooms. You were only halfway down the hall, when you heard an odd sound. You slowly pushed open one of the doors, and found Donny sharpening his knives He hadn't noticed you walk in. "Keep it up, and you'll whittle it down to nothing." He smirked, and you asked "What's troubling you Sergeant?" You shrugged a little, "Didn't think that was a possibility." "And I didn't think you'd be as good of an agent as you are." "Hm," you laughed as you sat across from him, "No one ever suspects pretty ones like you and me." He'd been called every name you could think of, but pretty...well, that was not a common one. He put the knife down and you saw how tense he looked about the upcoming mission. By dawn, the basterds would be leaving. "What do you drink?" "Whatever you have, kid." You came back shortly with some whiskey, and your glasses clinked. For once, Donny was silent. But, he was calm now. You finished your drink, and said good night. But, before you slipped out the door, he said your name. You lingered by the doorway and he said, "Thanks kid. For everything." You smiled softly, "My pleasure." as you shut the door.

Though you weren't going with them, you found yourself as equally sleepless. If something went wrong, you knew you'd never forgive yourself. You'd hardly have time anyway. If something went wrong, you'd definitely be found out and executed. It wasn't long before you heard birds chirping outside. The basterds scrambled to get their things ready, go over the plan one last time, and say their thanks and goodbye. They slipped out the door silently, separately, and slowly, as to not alert any neighbors. The very last basterd to leave was Smitty. He lingered by the door, and seemed worried. "What's wrong?" "What if they find out about you?" You smiled softly, "Oh, don't you worry about me." "If they find this," he gestured to all the files you had laid out, "If they know you helped us...they'll kill you... Or worse. I mean, what if-" "Well," you sighed, as you lit a cigarette with a peaceful sigh, "That's just the way it goes, sometimes." You'd come to that conclusion the night before. "But," he shook his head, almost as though refusing to say goodbye. "Oh..." You hugged him "Don't you worry about me, love." You smirked a little, "I have friends that'll take care of me." "But...what...how can you be so sure? How can you be so calm?!" "Like I said before," you shrugged, "If you want to survive this war, make yourself some friends." He nodded, with a half-hearted smile as he left. Before you closed the door, he turned back and asked softly "Are we...friends?" "You know where to find me," you smiled, letting him know you were the kind of friend that would get them through the war. As a matter of fact, they'd meet other contacts, rebels, and informants over the next few years. And every once in a while...just when they least expected it, that new 'friend' would tell them you said hello. Far from the skyline of Paris, and any luxurious club, wandering the bloodstained wilderness, Aldo would always respond the same, but genuine way. He'd smile, and hold one of tin boxes of snuff you'd given him, and chuckle, "Well I'll be damned..." It wasn't until the war ended that you got to say hello yourself. It was a Saturday night. Paris was free. And it was your last night performing in that club. It was time you went home you thought... You looked out at the crowd, studying the faces of French, and other allied soldiers. You saw friends of yours, finally allowed to be at ease. You saw a face you hadn't seen since before the war. He'd written a review of a movie of yours, an undiscovered gem, he called it. His name was Archie Hicox. Lieutenant, now. And, you were thrilled to see a few more familiar faces by him. Bridget von Hammersmarck, of all people. And, of course, the basterds. You addressed the crowd, spoke in French, but didn't say goodbye. This was not a time to say goodbyes. All you said was that this next song was one near and dear to your heart. You sang Put the Blame on Mame, just as you had the night you met the basterds. You couldn’t stop smiling as you sang that old familiar song. That night, it felt as though you’d never sang it before. You felt free, you felt more alive than you had before. And seeing those basterds again did it. They couldn’t believe a spy with so much to lose like you could make it this far...but then again, basterds like them had made it to the end. In a way, they owed it to you. At the end of your performance, the loudest cheers and claps and demands for an encore came from a table of basterds. What are friends for, after all?

#Inglourious Basterds #aldo raine #aldo the apache #Donny Donowitz #the bear jew #smithson utivich #Omar Ulmer #gerold hirschberg #Hirschberg #hugo stiglitz #Wilhelm Wicki

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generalthirst · 4 years

Text

Candid Façade

Warnings: None really. Sexual innuendos/mentions of sex but only briefly hinted, Awkward romantic interactions?

Word Count: 5,200

Summary: Prompt 48 from here and 20 & 30 from here. Hux is romantically stupid but tries to prove to Kylo he’s not. You get to come along for this wild ride.

A/n: My first one shot. Stupid long. Its a one and a half shot. Very self indulgent fluff so if you like that stuff, enjoy! Thanks to @the-tasteful-beast for the prompt suggestions!

“My personal relationships are absolutely none of your business, Ren!” General Hux retorted with a slight snarl. The man behind the mask let out a slight laugh, distorted through the voice modular, Hux could still sense the mocking tone behind it.

“As I figured, the only girl in your bed is Millicent.” Kylo chuckled.

“Again, not your business! Even if it were, I fail to see why you would care so much about it.” Hux whipped around with his back to the infuriating man in black.

“It’s just entertaining to me that a man who thinks he can command armies can’t even acquire a girlfriend.” was the nonchalant retort. Oh that made Hux’s blood boil. He whipped back around as he felt his hackles raise.

“I most certainly am capable of being in a relationship!” He said a bit louder than he’d intended, gaining a few curious looks from lower officers on the bridge.

“I find that difficult to believe Hux.” Kylo sneered. Hux was sure he could see that shit-eating grin through the mask. He knew it was there. Eyes darting around quickly, he landed on you as you stood in front of a console. Thinking you would be yelled into a demotion for staring during the argument, you quickly looked away and prayed for the safety of your job. The General however, marched over to your station, roughly grabbed your wrist and drug you back over before the commander. The Generals arm was draped around you and his hand rested on your hip, pulling your side flush with his.

“As a matter of fact, the Major and I recently started seeing each other. Isn’t that right darling?”

He nearly growled as he glared into your eyes. Your head spun as you looked from Hux to Ren. Realizing what was expected of you, you swallowed a lump in your throat and wrapped your arms around Hux’s middle.

“Yes!” You quickly joined in on the lie. “We had planned to keep it a secret to start with but since we’ve started going steady we figured it was time to make it official.” You added a smile towards the General, putting your best acting skills to the test before the Commander. His unreadable mask was hard to discern. You knew he was able to read minds and you prayed that he wouldn’t subject you to the agonizing mind probe. Ren was silent for a moment, as was the entirety of the bridge.

“I see.” Came the distorted voice, quieter than you’d expected his response to be. “Well I congratulate the both of you. Perhaps we’ll be seeing more of you two together now that you’ve made it official.” He said with heavy emphasis on each word. You couldn’t shake the feeling that he knew you both were lying. Why he didn’t call you out on it though, you weren’t sure. The fact that he didn’t worried you more.

“I’m sure the Major would agree that public displays of affection are not our style.” General Hux snarled, obviously in on the subtle challenge and trying to ease out of this elaborate lie he’d just thrown you both into.

“Oh, I’m sure no one would say anything now that you both are official.” Ren replied quickly with too much eagerness. His faceless mask turned to you once more and you felt that intense gaze nearly staring into your soul. “I have matters to attend to but I wish you both happiness... together.” Was all he said and you could hear the cruel smile in his voice before he walked off.

You and Hux simultaneously let out a long-held breath at Ren’s leaving and you nervously looked about the bridge to see the rest of the crew looking at the two of you, still in your embrace, with utter shock.

“Back to your post, dear.” Hux sounded strained with the affectionate words as he released you. “I’ll see you later.” All you could do was nod as you walked back to your station, your previous task completely wiped from your mind. What the hell just happened? You could feel everyone’s shocked stares on your back and you tried to ignore them as much as possible until your shift was over.

You desperately hoped the General had a plan for this. You’d followed his lead in the lie but now… You were really in no other position other than to follow through with it. You couldn’t fake a breakup. Not immediately anyway, that would be too obvious. At least for a little while, you had to play the part of the established girlfriend of General Hux. You found the man attractive to be sure, but he was your superior! You weren’t allowed to have romantic thoughts about him! Though you supposed you were now. At least to fake the part. What a mess, you groaned internally as you left the bridge. As you approached your quarters to change out of uniform, your friend came running up the hall towards you.

“When were you planning on telling me you were dating the General?” She screeched and shook you by the shoulders. You quickly clapped a hand over her mouth and dragged her into your quarters and shut the door.

“Not out where everyone can hear you!” You hissed.

“The whole ship knows anyway!” She retorted, just as loud as before. “The news is spreading like wildfire! When were you gonna tell me? I had to find out from Captain Ailow!” She screeched again.

“Look, Taylor…” You groaned. “It’s hard to explain.”

“Oh you’ve caused such a scandal!” She beamed like a schoolgirl with the latest juicy gossip as she sat on your bed. “Everyone is so shocked! Mostly that Hux actually has feelings in general, let alone for someone else, but you? I’d never have guessed it!” She carried on about the various rumors going around about you and the Commander. Your mind, however, was flooded with worry about how big an ordeal this had suddenly become. As much as you loved your friend, you had no choice but to go with the lie, even with her. The General was expecting you to play the part, and you would hate to find out what he would do if you gave away the lie and Ren found out. He’d have your head for sure. At the very least your job.

“So what’s he like? Does he actually kiss you?” Your friend’s bubbling brought you back and you shook your head and moved to your locker.

“He’s uhh… not the most affectionate type.” You said in hopes the vague response would suffice, her questions would be endless if you didn’t put a stop to it.

“I mean yeah he’s the general but come on, you deserve someone who is more in touch with their emotions. And by that, I mean in touch at all!”

“Hey, he has emotions!“ You shocked yourself with how quickly you defended his honor. “He just has trouble showing them is all. He’s very stressed right now you know.” You huffed and began removing your uniform into your regulars.

“Does he like to take his stress out on you?” She asked slyly and you slammed the locker closed with a start.

“I’m going to grab dinner.” You said, avoiding the question entirely as you walked past her. Taylor jumped up to ask you more when a knock sounded on your door. You groaned in worry that some other gossiper had come to interview about the new hot couple. Ready to tell off whoever it was, your words died in your throat when none other than the General himself stood at your door, looking as nervous as a boy on his first date. Your eyes went wide as the two of you simply stared at one another. The spell broke when your friend came up behind you and saluted before grinning wildly.

“Fancy seeing you here, sir.” She said over your shoulder. “The Major and I were just mentioning you.” You paled and sent a foot back to kick her shin.

“Indeed,” Hux replied darkly then turned to you once more. “I didn’t realize your friend was with you.”

“She was just coming to say hello after work.” You hurriedly tried to explain. “Can I help you with something?”

“I was wondering if you would like to meet me in my quarters for dinner this evening. But if you and your friend are busy-”

“Oh no we didn’t have any plans!” Your friend quickly interjected and shoved you out the door as she closed it behind her.

“You two have a nice dinner date! I’ll be meeting up with Sergeant Wyde.” She sent you a wink before hurriedly strolling down the hallway, leaving you with the General. The two of you stood in silence for a moment before he offered you his arm. Oddly gentlemanly of him but something a boyfriend would do you supposed. You hesitantly took it as you walked in silence to his quarters. He led you to the door of his office and once inside, he quickly let go of your arm and all but whirled on you.

“You told her?” He said accusingly.

“I swear I didn’t breathe a word!” You cried out quickly. “She was asking a bunch of questions but I kept it as vague as I could! I promise I didn’t tell her!” You pleaded that he would believe you. Hux sighed and pressed his thumb and fingers on either temple, holding his head in his hand before groaning in agitation.

“You lied for me in front of Ren, I guess I have no reason to believe you wouldn’t lie on my behalf to anyone else. And it better stay that way!” He added as a warning before taking off his greatcoat and draping it over a chair.

“You’re welcome for that, by the way.” You shot with irritation at his ingratitude. He looked up as if he wanted to reprimand you for your attitude but thought against it.

“Yes. Thank you.” He added softly and didn’t meet your eyes. “I’m sure I don't have to tell you that you need to stay quiet on this. At least until I figure out a way to get us out of this ordeal.” He pulled a cigarette from his coat pocket and lit it, taking a heavy drag.

“We’ll have to let the news lose its shock, then we’ll figure out a way to say we separated or some other such nonsense.”

“With all due respect sir, are you sure we will get away with this?” You asked. His questioning gaze forced you to explain.

“We have to make a believable couple. Sure for now saying we’re together will suffice, but people need to see us doing couple-y things. Dates. Otherwise, they’ll begin to suspect and surely Commander Ren will as well. I'm surprised he bought it to begin with.”

“He didn’t.” Hux corrected as he twirled his cigarette between his fingers. “He’s playing us, wants to see how far we’ll take the lie.”

“Then we’ll really have to sell this.” You interjected with a sigh. ‘I don’t know why I had to get dragged into this.”

“I picked you because you were within close reach.” He sneered and you shot him a glare.

“Look I’m not happy about this either but you brought me into this, the least you could do is be a bit nice!” He seemed shocked at your mouthy remark for a moment before collecting himself.

“I am your superior!”

“Well, sweetie,” you said, the name dripping with venom. “Couples usually disregard formalities, so in order to sell this whole ordeal YOU created, we have to act like we see each other as equals.” He looked like he wanted to fight you on the subject but knew you were right and angrily conceded.

“Don’t expect to get some kind of edge on me with this, I won't give you any special treatment outside of convincing people we are an item.”

“I wanted no part of this to start with!” You interjected. “If you just make this go away and let me get back to how my life was before you decided to make me your girlfriend I’ll be happy!” You glared at one another in silence before he stood and called for a protocol droid. The droid brought out two plates of food and sat them on the desk before bowing out of the room. The general immediately began to eat before looking up at you as you awkwardly looked around, wondering what to do. He nearly rolled his eyes and motioned for you to pull up a chair and take your plate. You quietly thanked him as you pulled the chair forward. Dining with the General felt surreal, but less like a fairytale than you would have imagined. You could feel him judging your every move through the corners of his eyes as he ate. You tried to have good manners, not wanting to seem crude in front of him. You were slightly shocked he actually did mean to have dinner with him but you figured if he sent you to the cantina after everyone thought you were having a dinner date, that might look suspicious.

When you both had finished, you stood silently. Hux watched in mild curiosity as you moved the chair back into its place, ensuring it was properly aligned where it once stood before taking your empty plate in hand.

“Thank you for the dinner, sir.” You said before turning to leave. Hux stopped you and you turned with a raised brow. He seemed slightly unsure as to what to say before gesturing to the plate.

“You can leave that here, I’ll have the droid take care of it.” You simply nodded and returned the plate to its place on the desk before bidding the General good night and returning to your quarters for some well-deserved rest.

Once in your bunk, you collapsed. Mentally too tired to even bother with reading something. Your brain was going 100 miles an hour and all you wanted was for it to slow down. Sleep was difficult as you relived the events of the day but eventually, mental exhaustion took over.

The next day you returned to your position on the bridge, a few stares here and there sent your way by your coworkers, but all knew better than to gossip in front of you. You tried your best to focus and just do your job, make it just a normal day. Commander Ren came by and stood beside Hux, too far away to really hear the conversation but you saw the occasional glances your way. As with most of their conversations, Hux stormed away, red in the face with anger over whatever button Kylo had managed to push. To your surprise, he walked right up behind you and put his hands on either side of your waist. Leaning over your shoulder you felt his breaths puff over the exposed skin on your neck and it raised goosebumps along your body.

“Might I interest my girlfriend in meeting me for lunch on her break?” He ground out, sending a sideways glare in Kylo’s direction, the man clearly watching with interest.

“Ah, of course.” You replied, forcing a smile so that it would appear you thought the idea romantic. To be fair if it were real you probably would find it as such, but you both knew this was all for show. Best to not let romantic fantasies cloud judgment. Hux grinned like he’d won a match and hummed in approval before letting you go and returning to his command. You however tried to control your breathing and slow your heart rate down.

And so the façade went for a few days. You couldn’t spend time together outside work hours every day, but it was frequent enough that you both seemed to be making an effort to see each other. No one really approached you on the subject and you were thankful for it. People were probably too scared to try given the General’s reputation. It was odd though; for a man who often appeared so cold, he faked being in a relationship fairly well. You wondered if he really did have experience in this field after all.

Your good luck wasn’t meant to last when you hadn’t been invited to dine with Hux and went to the cantina with Taylor instead. You hadn’t seen her much since the whole thing started and while you normally enjoyed her company, you knew the topic she’d want to discuss.

“So,” she began in a playful tone and you knew you were right. “Someone’s been visiting the General an awful lot.” You merely hummed dismissively as you ate. “In his private quarters.” She stressed more.

“Don’t start rumors Taylor,” you warned. “It's been his office and we’ve only been eating dinner or lunch. That’s it.” Boy, you hoped she hadn’t been talking about this with other people.

“Aw c’mon!” She teased hoping to get some sexy truth from you and you merely sent her a bored expression. “Wait you’re serious? You haven’t…?”

“No. We have not.” You said curtly.

“What? Have you done anything?” She seemed genuinely shocked you hadn’t bedded the General yet.

“Have you two ever even kissed?” You looked away and bit your lip subconsciously.

“We just… haven’t really worked up to that yet.”

“Oh for goodness sake!” She cried out in exasperation. “No one has seen you all doing anything cute yet, you two are the most boring couple ever! It’s like you guys aren’t even really dating!” You nearly choked on your drink when she said that. You thought you’d been disguising things well! Were you both still so painfully distant and awkward with each other?

“Y-you really think so?” You asked trying to dig for more information.

“I mean I understand you both have the romantic passion of a lethargic bantha but I saw more exciting relationships in the academy.” She said jokingly and rambled off about some other things. Frankly, you had begun to zone out. You would have to work harder to sell this lie.

After you’d finished with Taylor you found yourself standing outside Hux’s office, knocking frantically despite yourself. An annoyed voice beckoned you inside and you eagerly rushed in. Hux looked up from his work with a surprised face upon seeing it was you.

“Can I help you?”

“We’re not selling it.” You cut him off. His annoyed expression turned to confusion once more.

“We’re not?”

“No! My friend has just told me people think we look awkward together! They never see us doing anything romantic together.”

“Of course we do!” He said dismissively. “We’ve been dining together nearly every day!”

“No no no. I mean like… holding hands and sneaking kisses in the maintenance closets kind of stuff. Like the junior officers do.”

“The junior officers are doing what now on my ship?” He began as if he’d never known this fact.

“Hux!” You shouted, jolting him from that thought. “That's not important right now! We have to start looking like a couple in love!” You pressed. He seemed to be lost in deep thought and you looked on worriedly as he retreated into his mind.

“How exactly?” He said trying to hide how sheepishly it came out. Your mouth hung open.

“You mean to tell me you don’t know how to date and kiss and stuff?” You cried out dumbfounded.

“It was never a priority for me!” He quipped, his ears beginning to turn red. “Can you just… tell me what I need to do, alright?” He ordered.

“Alright alright.” You said calming yourself. You didn’t know if you wanted to laugh or cry. Or both.

“I guess we should start with physical touch. Couples are physically close and we need to not be uncomfortable being with each other.” You said looking at him. The General merely looked back. “We come on, stand!”

“Now?” he asked like you'd told him to go hug Ren.

“Well, we gotta practice don’t we? Come on come here.” you motioned for him to come to stand in front of you. He did so with a disbelieving look. “See is that so bad?” You knew it was bad to tease him, but you couldn’t pass it up, holding hands with the General being shy about it was kind of adorable.

“Now what?” He asked and you took his hand in yours. His gloved fingers flinched slightly as he instinctively moved to jerk his hand from your grasp, but your gentle touch calmed him and his hand laid loosely in yours. Grabbing him by the wrist you began removing the glove and he pulled his hand away.

“What are you doing?”

“You can’t hold hands with gloves on all the time! We have to touch!” You tried to explain as you pinched the bridge of your nose. “I’m not filthy, I bathe and wash my hands regularly…” You ground out. He simply frowned at you before removing the gloves himself and setting them on the table. You reached your hands out before him, palms up, waiting patiently. He stared at them before hesitantly laying both his hands atop yours. He seemed uncomfortable at first but as you gently wrapped your fingers around them and brushed the backs of his hands with your thumbs, he seemed to enjoy it more. You grinned some as you gently swung hands with him.

“Childish.” Was his only reply as his face soured again.

“What next?” He asked, eagerly wanting to move on. You thought for a moment before pulling yourself forward and making him wrap his arms around you as your body collided with his. He seemed to recoil as you wrapped your arms around his waist. You could feel through the hug that he was completely tense.

“Hux, you have to hug me back.” You mumbled into his chest. He merely cleared his throat awkwardly before he gently rested his arms on your body and patted your shoulder.

“That’s a pathetic attempt General Hugs.” You smirked as you looked up at his face mere inches from your own.

“Look this isn’t something I've had much experience in, I cannot be expected to know!” He huffed defensively and turned his head slightly as his cheeks turned pinkish. You shook your head and squeezed him slightly.

“It’s a hug... It’s not that hard.” You said poking him playfully in the side. A strange noise escaped him and he immediately leaned away from your jab and he glared down at you. Your surprised face turned into a knowing smirk and his immediate worry at your change of expression was the only warning he got before you lunged for his side. Hux burst out in uncontrollable laughter, desperately attempting to command you to cease your attack through the giggles and trying to force your hands away. Finally, he managed to grab both your hands in a tight hold and force them away from himself.

“No! Don’t tickle me!” he practically shouted as he attempted to rein in the giggles with deep panting. You merely grinned at your newfound power. “If you don’t try to work with me here, I’ll do it again.”

“Don’t you dare!” He warned darkly. You merely wiggled the fingers of your captive hands and he sighed. “Fine, I will try! Just don't do that again!”

“No promises.” You hummed before opening your arms wide in an invitation for a hug.

“Come on. Hug me! Properly!” You cooed and he groaned before stepping forward and wrapping his arms around you. It was still stiff and uncomfortable, but you could feel he was actually trying. You slid your hands around him and held him tightly. Trying to demonstrate what to do, slowly he began to mirror your movements somewhat. Your hand traveled up around his neck and you pulled him closer. His face now nuzzled into your neck. He seemed unsure of what to do but began to melt into the touch. As you both stood in silence you could feel him returning the emotion of the embrace. His hands clutched your shirt a little more, pulling you close as you felt his breaths on your neck once again. The goosebumps returned as you realized you were enjoying hugging the General, and he seemed to be enjoying it as well. Your heart fluttered a bit at that but you focused on the task at hand. Gently you pulled away a bit and he did the same, his hands still holding onto your shoulder as if he wasn’t quite ready to let go.

“And now?” He asked, his voice softer than before. You bit your lip gently. It felt odd to be doing this, but it was something that had to be done. Tentatively you reached a hand up to caress his sharp jawline. Your thumb ever so gently brushing over his lips before closing your eyes and pressing your lips to his. You felt a small jolt run through the both of you at the kiss. You pulled him into the kiss a little as encouragement, adding some passion into it. With a small chuckle, you pulled back and saw the stupefied look on his face.

“Hux you have to kiss me back, keeping your face still is like kissing a statue.”

“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t waste my time having romantic flings with my fellow students when I was supposed to be studying!” He tried to jab at you but the avoiding gaze and creeping blush told you all you needed to know.

“I told you I am not skilled in these activities!” He whined with a frown.

“Surely you had to have had some teenage romance! Some girl in the academy who kissed you before running back to her dorms?” You said with amused exasperation.

“It’s ok Hux, you can be jealous that I’ve kissed more people than you.” You giggled.

“Jealous? I'm not jealous!” He tried to defend himself but you knew better.

“Right…” Was all you said before taking planting your palms on both his cheeks. You could feel how warm they became under your touch. “You have to start delicately.” You instructed as you pressed your lips together once more. Being gentle in your movements against his lips. Once he started to mimic your motions you pulled back.

“Then you can start to do more.” You began leaning in again. “And don’t keep your eyes open during a kiss, it's creepy.”

“I’m not keeping my-” Hux was cut off by your lips moving against his own once again. A step up from the gentle kiss from before. He followed your lead quickly. He was clearly inexperienced but a faster learner than you’d have given him credit for. Your tongue swiped over his bottom lip and he startled for a moment but you kept him in place. Experimentally he opened his mouth and your tongue slipped inside, keeping it slow so he could get used to what you were doing. He tasted faintly of whiskey and cigarettes, and a flavor that was very… Hux. It was intoxicating for you. The kiss lesson could have ended long ago but you both couldn’t find it within you to stop.

Air finally made the decision for you and you both pulled back with soft gasps. Your hands laid on his chest and you could feel his heaving breaths taking in gulps of air and his heart rate was just as elevated as yours. You smiled and looked back up at him in a moment of sheepishness at the dawning realization that you’d made out with your superior.

“Well, I think you’ve got the gist.” You said as you both separated and stood in front of each other awkwardly. He hesitantly released you but did not step away, merely gazing down at you with an unreadable expression.

“Yes I… I think so. We should… try to incorporate some of this stuff in our meetings.” He said matter-of-factly. You only nodded as you made to leave. In a moment of boldness, you came back to him and pressed a sweet kiss to the corner of his mouth before bidding him a good day.

The next few weeks seemed to go by better. You both tried not to be overly affectionate with each other. That would simply be out of character for both of you. But the occasional loving peck on the lips you exchanged as you passed one another seemed to really convince everyone of the relationship. Your friend still asked questions but it became much easier to reply. Being with the General had really become second nature to you. One particular conversation with Taylor had you realizing, without meaning to, you had really fallen for the General. Playing as though you were in love became easier when it was real.

But it broke your heart to realize that it was only a matter of time before the dream had to end. Sleepless nights thinking about what to do followed. Every fake kiss left a bittersweet taste in your mouth, desperately wishing it was real. But no. You would have to fake the breakup soon enough and the General would likely never speak to you again. Hux had become something of a friend over this time. He’d begun to open up to you even behind closed doors. It kept that pitiful spark of hope alive in your heart against your better judgment.

One day you happened upon Hux and Ren arguing in an empty hallway. You debated on turning around and pretending you never saw a thing when Kylo called out to you.

“You both can stop pretending now. It was funny at first but I see you both are too damn stubborn to give up.” He sneered and Hux glared angrily.

“There’s no pretending about it, Ren.” The taller male turned to glare back.

“You and I both know she meant nothing to you when you first concocted this lie!” You went to open your mouth in Hux’s defense but he spoke before you had a chance.

“Perhaps, but things have changed. It was a game to you before but I’m asking you politely now to leave it alone.” Hux said threateningly. Both you and Kylo expressed mild shock at the confession. He looked between you and Hux, huffing irritably before wordlessly storming off. Hux turned to you with a nervous look, his eyes deep in thought and unwilling to meet yours.

“I’m sorry I dragged you into this elaborate lie. I never expected it to go on for so long. Or…” He hesitated, unsure of what to say or how to say it. You smiled warmly as you took his hand in your own.

“It stopped being a façade for me a long time ago.” You said with your heart beaming. “It doesn’t have to be fake anymore.” For the first time in a long time, you saw a genuine smile spread over the man's face as he pulled you into a crushing embrace and shocked you with the most searing kiss he'd ever initiated. Neither of you even noticed the gawking storm troopers who silently turned back down the hallway.

#General Hux #One and a half shots #Star Wars #fanfiction #one shot #Hux x reader #reader insert #my writing #fluff #thirsty drivel

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calligraphist-artemisia · 4 years

Text

Just Another Cinderella Story (Chapter 4 - Final)

-Summary: Once upon a time, there was a boy who was left in the care of his uncaring stepmother. Raised in a life of servitude and seeing his stepbrother lavished with praise and given everything he desired, the boy knew there was only one way he would ever be free. If their dreams of marrying into a life of luxury came true, then he would be left with his childhood home and he would finally be able to turn his life around.

Of course, Fate often has other plans in mind.

Also posted on AO3 under the username Kishirokitsune

- - - - -

4. Dianthus caryophyllus

Keith sat next to Curtis in the wooden cart, his father's clothing still damp and sticking uncomfortably to his skin. The horses pulling the cart plodded happily down the well-traveled path, completely unbothered by the darkness of the forest around them.

“You can stop here,” Keith said.

Curtis urged the horses to slow with a gentle tug of the reigns. “Are you sure? I'm sure Shiro is asleep, but you can still come over and get cleaned up before you go home.”

Keith shook his head. “I'll be okay. It's a shorter walk from here.”

“If you're sure...”

Another tug of the reigns brought the horses to a complete stop, allowing Keith to hop out of the wagon and back onto solid ground. He didn't immediately begin walking and instead remained where he landed as he gathered his thoughts enough to ask a single question: “Did you know about Pidge?”

“Yes,” Curtis said. “She came to us and called herself Pidge the first time she visited, but once Shiro was able to save her brother, Prince Matt, she admitted who she really was. When she kept up her trips to see us, we thought it best for her safety if we continued to use her nickname. None of us ever meant to lie to you, Keith. It was all to keep her safe.”

That much Keith could understand. However, he and Pidge spent hours talking at the ball and some of that time had been about the princess herself! Why hadn't she said anything?

Keith needed time to calm down and think.

“Thanks for the ride, Curtis. I...” Keith stopped and shook his head. “Tell Shiro I'll be by when I get a chance?”

“Of course,” Curtis agreed easily.

Keith bid him goodnight and then set off for home, trying to sort out his tangled mess of feelings. He needed to approach it logically, however difficult the sting of betrayal made that. (Was it really betrayal? Maybe that was too strong of a word.) He had known Pidge was of noble birth. That much had been clear from the start, so why was the news of her being the princess so difficult for him to accept?

He had spent the night dancing with Princess Katie.

Princess Katie, who Lotor was determined to make his bride.

Keith wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry at the bizarre situation he found himself in. At least he knew there was no way Pidge would ever marry his stepbrother, even if he hadn't given her a warning. She was far too smart to fall for Lotor's lies.

For the time, his home was safe. Keith could breathe easily at that.

He focused on that little fact for the rest of his walk home. When he finally got back to the dark manor, he set to work on arranging things so Lotor and Honerva would never know he'd been away. He lit the lanterns at the front door and then hurried inside to turn on a few of the other lights in the entryway and up the staircase to the family suite.

With that done, Keith could focus on himself. He hurried to his own room, which was a converted pantry next to the kitchen, and stripped out of his wet clothing to put on his threadbare sleeping clothes. He hung up his father's suit to dry and then reached back to remove the mask, but his fingers encountered nothing.

There was a rush of hot fear as he realized it had come loose when he and Pidge fell in the fountain. He could only hope no one had seen him as he fled the gardens. Without the mask, he had no protection. His identity was bare for everyone to see.

Keith took a deep breath. He had to believe that everything was alright. There was no one else in the gardens who could have seen him, aside from Pidge's white-haired guard, and he doubted the woman cared enough to look into who he was.

Everything would be fine.

- - - - -

Pidge laid in her bed, holding a red mask up in front of her face as she examined every little detail about it. What she initially thought were feathers, was actually tiny red flower buds groups together to form feather-like bundles. Tiny glittery spheres poked out between some of them.

If she hadn't known about Shiro's magic, she would have spent hours trying to figure out how it was made and where it came from.

She sighed as she sat up. Ever since her escapade in the garden, she'd been under stricter watch than normal, with two guards posted outside her bedroom door and another pair beneath her window. No matter where she went there was always someone watching her. Pidge was quickly reaching her breaking point and had several ideas of how she could get away for at least a little while, though she would have to wait a few more days before attempting that again.

It wouldn't be too difficult as long as she chose the right moment.

A knock of the door drew Pidge out of her musings and she quickly hid the mask beneath her pillow before calling out: “come in!”

Allura stepped inside her room, dressed in her more casual uniform and with her hair pulled back into a thick ponytail. She bowed to her princess before saying anything. “Your parents requested to see you. I believe it's about your behavior at the ball.”

Pidge did her best not to groan as she slowly slid out of bed. She smoothed out her dress to try and rid it of any obvious wrinkling and then double checked her hair in the mirror. Once she deemed herself presentable enough she followed Allura out of the room, the posted guards easily falling into step behind them as they walked through the halls.

The night of the ball, Pidge had taken the time to explain to her parents everything that happened. How she'd already known Keith thanks to her visits with Shiro and how he caught her when she fell, which was how they ended up in the fountain. While they were sympathetic, they also agreed that, above all else, no one else could find out that she was alone with a man for several hours, nor that they ended up in the fountain together.

It would cause a scandal.

Luckily, the only other person who knew about what happened was Allura, whose loyalty to the royal family was unparalleled.

It was for that reason that Pidge wasn't anxious about her parents wanting to speak with her. They likely wanted to ask for her opinion about her possible suitors now that everything was calming down so they could move forward with whatever plans they'd been making behind closed doors.

The great double-doors were opened as she approached and she nodded to the guards on either side as she strode into the throne room. Allura remained near the doors as they closed, keeping a respectful distance from the royal family while Pidge walked over to her parents – King Sam and Queen Colleen - and warmly greeted each of them with a hug.

“We have news, Katie,” King Sam said cheerfully. “Matt will be returning home in three days to give Princess Romelle a tour of our kingdom.”

Pidge found herself beaming back at her father. “That's great! I'm glad his courtship is going well.”

“Speaking of courtship, we have received news from the eligible nobles regarding your own. It seems news of your... dalliance has reached ears outside of the castle,” said Queen Colleen.

Pidge was about to open her mouth to defend herself and Keith, but the weight of her mother's words quickly sank in. In a single swoop, her good mood evaporated, leaving her feeling light-headed from shock. “But how?”

“We are looking into it,” King Sam said. “The thing is, it leaves us in a delicate position. None of them seem willing to overlook the fact that you were alone with an unknown man for several hours. We can hope that if we give it a few days the rumors will begin to die down, but we cannot rely on that.”

“Keith and I didn't do anything wrong!” Pidge protested. “We just talked. That's it.”

Queen Colleen's gaze softened. “We know, darling, but you have to look at this from an outside perspective. It's why we have increased your guard. You must tread carefully if we are going to navigate this to our advantage.”

In other words, Pidge would be watched day and night and would have to make a number of public appearances to restore her good name. Every one of her actions would have to be carefully considered. There would be no sneaking off to visit Shiro. And there was absolutely no way she would be able to get away and speak with Keith, to explain why she kept her identity a secret and apologize to him for not telling him sooner.

That was the worst part.

She genuinely enjoyed Keith's company. He was the first friend she made who had nothing to do with her duties as princess, even when considering Shiro and Curtis, who she met when searching for a way to help save her brother. She wanted the chance to get to know him better. To spend more time with him. She wanted to help him find a way to save his father's home and, if at all possible, to get out from under the thumb of his stepfamily.

Maybe she could still do that.

She was likely to spend a lot of time alone in her room with guards posted at every conceivable exit, so she may as well make good use of her time.

Pidge tilted up her chin. “I'll do whatever I need to do,” she promised her parents.

Pleased with her answer, they turned the subject to how they would welcome Matt back and ensure that his bride-to-be was also made to feel at home. Even as she helped plan a simple dinner, Pidge's thoughts strayed to how she might be able to help Keith, and when she was able to get back to her room she immediately sat at her desk and began writing.

- - - - -

Despite his resolve that no one other than the guard had seen them in the garden that night, Keith couldn't help but feel a bit anxious over the next few days. Neither Lotor nor Honerva were acting any different and his chores went on the same as always, but there was something about the way Honerva looked at him sometimes that sent a shiver running down his spine. It wasn't her usual looks of complete disdain. No, it was something more calculating, as though he were a particularly difficult riddle she was trying to figure out.

Keith did his best to stay out of her way and complete his chores in a timely manner and without asking questions.

It seemed to work.

The looks stopped as Honerva turned her full focus back to her precious son and her schemes to get him into the good graces of the royal family. Keith continued to stay out of her way just in case she changed her mind, as she often did, and had several days of peace as he easily completed his tasks with minimal interference from Lotor, who only went out of his way once to dirty up a section of floor that he had just cleaned.

But Keith knew from experience that peace never lasted in their house. Sooner or later, the shoe would drop and he would take the blame for whatever great catastrophe they dreamed up.

It came as he was serving dinner one night.

Keith was normally good at tuning out their conversation, his years of practice at not reacting to their insults lending to that ability. But then he heard Lotor speak of the princess and those walls he built crumbled around him.

“I think it is time to move on with our plans for the princess, mother,” Lotor said. “We have left her wallowing for nearly a week now and none have dared to reach out with offers after those awful rumors. Now is the perfect time to strike.”

Honerva nodded. “Agreed. I will send a missive first thing in the morning. It won't be long before your courtship will be made official.” She smirked at her son. “Those other nobles will regret listening to the chatter of rumors. As though the princess would ever do something so uncouth as to be unchaperoned with a strange man.”

Keith's heartbeat sounded thunderous to his ears and he carefully turned away from his stepfamily to hide his face. He slowly moved towards the kitchens, an excuse of fetching more wine poised on the tip of his tongue in case either of them questioned his actions. He didn't need to use it and got away without either of them noticing.

He gripped the counter to keep himself upright and squeezed his eyes tightly shut, trying to get a hold of himself as it fully sank in just how badly he'd messed things up.

Pidge's reputation was in tatters because of him.

Because of him, Lotor may end up being her only option for marriage.

There had to be something he could do. There had to be some way he could fix things, but it was something that was so out of his depth that he knew he would need help to find a solution, and for that there was only one person he knew to turn to.

Shiro was sure to have an idea.

Keith breathed in deeply and then slowly breathed out.

He would get through the rest of the night without alerting his stepfamily to anything being wrong or out of the ordinary and once they were both asleep in their beds he would sneak out and go to Shiro. With luck, he would be back by morning, even if it meant he didn't get any sleep.

His racing heart calmed back to a normal pace and Keith turned his attention to refilling the wine pitcher before carrying it back to the table.

The rest of his night went as usual, with him being ignored unless Lotor or Honerva wanted something, and he wrapped up the last of his cleaning just in time for Honerva to sweep through and judge his work with her usual criticism and scorn. He took her words without flinching and then bid her goodnight, making sure to go about preparing for sleep like normal just in case she suspected something.

It wasn't until midnight that Keith dared to get out of his “bed” - a pile of old blankets arranged in front of the kitchen hearth – and redress into something more appropriate for traversing the woods in the dark. He didn't dare leave from the front door, knowing it would cause too much noise as he shut it, and so headed for the side door from the kitchen, which would take him through their nearly barren garden and past the stables.

Keith glanced around and grabbed his basket at the last minute, hoping the old excuse of getting up early to gather herbs from the forest would work as well as usual.

And then he opened the door and stepped outside.

Something grabbed at him from the darkness, slamming him back against the wall hard enough that the back of his head collided with the wall and spots danced in front of his eyes. The basket slid from hand and bounced softly against the ground. Keith gasped and blindly swung out, trying to free himself, but was pinned so hard that there was no moving unless his assailant allowed it.

“You have been a thorn in my spine for too long, boy.”

The familiar hiss of his stepmother's voice drained every last ounce of fight from Keith as a cold chill settled over him. He did nothing as she yanked and shoved him back into the house, surprisingly strong for a woman of her upbringing.

“Did you think I would not find out? That I have no allies in court who would tell me of what they saw?” she demanded. “Did you really think for a moment that a lowly peasant could get away with speaking with the princess without repercussion? And to be alone with her!”

Another shove sent Keith sprawling to the floor, catching himself hard on his hands and knees.

“You nearly ruined everything for Lotor.”

Keith grit his teeth, anger bubbling up through the feeling of helplessness that was swiftly consuming him. He knew he wouldn't be getting away to see Shiro. There was a small part of him that feared he would never be permitted to see the light of day again. Who would even care about a dead servant?

“Princess Katie will never marry him,” he spat.

Dead silence met his words.

Honerva hauled him up with her inhuman strength and dragged him to the cellar door, which was propped open and waiting. Keith struggled in her grasp, doing his best to break away and try and reach the door, but none of his attempts worked.

“Be thankful I'm letting you live.”

With one final shove, Keith tumbled down the cellar steps and landed on cold, hard concrete. Before he could get to his feet, the door swung shut above him and a grinding sound told him that a board was being slid into place to prevent him from opening it.

He was well and truly trapped.

- - - - -

Things were not going as Pidge had planned.

Matt was home and brought with him his lovely bride-to-be, which was wonderful, but on the same day that he returned they received a request of courtship from one of Pidge's approved suitors, which had only the King and Queen pleased.

“He's terrible, mother,” Pidge protested the moment she heard the name. “He doesn't care about me or the kingdom, all he wants is the power that comes with it all.”

“You don't know that for sure, Katie. You will give this young man a chance and I will not hear another word about it,” said Queen Colleen.

Pidge didn't argue. She knew they hoped that news of one suitor offering courtship would pave the way for others to speak up again, but she hated the thought of being forced to spend time with Lotor when she already knew she couldn't trust him.

Knowing she wouldn't get anywhere with her parents, she complained to Matt during one of their strolls through the garden instead.

He listened without making a remark, waiting until she was finished detailing the night of the ball when all Lotor wanted to do was showcase his many talents, and then said: “He does sound pretty awful, but are you sure you're not projecting your dislike of the situation onto him?”

Pidge glared at him. “I am not.”

“Take it easy, Pidge, I believe you,” Matt said, lifting his hands in defense. “I know it's overwhelming. Suddenly, there's a lot of pressure on you now to find a suitable match and it wasn't there before. Now it's no longer about finding someone whose company you enjoy, but someone who can rule an entire country by your side and there's so much more to consider and think over.”

“Yeah, and whose fault is that?” Pidge muttered bitterly, the words slipping out before she could stop them. She looked guiltily at her brother. “I didn't mean – I really like Romelle, Matt. I'm glad you're marrying her. I just can't help but wish you were still inheriting the crown instead of going off to another kingdom to rule there.”

“That would make things easier. Then maybe you'd be able to marry this mysterious guy I've been hearing so much about instead of Baron I-am-so-much-more-important-than-everyone-else,” Matt joked.

“Keith's my friend,” Pidge corrected automatically.

Matt hummed, the teasing grin not fading from his face. “So, when do I get to meet him?”

“I... I don't know if you'll be able to,” Pidge said, slumping her shoulders at the reminder. “I met him when I went to visit Shiro. All I really know is his name and...”

She trailed off as she stopped walking, realizing she knew a good deal more than that after their talk in the garden. Something she'd been ignoring. While he'd been careful not to mention any names when he explained that his stepmother was determined to have her son marry Princess Katie, he did slip up later when asking her to give a warning.

“Pidge?” Matt asked, waving a hand in front of her face. “Katie?”

“Lotor is his brother.”

Matt raised an eyebrow. “Are we still talking about your friend?”

“Keith and Lotor are stepbrothers. I can't believe I didn't put it together until now! I feel so stupid!” She turned to face Matt, a determined glint in her eyes. “I need you to help me. We need to go see Shiro.”

“Aren't you grounded?”

“Then I'll go by myself.”

Matt reached out and grabbed her shoulders as she turned to walk away, making her face him once again. “You have to calm down and think this through rationally. Why do you need to go see Shiro?”

“Because he can help,” Pidge said, purposefully keeping her answer vague. She honestly wasn't sure how Shiro would be able to help, but going to talk to him first felt like the right thing to do.

“I feel like I'm still missing part of the puzzle here. Why do you need help? Is your friend in danger? And how do you know he's in danger if you haven't seen him since the night of the ball?” Matt asked.

All good questions.

Pidge took a deep breath and tried to organize her thoughts in a rational manner so she could better explain why she needed to leave the palace. She led Matt over to the fountain so they would have a place to sit and then she began to explain everything she knew, starting with the fact that Keith came to the palace just to see her that night without having any idea that she was the princess.

As before, Matt listened to what she had to say without complaint, taking in all of the details she was willing to give.

“Okay,” he said when she was finished. “I'll help you get to Shiro, but you have to be patient. Give me a few days to figure something out.” He paused for a moment when Pidge let out an agonized groan. “I'm sure you can handle dealing with Lotor until then.”

Pidge nodded, privately thinking that the sooner she could get to Shiro and ask for his advice, the better.

- - - - -

Pidge's jaw ached from plastering a fake smile on her face after one full afternoon in Lotor's company. She hoped Matt had a good plan for getting her out of the castle, because there was no way she was putting up with another round of the young Baron boasting about his studies and wealth. She only wished her parents saw through his ruse, but unfortunately he had them both charmed.

She was giving Matt one more night to figure things out and then she was going out on her own. Somehow.

Luckily for her, it didn't come down to that. Just as the sun began to dip over the horizon there was a knock on her bedroom door and Pidge answered to find Matt standing there with a solid black cloak in his arms.

“Wear this,” he instructed, handing it to her. “And move quickly. I bought you a little time before the guards come back.”

Pidge giddily pulled on the cloak and tugged up the weighted hood, letting it obscure her features as she and Matt tiptoed through the halls and outside into the humid summer air. Matt led the way to ensure she wouldn't be spotted, but they encountered no problems and were soon safely inside the stables.

“Romelle will cover for us, but we need to be back by the morning,” Matt said as he headed towards his horse, which was already saddled up and waiting for him.

Pidge found her horse there as well and took a moment to soothe the fidgety mare before stepping up and swinging herself into the saddle. She looked to Matt for further instruction, unsure whether or not they were waiting for a signal or if they needed to leave immediately.

“We should go. The others are waiting for us,” he told her, nudging his horse into a walk.

“Others?” Pidge asked.

“You didn't think we'd be going alone, did you?” Matt asked, flashing her a charming smile.

The others turned out to be their personal guards – Allura and Lance, who were astride their own horses and waiting near the gate. Allura had a frown on her face and was pointedly looking away from Lance, who was grinning broadly as though he'd won an argument for once.

Pidge rode over next to Allura, knowing her guard would feel more at ease if she was close. “I'm surprised you agreed to this.”

“I couldn't leave you with only that one as your guard,” Allura said, nodding her head toward the brunet.

Pidge bit her lip to keep from laughing. Allura may complain about Lance quite often, but the pair of them actually got along well. That was, when Lance wasn't flirting with her and every other young woman in the vicinity. “Well, I'm glad you're going with us.”

The four of them set off at an easy trot and kept quiet until they were safely within the borders of the forest, where they were able to speak freely.

“So, how did you enjoy Polluxea, Lance?” Pidge asked.

Lance eagerly launched into a description of the lush gardens and farmland of their northern neighbor and the friendliness of those who lived there. He made a few references to some of the lovely women he met there, but cut it short each time Allura rolled her eyes or made a sound of disinterest.

Matt and Pidge exchanged amused glances each time it happened.

“...prefer being home. I missed this place more than I thought I would,” Lance said with a short laugh.

“What are you going to do when you go back?” Pidge asked.

“I'm not going back,” Lance replied. “I went to help choose a Polluxean guard to watch after Matt and he'll be taking over for me. His name's Tavo and he seems pretty cool, so I'm permanently home now.”

“Mother and father want Lance to be the personal guard for whichever suitor you choose,” Matt added.

Pidge considered Lance for a moment. “Maybe I should introduce you to Lotor and let you scare him off.”

“Is that supposed to be an insult?”

Pidge winked at him and spurred her horse on, racing ahead of the others with a joyous whoop!

It wasn't long before the other three were galloping alongside of her, following the winding path that led to Shiro's cabin. They arrived in good time and Pidge was relieved to spot light through one of the windows. At least they wouldn't be waking them.

“The barn is over to that side of the house. You can put the horses there and then join us inside,” Matt said as he swung down from his horse. He handed the reigns over to Lance and then turned to watch Pidge do the same with Allura.

Pidge led the way to the door, but before she could knock it opened to reveal Shiro waiting for them on the other side. He let them in and told them to get comfortable while he fetched the snacks Curtis made earlier that evening.

“It's rare to get such a late-night visit,” he remarked as he returned with a tray of small sandwiches.

“I couldn't get away any other time,” Pidge said. And then, unable to wait any longer, asked: “Shiro, have you heard from Keith since the ball?”

He blinked in surprise at the abrupt question, but recovered quickly enough. “I haven't. Why? Is there something wrong?”

Pidge shook her head. “No, not-”

“Yes,” Matt cut in.

Pidge whipped her head around to stare at her brother, her lips parting in surprise. What was he talking about? Nothing was really wrong, per-say, she just wanted to talk to Keith and clear some things up. She wanted to apologize. And then she wanted to ask if he and Lotor were truly stepbrothers and if he had any advice for how to prove what a snake he was.

So why was Matt saying there was something wrong?

“I grew up learning about all of the nobility of our kingdom. Five years ago, father had me study each of them in-depth so that I would have talking points when meeting any of them. I'm sure you'll be learning this all soon, Pidge,” he said, nodding to her. “The thing is, I remember reading about this one estate. A small one, with a garden large enough for the household and for selling any excess to the townsfolk. It worked well for them, but that wasn't the most interesting thing.”

He paused as Curtis entered the room from a side door with Lance and Allura, who were offered seats and joined them. Lance happily accepted a sandwich as the tray was held out to him.

“Baron Travis Hawkins married a woman of unknown status from Daibazaal. She was his first wife and they had one child together. A son.”

Daibazaal was a neighboring empire to the west of their kingdom. Twenty-five years ago, it had been in the middle of upheaval as a rebellion overthrew the then-emperor and instated a sovereign of their own choosing. Emperor Kolivan brought them into an age of tranquility as they reached out and made peace with their neighbors and began to let go of their path to conquering the entire continent.

“She passed away a few years after giving birth to their son and five years after that, Baron Hawkins remarried, only to pass away nearly a year later. His widow is Baroness Honerva Hawkins, who had a son from her previous marriage.”

“Lotor,” Pidge breathed out. “But then... then that means...”

“Keith was meant to inherit his father's position as Baron once he turned eighteen, but obviously that hasn't happened,” Matt said with a frown. “Instead, the title is set to be handed over to Lotor, but since it's being done against the wishes of the previous Baron Hawkins, it's not entirely legal. Keith has until his twentieth birthday to contest it before a court of his peers.”

“But why didn't you say anything before now? We could have done something!” Pidge cried out.

“Like what?” Matt asked. “Pidge, we don't have any proof that they're doing something wrong. For all anyone else knows, Keith turned down his title and wants it to go to Lotor instead. The only people who have talked to him are you and Shiro and that isn't enough. I waited because we need to come up with a plan and the people in this room are the only ones I trust to help. The first thing we need to determine is how much danger Keith is in. Shiro?”

Shiro took a moment to mull the question over. “I've been treating his injuries since the first time that we met, but even I would have a hard time saying how far they would be willing to take their abuse. The only reason he would be in immediate danger is if they realized he went to the gala, but that's impossible with the mask I created for him.”

Cold rushed through Pidge's veins. “The red one?”

Shiro nodded.

“It fell off,” Pidge admitted, barely able to speak above a whisper as she met Shiro's wide eyes. “I stumbled and we fell into the fountain and it was knocked loose. I still have it in my room.”

“Then we act immediately,” Allura suggested as she stood and began to pace. “We'll need a way to distract Baroness Hawkins and her son for a day while a few of us see what we can find out around the estate. If Keith is well, we'll be able to speak with him and clear things up. If not...”

“We'll need a warrant,” Lance said with a sigh.

Allura nodded. “We can't just break into someone's house, no matter what we think is going on.”

“Would it really be breaking in if you show up and a door is wide open?” Curtis asked. “It would give you a reason to check and make sure everything is alright, wouldn't it?”

“Even then it would be our word against theirs,” Allura responded.

The debate stretched on into the night as they went back and forth, analyzing details and discarding the majority of their ideas. Eventually, they put together something that could work in their favor and while Allura wasn't thrilled about the possibility of law-breaking that was involved, even she agreed that it was the best chance they had.

All Pidge had to do was spend one more day in the company of Lotor. She could handle that.

Probably.

- - - - -

Two days passed before things lined up for them to proceed with their plan.

Allura and Pidge would remain at the palace, where Pidge would be entertaining Lotor and his mother for the afternoon. King Sam and Queen Colleen were pleased with the decision, hoping it meant their daughter was finally warming up to the only suitor who offered courtship, and made themselves available for a small luncheon to chat with their prospective in-laws.

Matt charmed his way out of joining them by insisting that he'd promised Princess Romelle a romantic tour of the kingdom, which wasn't a lie but was definitely part of their multi-step plan. Naturally, Lance and a pair of Polluxean guards – Tavo and Merla – joined them for their ride into the territory surrounding the palace.

Curtis and Shiro had the most freedom of any of them. They would wait until they were sure Honerva and Lotor were out of the manor and then they would sneak around and see what they could find out. Allura and Lance had insisted they not know all of the details to what “sneaking around” entailed, so they could rightfully claim ignorance if Shiro and Curtis found something by less-than-legal means.

They began on the grounds itself, searching for any sign of Keith, and when they found nothing Shiro led the way to the front door. With a wave of his hand, the bolt clicked into an unlocked position and the heavy door swung open to admit them.

“Impressive,” Curtis complimented.

Shiro grinned and then stepped inside, casting a second spell which created an orb of light, which hovered in front of them for a moment before beginning to drift down the hall towards the right. “Tracking spell,” he clarified for Curtis.

“Remind me why you don't use your magic like this more often?” Curtis asked.

“It makes people nervous. And it's more exhausting than it seems,” Shiro said with a light shrug. “Come on. We need to find Keith.”

They crept along, staying as quiet as they could just in case they weren't as alone as they thought. Just as Curtis was about to turn and ask Shiro another question, they both heard a gasp from up ahead, as a young woman wearing a plain apron came face-to-face with the seeking orb and then looked past it to see both of them.

Shiro took two hurried steps forwards and waved his hand in front of her face.

The woman wavered from side-to-side, her eyes slowly fluttering shut before her legs gave out and Curtis had to catch her and ease her down to the floor.

Shiro blinked back a wave of dizziness. He took a moment to let it settle and then wordlessly began to follow the seeking orb once again with Curtis close by his side. It led them to a door barricaded by a flat board that slid into holders on either side of the frame and then sank through.

“Let me,” Curtis said, stopping Shiro from lifting the board. He removed it on his own and set it aside before opening the door to allow Shiro inside first.

Leaning against the far wall, shivering from the chill of the cellar, was Keith.

Shiro nearly tripped down the steps in his haste to reach his friend, his hands fumbling with the bag at his side as he went for one of the potions he packed as a “just in case”. He kneeled in front of Keith, only slightly put at ease by the sight of his chest rising and falling and the occasional tremors from the chill.

“Keith, can you hear me?” he asked.

Keith groaned in response, straining to do something as simple as opening his eyes. He closed them again and muttered something about it being too bright.

Shiro snapped his fingers and the seeking orb fizzled out, leaving only the light streaming in through the door. “You're okay now. We're going to get you out. Keith, do you know how long you've been in here?”

“Days?” Keith guessed, his voice hoarse from disuse and lack of water. “Sorry, Shiro.”

“This is not your fault,” Shiro said firmly. He searched through his bag and came up with a potion in a green clay container, which he uncorked and held to Keith's lips. “Drink this. It will help soothe your throat.”

Keith drank without questioning what it was and made a face at the taste of it once he was through. “S'weird,” he muttered.

“I know, but it'll help. And so will this one,” Shiro said as he selected another container – one colored a sunny yellow. He helped Keith drink it and decided that it was enough to be able to move him. Any further healing could wait until they were someplace safe.

The empty containers went back into his bag and then Shiro gestured for Curtis to come over and help him lift Keith. They shuffled awkwardly as they adapted to how they could and could not move as a unit and then slowly made their way up the steps, back through the halls, and out the front door.

It took Keith a few minutes to realize they were going in the opposite direction from the path to Shiro's house. “Where are we going?”

“We're meeting up with someone who can help,” Curtis said.

Keith seemed to go even paler. “Someone else knows?”

“Without them, we never would have had this opportunity to come find you. It's thanks to them that any of this is happening,” Shiro said. “We can trust them, Keith. No one will think less of you for needing help.”

He perked up as the sound of hooves and the rattling of a carriage met their ears just as a pair of guards astride white horses crested the rise of the hill in front of them, followed by a gleaming open carriage. A third guard rode behind them on a dark gray mare.

“Just in time,” Curtis murmured. He glanced at Shiro, who nodded, and then transferred all of Keith's weight to his partner so he could run ahead and get their attention.

The guards came to an abrupt stop and the one with dark skin and hair demanded to know who he was.

“It's alright, Tavo, he's a friend.”

Shiro was relieved to hear Matt's voice. It meant everything was going according to plan.

Keith made a confused sound when he saw Matt jump down from the carriage to speak with Curtis. “Pidge?”

“Her brother,” Shiro correctly gently. “That is Prince Matthew. He's the reason we came to get you. We'll be traveling with him back to the palace and make use of their healers.”

Keith sucked in a deep breath in surprise. “Shiro, I can't! This isn't necessary!”

“You need more help and rest than I can give on my own,” Shiro told him. He adjusted his grip so he could begin weaving a spell with his free hand. “Rest easy, Keith. Everything will be alright from here out.”

“Using magic's unfair,” Keith slurred as his head drooped and he dropped into an easy sleep.

Guilt and his moral sense warred with his logical mind about whether or not it was necessary to use magic on his friend, and eventually logic won the battle as he helped lift Keith into the carriage and get him comfortable on the bench across from Princess Romelle, who watched everything with curiosity but not confusion.

“I apologize for cutting your excursion short, Princess Romelle,” Shiro said.

Princess Romelle smiled softly in return. “It is worth it if it means helping someone in need. There will be other days when I will be able to view this glorious kingdom.”

A diplomatic answer. One which sounded a little too well rehearsed for her to have been completely left in the dark about their plans.

Shiro glanced at Matt, who was too busy gazing fondly at his bride-to-be to take part in any conversation, so instead he lowered his eyes to Keith and took account of his newest injuries and the best ways to treat them.

Curtis took a seat next to the driver and they began to move.

- - - - -

Keith woke to the white walls and ceiling of an unfamiliar room. Heavy, warm green blankets covered him up to his neck and smelled pleasantly of some sort of sweet flower. Delicate curtains fluttered in the breeze coming in from an open window and he could hear birdsong, over top of which was the brush of paper against paper.

It took a great deal of effort just to turn his head, but when he did he was rewarded with the sight of Pidge seated at his bedside, her hair pulled up in a high bun, her amber eyes focused on the pages of the book in her hands. On the small table next to her was a bouquet of red carnations and silver-tipped ferns artfully arranged in a clay vase.

For a moment, all he could do was watch her as his awareness and ability to move slowly returned to him. When he did open his mouth, there was only one thing he could say and although it came out as barely more than a whisper, Pidge jumped as though startled by a loud sound.

“Keith!” she exclaimed, all but throwing her book aside as she rose from her chair. “How do you feel? Can I get you anything?”

“Water,” he croaked out, hoping that a drink would help clear his throat enough that he could speak more normally.

Pidge nodded and walked across the room to fetch a pitcher and a glass. “Shiro made lemon-honey water for you to drink until he can come make a hot tea. Apparently, this one can be kept warm with one of his charms but tea is best drank soon after brewing.”

Keith fought the urge to groan at having to drink another one of Shiro's concoctions and instead gave a small nod that made his head spin and had him horribly disoriented for a long minute. He blinked away the dark spots to find Pidge back by his bedside, holding out the cup with a concerned expression.

To his embarrassment, she had to hold the cup so he could drink.

The lemon-honey water wasn't nearly as bad as he expected, somehow achieving a nice balance between the sweetness of the honey and the sour of the lemon without being too thick. It quickly went to work on soothing his throat and after a few swallows, he felt like he could talk again.

“Where am I?”

“The palace,” Pidge responded promptly. She held the cup for a moment longer and then set it on the side table next to the vase and retook her seat. “You're in one of our guestrooms and Shiro and Curtis are borrowing one just across the hall. You've been here for two days, healing in some kind of magical coma that Shiro put you in.”

Keith felt even less comfortable once he fully understood where he was. He was just a servant. Hardly someone who belonged in such a nice room. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re not the one who should be apologizing. Keith, I… I’m the one who needs to apologize. I should have told you who I really was instead of letting you find out on your own. That wasn’t right. I just got so nervous that you wouldn’t want to talk to me anymore or that you’d treat me differently once you knew who I was and I didn’t want to lose that,” Pidge explained, bowing her head slightly. “It’s no excuse and I know that. I’m really sorry, Keith.”

Keith wished he could reach out and comfort her, but even if he weren’t recovering from days of being locked in darkness with no food and water, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to bring himself to touch the princess. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

“Then neither do you,” Pidge said.

Keith tried to think of a reply but came up empty-handed. The moment passed as the door opened and Shiro stepped inside with a tray. He brightened up when he saw Keith awake.

“Oh good! I brought you both some food,” he said as he bustled inside. “It’ll be soup for you until you regain some of your strength, Keith. How are you feeling?”

“Tired. Sore,” Keith admitted, knowing there was no lying to the man.

Shiro nodded. “That’s all normal. You’ll probably spend the next few days sleeping while the magic does its work.” He handed off one bowl to Pidge and then walked around to the chair on the other side of the bed.

Keith warily eyed the bowl in his hands. “You’re not going to put me to sleep again, are you?”

“No, not like before. I’m sorry about that, by the way. I didn’t think I’d be able to get you here without stressing you out so badly that you’d become even more ill,” Shiro told him. He set everything down so he could prop Keith up with an extra pillow they collected just for the occasion.

While Shiro helped Keith sit up and eat, Pidge carefully kept her gaze averted and ate her own food in slow, small bites. By the time she finished, Keith was nearly done with his own, his stomach almost unpleasantly full despite the smaller amount in his bowl.

“M’done,” he muttered when Shiro tried to get him to keep eating. He closed his eyes for a moment. “What now? I mean, what about my home? I can’t go back again.”

“No. At least, not right now,” Shiro agreed, giving Pidge a pointed look over the bed.

Keith followed his gaze. “Not right now…?”

“I think I’ll leave you two to talk,” Shiro said as he stood. He walked back around to collect Pidge’s bowl and left after promising he’d be back in an hour to deliver a special tea for Keith to drink.

“What did he mean by ‘not right now’?” Keith tried again.

Pidge took a deep breath as though steeling her nerves for something that would be difficult to say. “My brother, Matt, has been doing some research ever since I told him about you. Nothing bad! He was just curious, especially when we realized Lotor is your stepbrother.”

A cold chill swept through Keith. “How did…?”

“It was just a few of the things you said when we talked that night. And then Matt’s research seemed to confirm all of that… You’re the son of Baron Travis Hawkins and the rightful heir to his estate and title,” Pidge said.

And then all Keith felt was confusion. “That’s not right. The title goes to the oldest and that would be Lotor.”

“The title passes to the firstborn son,” Pidge corrected. “That’s you, Keith. You’re the one whose name is listed in the court records. It’s been unchanged for twelve years. The last update to the record was to note that he remarried and that Honerva would act as Baroness until you came of age to take up the title. You are the Baron of the Hawkins estate, not Lotor.”

Keith turned his head to look straight up at the ceiling, feeling a little dizzy from the news.

The estate was his.

They had taken his childhood home from him unlawfully and made him feel as though he was worthless for so long when he was meant to be learning to take over for his dad.

Baron Keith Hawkins.

That was going to take a lot of getting used to.

“We have a plan, but it will all have to wait until you’re well enough to walk and get around on your own again,” Pidge said.

Keith attempted a nod. “Yeah.”

He was aware of Pidge talking a little more, telling him about the history of the estate and how his ancestor’s earned their title because of the messenger hawks they raised and trained for the royal family. He drifted off to sleep to the sound of her soft voice.

- - - - -

As Shiro mentioned, Keith spent several days drifting in and out of sleep. Sometimes Pidge was there. Sometimes it was Shiro or Curtis. Occasionally he woke to find Prince Matt sitting there, silently keeping him company. The first time had been so awkward that Keith pretended to still be asleep until Shiro came in to make him drink more of his strange tea concoctions - licorice remained his least favorite and he’d be happy if Shiro never made it for him again.

Each day his strength returned a little more until Shiro cleared him for being allowed to get up and move around the room. His appetite grew with his strength and soon he was able to handle a full meal that wasn’t soup.

During the times he was awake he got caught up with their plans to expose Honerva and Lotor and make it so they could never hurt anyone else again, adding his own details so they could prepare for their attempts to weasel their way out of trouble. By the time Keith was able to stay awake for more than an hour, they were just about ready to put their plans into motion.

They would call Lotor and Honerva to court, hoping they would believe it was the will of the King and Queen to approve a formal courtship between Lotor and the princess. There, they would reveal the truth.

It all hinged on Keith’s ability to remain standing long enough to see them brought to justice.

“You’ll need appropriate clothing, as well,” Matt mentioned, looking him up and down. “I could get my tailor to make you something, but I’m not sure he’ll be able to finish in time. Anything I already have won’t be appropriate for you either, otherwise I’d offer.”

“I can take care of that,” Shiro promised.

“Another glamour?” Keith guessed.

Shiro nodded. “It’ll be simple enough to make you something that reflects your heritage. Are there any portraits of your father that I could see to get an idea of what I should create?”

It was Matt who answered. “There was a decent one in the court record. I’ll show you later.”

Conversations with Pidge were vastly different, full of colorful stories and long rambling rants about all of the things they hated about Lotor. Keith found himself laughing every time Pidge mimicked Lotor’s voice and tried to repay her by telling her the more amusing stories of growing up with him as a stepbrother, like all of the tantrums he’d thrown over the years.

By the time the day came to confront his stepfamily, Keith didn’t feel nearly as nervous as he expected to.

After so many years of their abuse and of being told he wasn’t good enough and fearing that his father’s house would forever be a prison to him instead of a home, Keith was finally able to stand up tall and proud and reclaim it all for himself.

Shiro was his first and only visitor that morning, as Pidge and Matt prepared on their own for what was coming. They ate together and then Shiro had him stand still while he used his magic to weave a brand new glamour for the occasion.

Keith had expected colors similar to the suit Shiro created for the ball, but instead the color palette and style were vastly different.

The top was a high-neck, military-style jacket in deep plum and with a black inner lining. The epaulets on each shoulder were lavender with silver fringe, which matched the belt around his waist. His pants and shoes were solid blacks.

Keith eyed his reflection with mild unease, feeling entirely out of his element as Shiro stepped up and began to style his hair by hand. “Do you really think I can do this?”

“I have always believed in you, Keith. You are more than ready,” Shiro said. He tied off Keith’s hair with a strip of fabric that matched the purple of his clothing, leaving it in a simple low ponytail. “Now you just need to believe it too.”

Keith nodded but said nothing else as he followed Shiro out of the room and through the wide halls of the palace to the throne room, where a crowd of available nobles had gathered in the hope that they would be among the first to hear news about the newest royal courtship.

He paused outside the door to steel his nerves for what was waiting for him on the other side.. “I am ready.”

Shiro smiled and opened the door for him.

The low murmur of voices met Keith's ears as he stepped into the room. Several people glanced his way and then turned again to stare, but Keith didn't pay them any attention and put all of his focus on the royal family at the other end of the room. His eyes landed on the King and Queen first, who sat upon their throne with benevolent smiles and occasionally bent their heads together to whisper something. To their right stood Prince Matt and a beautiful woman with blond hair and a soft pink gown, who Keith rightfully assumed to be Princess Romelle of Polluxea.

When he looked at Pidge, he nearly stopped walking. It was only because of how many times he recited his role in their plans that he continued on, but from that moment on his eyes never left her.

Emerald green suited her, he couldn't help but think as he watched her stand there in a gown that shimmered as though it was covered in gems. Around her neck was a simple, round green stone on a golden chain.

Enter the room. Back straight, head held high. Act as though there is no other place you belong. (Easy for Prince Matt to say.)

Walk to the throne and stop at the foot of the stairs, no less than three feet from the guards on either side. Bow respectfully to the King and Queen. Then to Prince Matt and finally to Pidge.

Keith followed Prince Matt's instructions to the letter, but as he turned to bow to Pidge, someone forced their way through the crowd and reached out as if to yank him away, but their hand was never allowed to make contact.

In the blink of an eye, Lance was there in front of him as guards closed in around the royal family to shield them from the potential danger.

“Madam, I ask that you compose yourself,” Lance snapped.

Keith couldn't help but flinch away at the utterly thunderous look on Honerva's face as Lance continued to hold onto her wrist, unwilling to let go until he was sure she wouldn't strike out in rage. Lotor appeared over her shoulder in the crowd, but he stayed back and tried to keep his face impassive, though Keith could see his fury roiling beneath the surface.

It took a moment, but Honerva calmed herself enough that Lance let go. “That boy is nothing more than a servant. I merely wished to save their Majesties from being forced to listen to any of the lies that spill forth from his mouth.”

“I fear you have been misinformed, Madam,” Prince Matt spoke up. “If you would wait but a moment, he was about to introduce himself to the court.”

Honerva scoffed. “There is no need to play along with his foolish games. Allow me to take him home and deliver appropriate punishment for his misdeeds.”

Again, whispers broke out in the room as people latched onto her words and took them as the truth. Why wouldn't they? After all, Baroness Honerva was a lady of noble birth and was well-known in their circles, as was her son, Lotor. If she said the well-dressed man in front of them was nothing more than a servant boy playing dress-up, then why wouldn't they believe her?

King Sam stood from his throne and held up a hand, silently calling for everyone to be quiet. “I would like to hear what this young man has to say.”

Chin up.

Back straight.

Keith folded his right arm over his midsection and bowed one last time. “Your Majesties, my name is Keith Hawkins, son of the late Baron Travis Hawkins and his first wife, Krolia Hawkins. I am here to ask that you see justice carried out in regards to the Hawkins estate, of which I am the rightful heir.”

He might as well have said he was the grandson of the emperor of a foreign land with the amount of pandemonium that broke out in the throne room. Honerva's angry screech could barely be made out as the other nobles broke out into loud questions and demands, each wanting to know if it was true.

Keith stood in the middle of it all, letting the voices wash over him as he kept his focus on Pidge, who smiled encouragingly. That alone kept him grounded.

Well, that and the fact that Lance remained by his side as a physical blockade between him and Honerva until the other guards arrived to take her into custody until they could get to the truth of what had been revealed. Lotor attempted to slip away into the crowds and escape unnoticed, but he was caught as well and taken away, though he didn't struggle nearly as much as his mother, perhaps hoping that by going along willingly he could show his innocence.

Keith was led away by Lance, who was acting on Prince Matt's orders and took him back to the nice guest room where he'd spent the past week recovering.

“Nice job, Keith,” Lance complimented. “All it'll take is for the King and Queen to check the records themselves and this will all get sorted out. I bet you'll be glad when this is all over.”

“Yeah,” Keith agreed.

At long last, his nightmare was coming to an end.

- - - - -

The Hawkins estate was a beautiful property when it was being properly cared for. Pidge almost couldn't believe it was the same place when she finally found the chance to visit again nearly a year after the debacle with Honerva and Lotor. Under a new Baron, the estate flourished in more ways than one.

With Allura and Lance following like a pair of persistent shadows, Pidge was led around to the back gardens, where an ornate table and chairs waited beneath the shade of a massive oak. Keith stood there, dressed down in soft reds and black, and smiled when he saw her.

“Princess,” he greeted with a smile and a friendly bow.

“Baron Hawkins,” she responded with an easy nod.

They both grinned and dropped all formalities as they sat and began to catch up on everything that had changed since they last spoke. It had been a while, as Keith busied himself with the spring planting and some of the heavy manual labor that needed to be done, even though he had staff who were more than capable of doing it all themselves. Keith said that he enjoyed the work when he wasn't forced to do it and having company made it even better.

“Mostly, I've been going through my parents' old things. There was a lot more than I expected locked away in some of the old rooms. Like my mother's journals. I felt odd about reading them at first, but it's the only chance I have to get to know what kind of person she was,” Keith admitted.

Pidge reached across the table and took his hand. “I don't think she'd mind. So, what have you learned?”

“She was from Daibazaal. That's where my dad learned a lot of new stories and legends that he told me when I was young. But she left near the end of the revolution, though she never said why in any of the journals. At least, she didn't say in any of the ones I read.”

Pidge couldn't help but smile as she listened to the way he spoke of his parents. His joy at getting to learn more about them, even if it was from an old journal, warmed her heart.

“Did you know in Daibazaal they don't begin courtship by gifting a piece of jewelry?”

Pidge blinked in surprise, unsure of how the conversation drifted to courtship. She must have gotten more lost in her thoughts than she meant to. “I didn't know. What do they do instead?”

“In Daibazaal, a bouquet of carnations is the traditional first gift. The rarer the color, the better the proof of their love.” Keith reached into his jacket and withdrew a thin box, which he placed on the table in front of her. “My dad wanted to combine their traditions, so he had this made for her.”

She couldn't stop a startled gasp from breaking past her lips as he cracked open the box to reveal an ornate bracelet with links designed to resemble tiny flowers. Most of it was silver, including the delicate leaves, but the flowers themselves were some sort of purple crystal.

“Purple carnations to represent Daibazaal,” Keith said softly. “I was hoping you would accept it as my first gift to you.”

Pidge's eyes flickered up to Keith's face and remained there as she struggled to find her words. Finally, she snapped out of it. “Yes. Yes, of course, I will!”

Keith breathed out in relief, his smile turning brighter than she'd ever seen. With a gentleness that endeared her even more to him, he helped her put on the bracelet and they both took a moment to admire the way it looked against her pale skin.

And while it didn't happen in the way he ever expected it to, Keith realized at that moment that all of his hopes and dreams for his own future were finally beginning to come true.

#voltron #fanfiction #kidge #kidgemas #cinderella au

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silverfootstepswrites · 5 years

Text

Incandescent [1/3]

title Incandescent (1/3) summary First love doesn’t always mean true love. pairing itasaku (of course)

Part 2 | Part 3

"I'm calling off the engagement."

Sakura blinked once. Twice. She wondered if she had heard wrong. Her hand found the gold necklace hanging from her throat. Fingers gripping the delicate chain. Everything started to sound a little muffled. Like she was hearing a conversation with her ear pressed to the door.

Her stomach lurched as she looked up and found Sasuke staring at her. Those cold eyes burning into her as he looked her up and down.

"Karin is much more suited to be Queen," he added. And the words pierced the left side of her chest. With the precision of a butcher's knife. Twisting almost as hard as her hands as they clenched into her skirts.

As Sasuke spoke, he held his hand out. It took a moment. Even when she stepped out of the crowd to accept it, she cast a nervous glance Sakura's way. Because no matter how ambitious she was, Karin wasn't a stupid girl. Scheming would be a better word. She had captured the heart of the prince she had so coveted. But public humiliation of his previous fiancee hadn't been in her plans. One look into her eyes made that obvious. The girl couldn't even hold her gaze for more than a second before averting her eyes.

Sakura looked down at the stain on her dress. Burgundy against the pale green fabric. Darkening the ruffles and the painstaking needlework. She could hear the mounting murmurs of the gathering crowd. The whispers leaking out like a hissing pit of snakes.

She swallowed. Very slowly, deliberately, she pushed her hair out of her eyes with her left hand. Then she stared at Sasuke from under her eyelashes.

"You could have handled this sort of thing in private, Your Highness," she finally replied. His eyes narrowed.

"Are you the sort of woman who would have responded to that?" he challenged. The disgust in his gaze pricked her again. Sakura wondered what sort of lies Karin had poured into his ears for him to look at her that way.

Not that it mattered.

Sakura tucked her hair behind her ear. And then, in one swift motion, she grabbed her necklace and pulled. The thin link snapped.

"Well, I suppose you'll need this back then," Sakura said. He held his hand out to accept it. And as the golden chain pooled in his palm, Sakura added, "Although, I have to say that this is cruel treatment for someone who loved you so honestly, Prince Sasuke."

As his face twisted again, Sakura gave him a mild smile. She curtseyed.

"Your Highness." And then she inclined her head in Karin's direction. "And Lady Karin. I'll take my leave."

The crowd parted as Sakura turned around. All eyes on her as she strode down the tile. Out of the hall. The gasps and comments trailing after her, perhaps like her wedding veil would have one day as she stepped down the aisle. Her face glowing with happiness before she uttered those two words she had always looked forward to saying.

It didn’t take long for the rumors to spread throughout the whole school. By then, Sakura already sat in the carriage on the way to her family’s manor in the capital.

Ino had helped smuggle her into the thing. Because despite proudly striding out on her own two feet, Sakura had only managed to hold in the tears until she made it to Ino’s room. And she had burst into tears as she threw herself into her best friend’s arms.

“I told you to be careful. I knew that girl would be a thieving little weasel the moment I saw her!” Ino alternated between patting Sakura’s back and seething at the injustice of it all.

“They’re lucky I wasn’t there. Prince or not, I would have-” Ino nearly snapped her fan in half as she demonstrated what would have happened. Sakura gave a half-hearted nod in response.

“Do you feel a little better now?” Ino queried.

Sakura nodded again.

“What are you going to do?”

Sakura felt for her necklace out of habit. Remembered where it was now. She clenched her hand into a fist instead.

“See my parents, I suppose,” she sighed. Ino sat up a little straighter.

“That’s right. Maybe your parents can do something. Convince His Majesty to speak to Prince Sasuke.” Ino’s mind ran a mile a minute. She flapped her fan back and forth as she spoke. And that was the right response. Because ever since they were little girls, Sakura had dreamt about marrying the prince. They had wept with joy together when he had proposed. Squealed with delight at every present, every little gesture.

But something had twisted inside of Sakura. Standing alone with not a single one of her ‘supporters’ speaking up for her. The disdain coloring Sasuke’s eyes. And the way his hand curled around Karin’s the way they never had with hers.

“No, Ino,” Sakura said, her eyes fixed straight ahead. “This was a political marriage, to begin with. So the consequences will be political as well.”

Ino’s fan stilled. “....Oh boy,” was all she could say.

So now Sakura sat in Ino’s carriage, which her friend had graciously lent to her. Her attendants assured her that they would handle packing her luggage and explaining her departure to the headmaster and her professors. The thunder of hooves against the stone marking a steady rhythm as they traveled.

The path from the academy to the capital was smooth thanks to the well-paved roads. Her father had played a large role in organizing and funding that particular project. It had greatly increased trade and decreased the amount of time it took to travel in the north.

The Haruno family’s lands lay to the south of the capital. She had always enjoyed the cooler weather up here. But as she stared glumly out the window, she couldn’t help but miss the vast fields of sunflowers that carpeted her family’s lands.

The Haruno family’s mansion in the capital was tiny compared to their manor in the countryside. The gates swung open as the carriage approached. The steward and some of the servants already waited outside to greet her.

As the footman opened up the door, Sakura stepped out of the carriage.

“Welcome home, Lady Sakura,” the servants greeted her, bowing deeply.

“My father?”

“In his study, My Lady,” the steward replied, falling into step beside her.

“The carriage is from Lady Ino. Please see that the horses are tended to,” Sakura directed.

“Very good, My Lady,” he replied. And with a bow, he stepped away to carry out her orders.

Sakura strode down the hall, her hands folded in front of her. Upstairs, at the end of the west wing, she stopped in front of a set of double doors. She hesitated. Took a deep breath. Straightened the ribbon on her collar. And only then did she knock.

“Yes?”

“Papa,” Sakura greeted as she stepped inside.

“Have a seat, my dear,” he replied.

Kizashi sat at his desk, a heavy book open in front of him. He lowered his spectacles as he watched her enter. Nodded his approval when she closed the door softly behind her before she sat in the armchair.

“Whatever could it be that you left in the middle of your classes? You’ve never missed a day of school,” he wondered.

Sakura looked him right in the eyes as she told him: “I think Mama should be here too.”

He didn’t press her. Simply sent a servant to find his wife. Mebuki entered a few minutes later, taking a seat beside her daughter.

“Papa, Mama, Prince Sasuke canceled the engagement,” Sakura told her hands clasped in her lap. She heard her mother gasp. When she looked up, her father was pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

“For that girl?” Kizashi asked. “The niece of Baron Uzumaki?”

Sakura nodded.

“I’d heard rumors, but I never thought...” Mebuki trailed off with a sigh. She reached over to take Sakura’s hand. Sakura could feel the corners of her eyes sting again.

“He announced it in front of everyone and said that she would make a better consort,” Sakura recounted. Mebuki drew in a sharp breath. Her hand squeezing a little.

“It’s so humiliating. I’m so upset, Mama,” Sakura whispered. Clutching her mother’s hand tighter as she bowed her head. She burst into tears all over again, her shoulders shaking. Crying even harder when she felt her mother stroke her back.

“There there, Sakura. I’m having tea with Her Majesty the Queen tomorrow. I can speak to her about it then. I’m sure it’s just a momentary lapse of judgment,” Mebuki assured her.

“No!” Sakura exclaimed, her chin jerking up. And she looked right at her father. “This is a grave insult to our family.”

“Indeed. To one-sidedly break off the engagement, as well as publicly humiliating my daughter. I wonder if that young prince has lost his mind,” Kizashi murmured, stroking his chin. And then he stared at Sakura as he asked, “What do you want to so, Sakura?”

“Reduce trade with the capital,” Sakura demanded.

“And what will the people do? Starve?” Kizashi challenged.

Not angrily, though. They had been doing this since she was little. He would always push her to think outside of her scenarios. To know what tools were available to use. To anticipate the consequences of the actions she took.

“Can we pull back our forces then? Send them home?” Sakura tried again. This time, her father’s eyebrow rose. He motioned for her to continue speaking.

“What will be our excuse to the crown?” he prompted.

“Training exercises. And that there have been animal attacks in our territories and we need to defend our citizens,” Sakura answered.

“Not very convincing reasons, but they don’t need to be,” Kizashi decided. He nodded. “Very well.”

“What about your obligations, darling?” Mebuki then asked.

Sakura had to think about that. The social aspect of things was always more difficult to navigate. Not because she didn’t know the rules. It was actually because she knew the rules so well. One misstep could have disastrous results.

“I won’t attend any events for the remainder of the season,” Sakura declared. Kizashi sighed while Mebuki failed to hide her smile.

“That will cause quite a scandal. What are your intentions, my sweet?” questioned Mebuki.

Sakura rubbed the rest of her tears away.

The only family whose power and influenced rivaled that of a duke’s was the royal family itself. For eight generations, the Haruno family had served the Uchiha family. Suppressing rebellion and supplying the kingdom with food harvested from its fertile lands. A well-fed duchy raised strong soldiers too.

Though the Haruno family made a big show of serving as the Crown’s right hand for many years, they had always known. That should the day come.

Should the opportunity arise, mayhem was at their fingertips.

“I want the Crown to regret this insult against me. And when they beg for me to return, I’ll say ‘no’.”

“What a wicked answer. What do you think, my love?” Mebuki then asked, turning to her husband.

“I don’t see why we can’t indulge such a simple whim. After all, this is a slight against House Haruno,” Kizashi chuckled as he placed his spectacles on the bridge of his nose again.

“She withdrew?” Temari repeated.

“Her room is empty. You can go check if you’d like,” Ino responded.

Gaara shook his head. “No, I believe you. It’s just...” He glanced over at his older sister, who looked just as perplexed.

“We leave for the countryside for just a month and return to chaos,” he concluded.

“Oh. I didn’t even think to ask. Is your father alright?” Ino inquired.

“He’s alive. Just kicking up a fuss over a simple cold. We wanted to leave sooner, but our mother wanted to spend some time with us,” Gaara sighed.

“I still can’t believe someone would dare to do that. And to Lady Sakura, no less,” he then suddenly remarked, reminding everyone of where the conversation had started. “I hope she’s alright.”

“Next weekend. Marquise Hyuuga is holding a garden party. I’m sure we’ll see her there. We’ll let you know how she is,” Ino pointed out.

“You’re right.”

But the following weekend, whispers filled the Hyuuga family’s garden. And it was all of a singular subject: Neither Lady Sakura nor her esteemed mother, Duchess Haruno, were in attendance at the party. No apologies. No message sent to Marquise Hyuuga.

Ino watched the older woman fume from afar, idly fanning herself. Beside her, Temari took a long sip of tea. She set the cup down with a grimace.

“This is the biggest event the Marquise will throw this season. She’s livid,” Ino observed.

“Frothing at the mouth,” Temari agreed.

Ino’s father was a marquis and Temari’s brother was an earl. They were both nobles of good standing. Their attendance at Marquise Hyuuga’s party was certainly appreciated. But they were small fry compared to the grave insult of being snubbed by the Duchess.

“Although, if I remember correctly, neither Lord Neji nor Lady Hinata came to Lady Sakura’s aid during that incident,” Temari then observed. Ino considered this.

“Ah. That.... that makes sense, then,” she answered after some thought.

It went on. The dinner party at Earl Inuzuka’s home was thrown into similar disarray when the Duchess failed to show. Marquise Nara’s tea party also suffered the shame of an empty spot at the table.

Ino recounted all these things in the letter she sent to Sakura’s mansion in the capital. She received a reply right away- cordial and maybe a little smug. Sakura stated that she was feeling unwell and “very much appreciated” her concern.

Towards the end of the season, Sakura considered heading to her family’s manor. Skipping the ball that the Queen threw at the palace. The one where nobles were known to fall ill from the shock over not receiving an invitation. Sakura glanced at the envelope and tossed it on the table between them. Her mother sighed.

“It will be considered a grave insult to the Crown. You should go. There has to be a limit to your willfulness,” her mother advised.

“Would I start a war if I choose not to go?” Sakura wondered, tilting her head to the side as she thought.

“....It’s a possibility,” her mother replied.

It was Sakura’s turn to sigh. “What color should I wear?” she asked.

When they announced the Haruno family’s arrival at the ball, heads swiveled even more quickly than usual. First, as was proper, came Sakura’s parents, looking as polished and perfect as they always did in public. And then, a few moments later, Sakura stepped into the ballroom, her hand resting on the arm of someone who raised eyebrows and whispers.

“Couldn’t you have asked someone else to do this?” Sai grumbled as he felt the stares following him.

“No. Besides, you’re one of Papa’s knights. It’s not inappropriate for you to escort me,” Sakura whispered back, keeping her demure smile in place. Not quite meeting people’s eyes but not avoiding them either.

“I would rather be training,” he griped.

“Well, if the ball goes poorly, who knows. Maybe you’ll get a chance to stab something,” she replied.

Sai’s gaze flew to her. “Are you in danger, Lady Sakura?” he demanded. Eyes narrowing, he looked back out at the sea of people. This time, his stare was filled with suspicion rather than boredom. Sakura squeezed his forearm a little.

“Relax. I was joking.”

Sai shot her a look of exasperation. “You’re not funny.”

Before their banter could continue, they stood before the King and Queen. They bowed deeply in front of them. When Sakura raised her head, she cast a sideways glance at their parents. Who seemed relaxed. Which meant that she could as well.

“My dear Duke, we’re always glad to see you,” the King greeted Kizashi first, who dipped his head.

“And Duchess Haruno. Your presence brightens the room as always,” the Queen then said. Mebuki also bowed again before she replied something light-hearted and charming. Which Sakura scarcely heard because she could feel the pressure of the Queen’s eyes on her. The pressure of the woman’s gaze alone was incredible. Still, Sakura kept her head held high.

“We’re so pleased that you could attend, Lady Sakura. I was so concerned when I heard that you might not make an appearance tonight. It appears that you have been absent from many events, this season. We hope that all is well,” the Queen greeted her.

Sakura knew what was happening. Since the Queen couldn’t easily chastise her mother for skipping out on events, she was taking it out on her daughter instead. Who she assumed would be an easier target. In front of the eyes of the entire court. Her mother had warned her that this might happen.

Sakura curtseyed. “Thank you for your concern, Your Grace. I apologize for my absence. I simply needed time to recover from the great injury that was struck against me.”

When she stared the Queen in the eyes, she knew that the woman had understood her implicit accusation.

‘Because of your son.’

A ripple of murmurs rose and fell among the other attendees.

And this, Sakura knew, would put the Queen in an uncomfortable position. Would she take her son’s side and risk insulting the second most powerful family in the country? Or would she announce public disapproval of her own child to appease the Duke and his family?

“Ah... that... unpleasant... affair. Yes,” the Queen finally said. She cleared her throat. “Well... it appears that you have since recovered. We are glad.”

Sakura stole a glance at her mother. Whose expression had turned stony. And Sakura could see the Queen looking at her too. It was clear.

That had been the wrong answer.

“Well, please enjoy yourselves,” the Queen hastily dismissed them.

Sakura could see Prince Sasuke and his entourage across the ballroom. She glimpsed a flash of red, too, which meant that Karin was with him. All he cast her way was a cold glance. Without even the decency to greet her. Which suited her just fine. She wouldn’t have wanted to smile and curtsy in front of him and his new fiancee anyway.

They didn’t stay long at the party. Sakura had time to catch up with Ino and Temari, who blurted out everything that she had missed in the last couple of months. She danced with both Temari’s brothers, who she had known for forever. She and Kankuro commiserated over their lack of luck with the opposite sex. Gaara commented on Countess Inuzuka’s heinous hat, which made her laugh. Sakura barely managed to find time to squeeze in a dance with Sir Sai before her mother announced that it was time to go home.

According to Ino, the Haruno family’s early departure was the topic of gossip for weeks afterward. Not that any of that mattered by the time Sakura arrived at the Haruno manor. Just as she wondered where to go first, she spotted a servant boy running up to her as fast as he could in his starched jacket and pants.

“My Lady! My Lady, a message!” he huffed.

“Is it from Mother? There’s no need to run,” she laughed as she reached out the carriage window to accept the envelope.

But something felt off about the paper. The crispness felt all wrong. And when she turned it over, the wax seal was deep purple rather than the red that people usually used. She fumbled to rip the flap open. The handwriting inside was beautiful, as precise as if each letter had been stamped to form the lines.

The servant dove to catch the paper when it dropped from her hand. Sakura slumped against the carriage door, her eyes wide.

“My Lady, are you alright?”

Sakura ran her shaking hand through her hair. “Um... well... We’re having a visitor, it looks like,” she then managed to say.

#writing #itasaku #inspired by Koushaku Reijou no Tashinami #which y'all should read if you haven't #because who hasn't wanted to destroy a shitty ex before #sry sasuke #no one can play icy ex like you can #i'll write a nice story for you later #incandescent

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teamhook · 4 years

Text

A Chapter a Day... Savage Heart CS AU

A love story between a pirate and his savior. An innocent, beautiful, selfless woman meets a man with no manners, no formal education and not even a last name. Will Emma fall in love with Killian once she discovers that beneath his tough exterior lies a heart-wild, but a heart of gold? This is a Captain Swan AU

Beta-ed by the awesome @ilovemesomekillianjones

|AO3| |FFN| previous chapter

|AO3| |FFN| current chapter

Chapter 13: The Proposition

Mr. Smee approaches the Booth estate grounds. He hates giving his Captain bad news. Captain Jones is known for having a horrible temper and sadly it is his peril to give him the bad news today. He takes a breath and as he is about to knock on the door he hears his Captain's voice from behind. He quickly turns only to see his Captain walking towards him with Lady Emma Nolan. They are smiling at each other. He notices Killian's smile fade when he notices him.

"Smee, I wasn't expecting you. Is there a problem?" Killian fidgets because he notices the sure sign of nervous energy in his first mate's behavior— Smee is nervously playing with his bright red hat.

"Get on with it, you know how I bore waiting," Killian says.

"Sir?" He pauses to glance at Emma.

"I have nothing to hide from the lovely lady," Killian says.

"Sir, there have been comments made about your relationship with Lady Milah, they are not specifying names, but it is rumored that you had a dalliance with one of the Nolan Countesses." Smee waits for Killian's reaction as he finishes telling them. He glances between the two and he can clearly tell Emma is not happy.

Emma stands there looking at Smee with a look of dread. "Everyone will soon hear about it, rumor or not. That is if they haven't already. Misthaven is a small town," Emma says.

"I suppose we were more reckless than I thought," Killian says. Killian slowly turns his gaze to Emma. He knows this is upsetting her.

"My family will be ruined; we barely survived Uncle James' scandals. My mom can't even leave her room because of her headaches and she is so heartbroken over my father not being at her side." Emma sighs and looks at Killian.

"Smee, is that all they are saying? Is anyone claiming seeing anything?" Killian asks as he raises his eyebrow. "Could it possibly blow over?"

"No way to tell for sure, sir. This is almost as big of news as the marriage between Lady Milah and Mr. Booth. There are some rumors that say the dalliance was with Lady Milah and that it continues even today. Lady Emma has an immaculate image and Lady Milah is seen as the trollop of the two," Mr. Smee answers sincerely as he plays with his red hat.

Killian snorts at the final comment made by his first mate. Bloody hell, they have no idea what that woman truly is.

"I have to think. Please, excuse me," Emma says to Killian. "Oh, I'm sorry. Mr. Smee? Is that correct?" Emma asks and while looking at Killian adds with a small smile, "You were not lying when you said that the only part of you that is a gentleman is your clothing. You never properly introduced me to Mr. Smee. Shame on you, Killian," Emma chides him.

Smee is waiting for Killian to react over her small lecture only to be surprised by Killian's brilliant smile.

"Ah, where are my manners? Please forgive my rudeness. Countess Emma Nolan," he slightly mock bows and winks at her, "Mr. William Smee, my first mate."

Emma smiles and says, "Nice to finally meet you, now that Mr. Jones is finally behaving like the gentleman I know he can be. Please, excuse me. Have a nice day."

Killian and Smee watch Emma disappear as she opens and closes the front door. He turns to his first mate and orders, "Smee, find out all you can and report back."

"Emma, is something wrong?" Cora asks.

Emma stops and schools her features. "I was on my way to see my mother," Emma smiles and makes her way to her mother's room. What can she do? If the truth about Milah's prior relationship with Killian comes to light, it will be a disaster to her family.

The rumor doesn't specify which one of the two had the affair. She knows Cora wants to get Killian to leave and maybe she can proposition Killian. He says he wants to be a better man and maybe this way he can help redeem her family's image, especially since he is partly responsible for the mess they are in.

She could tell Cora that she is volunteering to marry Killian to help ease her mind. In all honesty, she is puzzled by Cora's reasoning for wanting Killian to leave the estate. She doesn't want to assume Cora knows of the affair, especially when it could be something as simple as his reputation, or that she just sees him as beneath their class. She knows Cora feels superior to others. Emma needs to be careful. Her mother will be hard to convince and her father will not like the idea, so she will need to move quickly. She will ask Cora to help placate her mother. She knows she will gladly help her since she is a little too eager to get rid of Killian.

First, how will she ask Killian? Yes, he flirts, but what if she is not to his liking. Will he accept, and if he does will he want to have other women to satisfy his needs? She knows that some men have other 'women' on the side to satisfy when the wife fails to meet their needs. The thought bothers her more than it should, but she refuses to give it deeper thought.

Snow is looking out the large window in her room, lost so deep in thought that she fails to hear the gentle knock at her door.

Emma slowly opens the door and peeks inside to see if her mother is still in bed. She has been back a couple of days and has not been able to see her mother yet. She still hasn't told her of the letter Mr. Hopper delivered to her. The good news found in that letter will put a smile on her mother's face.

Snow is in desperate need of a smile. Then again, once Emma tells her she will withdraw from the convent, she knows that will also make her mother happy; at least until she tells her of her plans to marry.

The marriage is what makes Emma nervous. Snow will want to know if she loves Killian, but she needs to stop getting ahead of herself. She will cross that bridge when she comes to it.

First, she needs to talk to Killian and see if he would even agree. The thought of him declining her proposal scares her. Cora insists that he is fond of her. She hopes this will fix everything. If she is honest with herself, she will admit that he has won her over, they have somehow become friends.

Emma loves that Killian doesn't hold back just because she is a woman. He tells her what he thinks, and it doesn't bother him when she says what is on her mind. She was always told by her mother to mind her manners, and she had to learn to keep quiet on certain things because Cora had told her that her husband would not appreciate it. The funny thing is that she has never once thought that Cora would be the kind of woman that keeps her mouth shut, but she doesn't remember August's father and their relationship.

Her mother has always told her that not all men are like her father. Not all men appreciate or recognize that women have their own minds or opinions. Her father would hate for her to marry someone that didn't appreciate her and that includes her beliefs. The thought of her father always makes her smile.

"Mother, may I have a word," Emma says. Her mother slowly turns and returns her daughter's smile and waves her in.

"Mom, I have some good news for you, Father will be returning soon. He had hoped to arrive before my vows. And about my vows, I know you have never approved of that decision. I admit that the reason for my rash decision was due to the rupture of the betrothal. You once said that I could find someone else, and... I think I have. Please, don't get too excited yet. I have some things to sort, and when everything is more concrete I will give you more details." Emma prattles everything so quickly, her mother barely has a chance to react to each piece of news.

"Emma, why didn't you tell me before of your father's return before?"

"I'm sorry, I meant to tell you sooner. You've been locked in your room and feeling so unwell due to your migraines and I didn't want to bother you,"."

"That's okay," her mother smiles. "I'm happy to hear you have found someone. Do I know him?"

"Actually he is a childhood friend of August's, but I will tell you more about him later. I have some matters to attend to. Perhaps you will be able to join us soon, if you're feeling up to it.

"Perhaps," Snow says as she studies her daughter. She hopes perhaps Emma has found someone worthy of her.

Emma needs to talk to Killian. She has searched most of the house and the property, nervously looking for him. She doesn't think he left with Mr. Smee. The only possible place he could be is the one place she hasn't gone, his bedroom. She knows it is highly inappropriate, but she needs to have this conversation with him.

How is she going to ask? There is no precedent for this situation. She arrives at his door and simply stares, afraid to knock. Gathering her courage, she knocks and patiently waits for the door to open.

The door opens and Killian smiles as he leans forward and asks, "Emma, are you sure you want to be seen with me? It's kind of compromising with the rumors and all. We can assume that the assumptions will soon enter the Booth estate, that is if they haven't yet."

"Oh, you are so thoughtful. Now may I come in, or are you going to make me have this conversation with you from the door?"

"Come in, darling. Just don't say I didn't warn you." He allows her passage into his room.

"I think we should get married," Emma blurts out. She closes her eyes; maybe she inherited her father's tact after all. She really doesn't want to look at his reaction but she slowly opens her eyes needing to see his expression.

Killian Jones stands there dumbfounded. What the bloody hell was that? Did she just ask him to marry her? He couldn't help the beat of his heart speeding up. He needed to make sure he didn't hear wrong. "Emma love, did you just ask me to marry you?" Killian asks as he nervously scratches the back of his ear.

Emma stands in the middle of Killian Jones' room realizing she didn't even lead up to it. She just blurted it out. "I did ask. I know that you are still in love with Milah. I just need you to do this for me. Killian, I honestly believe that you are a good man. These rumors going around will destroy my family. My mother specifically will not survive it. She has no idea of Milah's actions. I know my cousin is not the same person I once saw her as. She is selfish and all she cares for is herself. She has betrayed all of us, her family and you. She married another man even though she promised to marry you. I feel like we have become friends. At least I hope we have. Please, help me fix this. You mentioned earlier that you both were reckless, and now it is time to help correct the situation. Killian, I don't care if you have no last name or that you have a less than stellar reputation. I see a good man and one that I wouldn't mind entwining my life with. So will you marry me?" Emma finally takes a breath and waits for his response.

After a long pause in which Killian's mind continues to reel, he finally finds his voice. "If we do this, I want honesty. Are you doing this to protect your family or August?" Killian asks. He will not admit to himself or anyone for that matter how much he hopes it is the former of the two. He has grown fond of Emma and finds himself jealous of her devotion to the ones she loves, more specifically August.

"My family, but you have to realize by extension, August as well. Before you tell me I'm a fool. He is a victim in this mess too," Emma answers honestly.

"This proposal has nothing to do with the offer that Mrs. Booth made me?" he asks.

"No," Emma looks confused about his question and she shakes her head.

"Oh, let me guess, she didn't tell you? She offered me money, to reinstate me with her deceased husband's last name, and a lovely wife to boot," Killian says, waiting for her reaction.

"She mentioned that she made you an offer but didn't specify what it entailed other than money. Why would she reinstate the Booth last name? Oh! You think I'm the wife she offered? No! I'm asking because of what your first mate told us earlier. Where is Mr. Smee by the way?" Emma asks.

"Mr. Smee and I parted ways not long after you left us. He was going to find out more information about the town's gossip. I just wanted to find a way to ease your mind," Killian answers while smiling at her. "The offer Cora made is of no consequence. However, your lovely proposal is quite intriguing

Emma is staring at his beautiful blue eyes, have they always been this shade? "I'm being honest, I want to do this. I know I'm not Milah, I know she is the one you truly want. I just hope you realize that Milah is not coming back to you. She enjoys the lifestyle August gives her. She may come to look for you when she has tired of his bed, but the truth is she will not hold any loyalty to you." Emma feels justified in speaking frankly after all that has transpired.

"Does that bother you, the thought that she may seek me out for pleasure?" Killian asks as he steps close to her and leaves little space between the two.

"Yes, it does, because no one should be used."

"Hmm, is it over him or me?" Killian is not sure if he truly wants to know, but he asks anyhow.

"You want honesty? Both of you. I care for him because he is a good man. I also care for you. Deep inside I know you too are a good man. You two have so much in common and yet you keep seeing him as the enemy. He is blind to Milah's treachery, and you know her well enough to know that she has no loyalty to anyone other than herself. If you accept my proposal we could have a good marriage based on true friendship and honesty. You told me not that long ago that you wanted someone to accept the real you. I accept you, even with your flaws and I will not be ashamed because you only hold your mother's surname. I would be honored to be your wife. I have gotten to know you better and even with your hard edges I know I'm making the right choice." Emma lays everything on the line for Killian. Blatant honesty, and she hopes it is enough.

"What do you expect from our union?" he asks as he points between the two.

"I know what my duties would consist of, I was betrothed before. I would just expect for you to be good to me," she says with a smile that is not at all real. Would he expect a dowry? Her family is doing better financially, but it is not like she is doing this with their knowledge. She could ask Cora, she knows she wants Killian gone and he did mention she offered money. He is a pirate. The thought of him expecting a dowry scares her, why does she feel all this fear? She listens to his words as patiently as she can.

"I can offer you a comfortable life, not in the league of Booth's, but I will endeavor to make you happy. You have to promise me that you will tell me what is on your mind. You will not keep quiet like it is normally expected." Killian says while looking at her with an expression she has never seen on his face before.

She can feel her heart speed up. How is it possible for him to make her feel this way?

"There is no dowry," Emma says and lightly bites on her bottom lip nervously.

"There is no need for one; you are all the treasure I need. When do you want to have the nuptials?" Killian asks.

Emma blushes at his compliment, and her heart hopes he means it, even if her brain tells her to he is a shameless flirt. "I would need at least a week to prepare. I need to inform Mother Superior of my change of mind. I seem to be cutting it short. My probation is almost over. I also have to give my mother the news. We will need to move fast."

"As you wish," Killian says with a bow.

It is settled, they will marry as soon as possible. She knows she cares for Killian, but is it too soon? Her feelings confuse her. The truth of the matter is, she is afraid of how she feels for Killian. She knows his heart belongs to Milah, and to fall in love with him knowing he will never be truly hers would break her.

He feels a pull to Emma that clouds his mind. The reason for his arrival to the Booth estate was Milah. Yet when he is with Emma, Milah does not even cross his mind. He still loves her, or at least he thinks he does, because the alternative scares him. He could not survive falling in love with Emma Nolan for her not to feel the same. He will tell Milah that his decision was only strategic. If she is unhappy with his decision to marry another, well, he knows the feeling.

Tagging:

@hookedonapirate @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @seriouslyhooked @profdanglaisstuff @let-it-raines @revanmeetra87 @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @kymbersmith-90 @branlovestowrite @thejollyroger-writer @shireness-says @ilovemesomekillianjones @thisonesatellite @thesschesthair @winterbythesea @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @superchocovian @lfh1226-linda @artistic-writer @thislassishooked @shardminds @winterbaby89 @xhookswenchx @ultraluckycatnd @gingerchangeling @laschatzi @wellhellotragic @xemmaloveskillianx @courtorderedcake @pirateherokillian @optomisticgirl @darkcolinodonorgasm @sherlockianwhovian @andiirivera @djlbg @nikkiemms @jennjenn615 @scientificapricot @officerrogers @imlaxdris71 @therealstartraveller776

#teamhook SavageHeart #Captain Swan #CS Crew #cs ff #CS Mafia

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xe-company · 1 year

Text

( ! ) ... ❝ FASTEN YOUR SEATBELT! HELLO, WE’RE RUSH HOUR! ❞ ... ( ! )

RUSH HOUR is 10-member boy group under XECOMPANY. The group have gone through countless lineup changes with their initial debut as POINT OF VIEW with 8 members under CASSIOPEIA MEDIA on JANUARY 8TH, 2008. The group disbanded in 2015 with the original 8 members having quite a public fall-out between some members after sexual harassment accusations came out against original ex-member CHANHEE. When they first redebuted on MARCH 12TH, 2019 they had 9 members but after their second comeback HANEUL left due to mental health concerns and MINSEOK left the group as he wanted to leave the idol industry and move to focusing on acting. During their third comeback, ROAD TO: OVERTIME, three new members were added to the lineup.

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debut album — ROAD TO: OUR DESTINATION

title song — JUMP START

how many songs — 5

number of members — 9 [originally] ; 10 [currently]

age range of members — 1996 - 2004

concept — boys in the city, carefree, youth

fandom name — RODS [RIDE OR DIES]

official colors — #000000 (Black), #880000 (Dark Red), #48AEA4 (Verdigris), #043927 (Sacramento)

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ADDITIONAL INFORMATION —

They’re one of few groups who don’t have a set lore or concept with their music.

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SOCIAL MEDIA —

Twitter: @/RushHourOfficial

Youtube: RUSH HOUR OFFICIAL

Reality show/idol webseries: PIT STOP

Vlive: RUSH HOUR

Instagram: @/RUSH.HOUR.OFFICIAL

Spotify: RUSH HOUR

Monthly followers: TBD Monthly song streamed: TBD Top 5 streamed songs: JUMP START JIKJIN BREAKING DAWN BACK DOWN DOOM DU DOOM Where they’re most listening in: Phoenix, Arizona Sydney, Australia Seoul, South Korea Los Angeles, California Bangkok, Thailand

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DISCOGRAPHY [DD.MM.YY] —

[12.03.19] ROAD TO: OUR DESTINATION | [1ST MINI ALBUM]

[07.06.21] ROAD TO: BREAKING DAWN | [2ND MINI ALBUM]

[01.07.23] ROAD TO: OVERTIME | [3RD MINI ALBUM]

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ofwizardsandmen · 5 years

Text

If I were you and you were me

Characters: Tara Lee, Mark Yang, Jason Yang, Tyler Lee, mentions of other minor characters

Word count: 4k

Genre: angst

OST: NCT 127 - Replay

Tara takes a deep breath as she approaches the front steps of Nº10 Queen’s Gate. The Georgian house stands in one of London’s most fashionable addresses, looking opulent and imposing. Nothing Tara hasn’t seen before, but she still has to admit to herself that maybe, just maybe, she’s feeling a tad nervous.

Once she steps on the threshold, she stands in silence for a few seconds, wondering whether to ring the bell or bang the large golden door knocker. Ultimately, Tara reaches for the bell with a trembling hand that makes her feel unlike herself for the umpteenth time that day.

Holding her breath as though the sound of her lungs filling with air would prevent her from hearing if footsteps approach from the other side, Tara straightens her back and throws her shoulders back. She stands there with images from the first time she walked through that door flashing through her mind. One after another, different scenes appear as though a movie is being projected on to the sides of her eyelids and Tara has to force herself back to reality, fearing that someone might open the door and would find her looking like a lost puppy. But a minute passes and then two and there are still no signs of movement inside the house.

Tara feels the impulse of turning round and walking away, feeling almost relieved at the lack of response. It is probably for the best given the fact she has been improvising all along and she hasn’t stopped to think if her presence in that residence would be well received. Maybe not after the headlines in the morning paper. Or Gossip Witch’s latest tip.

Running a hand through her hair, Tara curses quietly upon recalling the latest post on the goddamned blog: a picture of Darius Black and her at the Montrose Magpies’ match, accompanied by a headline that read “One good scandal deserves another. Little T’s revenge on ex(?) boyfriend Mark Yang”. The mere recollection makes Tara buff as she messes her hair up in frustration. A terrible idea if you consider that the door cracks open without the slightest notice and reveals a short adorable woman whose genuinely surprised expression and eyes widening bore a strong resemblance to Mark’s

Although her train of thought abruptly stops, Tara’s first instinct is to bow, almost reaching 90 degrees. As her head goes down, she mentally pictures her grandmother and how she would react if she were to see her doing something she strongly disapproves of (because no one is important enough to deserve such courtesy from her family) in front of a muggle. Well, standing there would be a whole atrocity in the eyes of the Fawley matriarch considering that according to her strict protocol rules, one should never show up unannounced to places either.

Yet there Tara is, risking it all in a visit that, judging by the way Mrs. Yang’s brows furrow, already appears to have been a bad idea.

“Good evening, Mrs. Yang-“ Tara hesitates for a second, unable to bring herself to speak, the unreadable expression on the woman’s face making her insides twist painfully. “I… Is M-“ But Mark’s mother ignores whatever Tara had planned to say and pulls her into a hug.

“Tara, my darling-“ Caught off guard at Mrs. Yang’s warm welcome and knowing very well that she doesn’t deserve her kindness, Tara’s eyes fill with tears. “I had no idea you were coming, my dear. Mark said you were out of town.” Tara blinks rapidly, fighting the tears back before pulling away from the hug and looking at Mrs. Yang with a raised brow.

“Yes, he said you were visiting your brother and… oh-“ Tara and Mrs. Yang look into each other’s eyes, simultaneously realizing that Mark has lied to his mother. And the reason is probably obvious to Tara, but Mrs. Yang doesn’t seem to fully understand what has happened between the two. Tara figures out that although at this point rumors about her and Darius are everywhere, Mark hasn’t told his family anything about it yet. She feels another rush of guilt assaulting her.

“Well… I was, but I took the first train to London.” It isn’t entirely a lie, but Tara is so ashamed of facing Mrs. Yang with half-truths, that she can feel her cheeks redden “I couldn’t possibly skip his birthday, right?” she forces a smile as she looks down at the gift bag she’s been holding this whole time. A present she has been preparing for months, hoping to surprise Mark.

“He will be very happy to see you” Mrs. Yangs seems to guess exactly what’s going through Tara’s mind and smiles at her supportively. “But come through, Mark is showing Donghyuck around the house.” The woman reaches for her hand and pulls Tara into the elegant lobby.

“Donghyuck?” Tara repeats, trying to control the way her shoulders tense up.

“We prepared a little welcome party for Mark and the boys. You know, it’s been a while since the last time they all came here as a group and Donghyuck hasn’t seen the backyard yet” Mrs. Yang candidly speaks as she throws an arm around Tara and pats her arm.

Tara gulps at the mention of “the boys”. As if the prospect of facing Mark alone wasn’t terrifying enough, there is also the added challenge of facing his group mates —or as Jane liked to call them “The MPS” (Mark’s Protection Squad).

“They’ll be happy to see you too, I heard Johnny asking about you” Mark’s mom says distractedly and Tara can’t do anything but nod and force a smile. However, as they step closer to the living room, Tara can hear voices drifting out from the kitchen, saying things like “Shut up, I can’t hear anything”, “I can’t believe she dared to show up here” and “I spilled my wine” and she automatically knows —as a matter of fact—, that The MPS won’t be too happy to see her.

And she’s not entirely mistaken.

Tara enters the kitchen acutely aware all eyes will turn to her. And effectively, as soon as she walks through the door, the members of NCT stop on their tracks and stare at her in silence, appraising or judging her —or both in Jaehyun’s case—. It takes Tara a few seconds to realize Mark is nowhere to be found, although Donghyuck is there, glaring at her as though she were a criminal.

It's hard to ignore the frowns and the palpable tension her presence has caused. With her mind is all jumbled up, Tara opens her mouth but no sound comes out of it. But what is there to say, anyhow? That she’s sorry? That everything is a misunderstanding? As if that would change the fact they’re all disappointed and offended.

“Hey” Johnny is the one to speak first, making his group mates' eyes turn to look at him skeptically. In response, Johnny, as tall as ever, appears to shrink in size, seemingly hesitating on what to say next. However, there’s no need to say anything because someone else does it on his behalf.

“Look who’s come all the way here to congratulate Baby Mark on his birthday” a teasing voice speaks from behind Tara. She swings round to see a pleasant-faced man, tall and whose uncanny resemblance to Mark is a little hard to miss, smiling at her adoringly.

“Oh God, Jae. What are you doing here? When did you arrive?” Tara looks at Mark’s older brother, Jason (Jaeseop) up and down. She hasn’t seen him in ages and she has to use all her willpower not to throw herself into his arms.

“Oh, the Sweet Tara” The man enthusiastically reaches to hug her. “So nice to have you finally gracing us with your presence. I was starting to believe I wouldn’t see your face before going back to New York.” He says, lifting her up into the air.

“Jae, what are you doing? You’re leaving me breathless!” Tara’s complaints are cut by a fit of giggles from Mrs. Yang and a familiar grumble from a figure that walks past the kitchen door and disappears in the direction of the living room. Tara’s heart squeezes in her chest painfully.

“I have something to show you!” Once Jason puts her down, he pulls Tara to the staircase in the back of the room excitedly, ignoring the way Mark’s Protection Squad is looking at him —as though he had suddenly grown a second head—. “Come on!” He snatches the bag with Mark’s birthday gift from Tara’s hand and replaces it with his own hand. Then, he practically drags her upstairs as Mrs. Yang laughs from the kitchen door.

Jason eagerly pulls Tara across the length of the large hallway on the second floor. As she tries to keep up with him, her heels sink into the Oriental carpet that has been in the family for four generations. Though the young woman can barely take a moment to appreciate the exquisite decoration, she notices the Yang residence is as impeccable as ever. The only visible changes are the ivory silk curtains framing the large windows, the bouquet of orchids resting on top of the white console table from the XVIII century Mrs. Yang treasures so much. And… there’s something else. The neon sign taped to the door of Mark’s room is gone.

Tara’s legs stop moving, almost without her knowing.. The sign had been a birthday gift she had bought for Mark during her first summer vacations in Seoul. It was enchanted so it would glow only at night and it had been there for about 15 years.

“That…” Jason turns to look at her and gulps quietly “He took it off as soon as he arrived.” He says and for the first time since they know each other, his words come up as unpleasant to Tara.

“It’s ok. It was starting to look childish anyway” Tara tries to convince herself that it means nothing. But she knows it does, so her heart sinks; dread settling in the pit of her stomach like a heavy rock.

It seems like Mark has been trying to erase all traces of her from his life.

Tara delves into some recesses of her mind thinking about how her past arguments with Mark wouldn’t even last a day. Now they’ve gone through months of radio silence. What is she supposed to do if Mark doesn’t want to see her anymore?

“Just talk to him” Jason pulls Tara from her trance by placing a hand on her shoulder. “I refuse to believe you don’t have feelings for each other anymore. You two have been in love for years, how can that disappear overnight?”

Tara wonders the same, but she’s unable to find a satisfactory answer to that question. Except that she was angry and jealous and she felt lost after finding out through those Korean tabloids that Mark had run to Mindy as soon as they broke up. There were pictures of them hanging out in Hannam and Jamsil; Mark holding Mindy’s hand and laughing.

And it hurt Tara so much that she had behaved like a vengeful immature teenager, getting drunk and making out with random guys at Enzo’s private parties.

Initially, she hadn’t even felt sorry about that morning’s news. She had to admit that she looked good in that black outfit (a gift from Enzo) and Darius Black, looking like a million-dollar man next to her, was the perfect accessory.

Of course, she wasn’t proud of herself either. She didn’t want the world finding out about her recent drunk escapades through the press. But at least, it was the perfect message to tell Mark that she didn’t care about his new relationship or the fact he had found refuge in Mindy’s arms after their split.

And then Jane had apparated at her Tyler’s match, looking as though she would murder her without the tiniest bit of hesitation.

And now, Tara knows that Mark never saw Mindy after their breakup and that everything was part of a publicity set-up from Mindy’s PR company.

And evidently she feels stupid and childish, but it is a little too late for regrets. And probably too late to ask Mark for forgiveness too.

“I did some stupid shit,” Tara says, exhaling air like a deflated balloon.

“We all have done some stupid shit at some point” Jason addresses her a sympathetic smirk “But your relationship with my little brother is worth fighting for, isn’t it?” He asks, ruffling her hair brotherly. “He also screwed up with the Mindy drama and he is actually aware of it. That’s why he was planning this huge apology event at his concert tomorrow-“

“What?” There’s another rush of guilt flooding through her. Jason only nods and eyes her apologetically.

“I mean, before watching that picture…” He says putting on a pained expression.

“That picture is just a picture. Nothing ever happened with Darius. I’m not dating him.” Tara tries to explain in a rush, although the whole story is more complicated than just denying the reports of some tabloid. “I thought Mark and Mindy-“ Tara doesn’t seem to find the courage to complete that sentence, but Jason understands what she means and nods his head. “I ruined it, Jae”

“Don’t say that, you two are just having a crisis. It’s going to be ok”

“But what if he doesn’t want to talk to me?” Tara asks, voicing her fears for the first time. “What if he doesn’t want to hear me?”

“Then he’s an idiot and he doesn’t deserve you,” Jason says pulling her into a hug for the second time that day.

Tara buries her face in his chest, finding comfort as he pats her head. They remain that way for a few seconds. Until a creaking sound echoes throughout the hallway and Tara jerks out of Jason’s embrace to find Mark standing at the end, expressionlessly looking at the two of them.

“Well, I was just about to leave” Jason turns around, wearing a perfectly evil, cat-like smile. “Good luck, T” he whispers in Tara’s ear before disappearing down the stairs.

Across the hall, Mark stands at the door of his music studio with his hands shoved in his pockets and looking handsome despite the fact he’s now glaring at his ex-girlfriend with his jaw clenched. For an awful moment, Tara believes he will ignore her, but then he invites her to walk into his studio, with a simple head movement.

Once Tara steps into the room, her eyes meet his for the first time in months and she notices immediately how troubled he looks and how much weight he seems to have lost since she last saw him.

The guilt is heavier in her chest.

Mark too notices changes in Tara, but the most evident one is the jittery air tainting her generally confident appearance. His anger is quickly replaced by sadness and all he suddenly wants to do is throwing his arms around his girl and tell her that everything will be alright. But Mark resists the temptation as he reminds himself that Tara is no longer his girl and that things would never be back to what they once were now that she is dating someone else.

“Happy birthday” Tara eventually pushes herself to say, breaking the silence that settled in the room.

“Uhm. Thanks” Mark turns his back on her and stands by the window, not daring to look at her.

“How was Paris? I heard your concert yesterday was-“

“Cut the crap, Tara. I know you didn’t come all the way here to talk about Paris” Suddenly Mark turns to her, his voice chilly and his eyes sharp with anger. Tara looks at him like a deer caught under the highlights, unable to mutter a word. “Why don’t you get straight to the point and save us both the time and the bother?”

“Mark-“ Tara looks down and only then she realizes that Jason took Mark’s birthday gift with him. She curses mentally thinking how stupid she must be looking right now, wishing him happy birthday empty-handed and right after the news of her engagement to a guy she had always claimed she disliked. “I only wanted to see you” she says, pretending her heart isn’t doing wild flips in her chest and her pride is not bruised.

“Why?” Marks asks flatly. It’s not a question that’s meant to be answered because he immediately adds “Did you already grow bored of Darius? I thought it usually took you a few months, or years, in my case.” Although he knows he’s acting like a complete jerk and he hates himself for it, Mark still has the nerve to smirk scornfully at her.

Minutes ago, he felt he had been punched in the gut when he opened the door and saw Tara hugging his brother. But now that she is standing in front of him, sparkling like a vision in a white dress, he can hardly breathe, his chest aches and his reasoning is blurred by the anger coursing through him. Mark has never talked to Tara that way, but he wants to hurt her like she hurt him, like her dating another man is hurting him right now.

“I know you’re mad, but at least hear me out first,” Tara says, looking into his eyes. It makes Mark become aware of her earnestness, but he quickly looks away before her pleading expression breaks down his resolve.

“If I do, you’ll leave sooner, right?” He retorts, making Tara flinch as though he had insulted her. A tinge of guilt shoots through him, but he knows she’s tougher than she looks right now. She had been tough on him when she broke up with him and even tougher the following weeks when she cut him out of her life, while his world crumbled around him. She didn’t care back then, so he wants her to know that he doesn’t care now.

Tears fill the wells of Tara’s eyes and she knows they could roll down her face with the very next blink. Panicking, the young woman takes a step back towards the door, unwilling to let Mark witness her breakdown. He has never seen her cry and she doesn’t want him to see her like that —weak, vulnerable and guilty. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come.”

“Of course you shouldn’t have, but you came anyway,” Mark says, his blood heating. “Do you enjoy torturing me, Tara? What did I ever do for you to hate me so much you can’t even let me spend my birthday peacefully?” Mark’s voice rises in a surprisingly deep tone that makes Tara aware of the mistake she’s made willingly going there to have Mark humiliate her.

“I think I should go” She says, trying to reach the door as she gives another step back. It could have been a good move if she hadn’t twisted her ankle while doing it and if Mark wasn’t reaching out to catch her right now.

Time slows down as his hands close around Tara’s waist to steady her and stop her from hitting the ground. They hold each other’s gaze for a moment, but Tara gently pushes him off, attempting to escape before she can’t hold herself back anymore and tears start to stream down her face.

“I should go-” Tara stops when Mark doesn’t let go of her and instead tightens his grip.

“Why?” He pulls their bodies even closer but is momentarily distracted by the fact Tara feels thinner than she ever was when they were together. It’s ridiculous, but he can’t help but wonder if this new relationship with Darius or her newfound interest for tight designer clothing are to blame. “Is your new boyfriend waiting for you?” He adds another painful question, smiling viciously.

“This is about enough” Tara composes herself and gathers the courage to push Mark away, her face quickly regains some of the confidence she has been lacking all this time. “I came here to apologize and tell you the engagement news are only a misunderstanding, but you’ve done nothing but ridicule me.”

Mark has already drawn breath to answer, but the shock of what she’s said renders him speechless. He looks at her sheepishly, but she goes on, without paying too much attention to his embarrassed expression.

“And I get it, Mark.” A chuckle of bitterness slips through her lips ”You’re hurt and you’re trying to get back at me acting like an idiot, but we both know that’s not who you are, or who I came looking for.” Tara fixes the cuffs of her chiffon dress distractedly before leveling her eyes to him “I am truly sorry, Mark. For everything. For the way I ignored you these past weeks and the ridiculous drama. I never meant to hurt you, the guys or your family.”

Mark sighs and runs a hand over the back of his neck, trying to process it all and find the right words to apologize. But Tara keeps going.

“And I’m sorry about Mindy and the fact I didn’t talk to you about it first, but it just didn’t make any sense that I loved you more than I loved myself.” Mark glances at the floor, his face losing all color. “It still doesn’t, to be honest”

Before Mark can reply or do anything at all, Tara turns on her heel and walks out of the room. She doesn’t want Jason or Mrs. Yang to see her leaving because she’s pretty sure they will try to stop her. Against her better judgment she disapparates as soon as she closes the door behind her.

Within a few seconds, Tara materializes in her apartment. Her unexpected arrival catches her brother off guard, making him drop his phone.

“Tara, for fuck's sake, you’re going to kill me next time you-“ he stops abruptly when he notices how Tara swipes the back of her hand across her cheek. His heart clenches.

Is she crying?

The mere thought appears ridiculous to him. Tara doesn’t cry. She didn’t cry when she fell from that tree in the backyard of the Fawley Manor when she was 3 years old. She didn’t cry when their mother and grandparents forgot her sixth birthday. She didn’t cry when Tyler’s pet ate one of her bunnies. Tara didn’t cry when that awful ex boyfriend of hers moved halfway across the globe. Damn, Tara didn’t even cry after breaking up with him.

Tyler thinks over everything he could recall about his sister. Now that he thinks about it, he has never seen Tara cry. He has seen her annoyed. He has seen her angry. He has seen her happy. He has seen her feigning politeness. He has seen her frustrated. But he has never seen her cry. Tara is never weak. She seems to have a backbone made of steel. Nothing ever seems to penetrate her walls.

Not until this moment anyhow. In this moment he can notice a flicker of vulnerability in her eyes.

“T, what happened?”

She doesn’t answer so he reaches across the distance separating them, but she draws away from him, probably too embarrassed to let him get any closer.

“Tara, what happened? Are you ok?” Tyler has no experience whatsoever dealing with complicated emotions, so he feels as though he’s tiptoeing around broken glass. When there’s no response, Tyler attempts to get close to her for the second time. And he fails again because Tara starts sobbing louder and tears stream down her cheeks, ruining her flawless makeup.

Her reaction unnerves and distresses Tyler.

“Oh, T. Stop crying, please” Tyler finally manages to move beside her and awkwardly wraps an arm around her. “I can’t bear to see you cry”

“I can’t help it” She gasps through gritted teeth. “Do you think I want to?”

Tyler pats her arm softly, apologetically and then pulls out a handkerchief from his pocket and pushes it into her fingers with silent sympathy, though he still doesn’t understand what is going on.

“What happened, T? Please talk to me”

“I’m heartbroken” It’s all she says before giving in and burying her face in the crook of her brother’s neck.

Tyler attempts to comfort her, but without even noticing he clenches a fist, muttering an oath under his breath. Whoever is to blame for his sister’s breakdown will surely pay for it. And he thinks he has a slight idea of who that is.

***

#mark #otp #story #tara #tyler #oc #nct #johnny

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bitchassbucky · 3 years

Text

.eps (cut)

Word Count: 1.7k

Warning/s: dark!bucky x dark!reader, MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, blood mention, gore and dismemberment, murder, toxic/abusive relationship dynamics, sedation/drugging/use of sedative, stockholm syndrome-ish, one very special character reveal

A/N: this version of the epilogue is the 'clean cut' - there's a good chunk of it missing but it's not particularly important to the story. if you want to read the EXPLICIT version, there should be another one uploaded at the same time. (sorry, this is scheduled so i don't have the link yet lol)

follow the CTRL series:

i - .exe

ii - .avi

iii - .raw

iv - .png

v - .zip

CTRL playlist CTRL moodboard

Safeness, comfortability, warmth are all but a false sense of reality.

You and Bucky have been engaging in a dance for two—a battle of who’s willing to take the leap of faith and unleash hell upon the other.

Stifled smiles and pursed lips.

The air is filled with unsaid irritants, little things that ticked away like bombs.

There was no time for pleading, no time for mercy, no rest for the wicked.

Did you still love each other?

How far are you willing to go to keep up with his… complacency?

“We’ll be together forever, right?”

“Yes, darling.”

“What about the day after forever?”

“That too, honey.”

Where was the man you loved so deeply? The man that broke his morals just to be with you?

Was he under this hull of a Yes Man? A poor little thing that says ‘yes’ to everything like a puppy.

The man you held so dearly now slipping away, chipping his humanity, shedding the once-human.

“Would you marry me tomorrow if I asked you?”

“Of course, baby, why wouldn’t I?”

“Would you kill for me?”

“I’m meant to do the same for you.”

It’s irritating how Bucky gave up too quickly. Too fast, moving too fast. The gazelle let the lion tear its neck as it lay there, unmoving, letting the blood seep into its hide.

When you first met Bucky, it was your own fairytale unfolding before your eyes. Kismet, reality, forgiveness from above. He was soft and shy, passionate, lively.

Bucky taught you how to love.

Bucky taught you how to live for yourself.

Bucky taught you that being alone doesn’t mean you have to be lonely.

“It was an unspoken little thing, wasn’t it?”

“What thing, baby?”

“Our love.”

“Yes, honey, it was.”

He worships you.

He worships you like a fucking God and you hate it.

Suffocating, too suffocating. You dove straight for the water and now you’re drowning.

Do you still love each other? The question hangs in the air, heavy with its weight, light as a feather.

It’s all your fault. It’s all your fault. It’s all your fault. It’s all your fault.

You stand there with a syringe half-filled with a horse sedative. It’s a concern how easy it is to waltz into a pet store and pick up a general anesthetic. You make a mental note to look at it later.

Bucky’s body slumps forward, his forehead meeting the edge of the table with a dull thud. If the overdose doesn’t kill him, the weeping crack in his head will.

Holy fuck, humans bleed a lot. And fast. Good thing you already have that clear tarp taped down. Even with the hush money stuffed down your throat, it would take a good nick to regrout the kitchen.

“What is that for, honey?”

“I’m painting the cabinets.”

“Okay, darling.”

The sun was high up in the sky and there was a dead body in your kitchen.

A butcher and a surgeon walk into a bar for a drink. “What do you do for a living?” Said the butcher, “I save lives! What about you?” The doctor answers. “I save animals from dying slowly. We’re basically the same. You’re just very clean.” You see, the butcher comes into the bar covered in blood, reeking of death. The surgeon, on the other hand, wears his white coat with pride even though he’s surrounded by death every passing second.

Today was the day you learned that you have the tools of a butcher and the precision of a surgeon. Unlike before.

It was his fault that he’s dead. He made you do this.

Placing the body into the trunk of a rental, you begin your journey to the end of your fairytale. Off to the woods, where you buried your first love. In a town where not everyone who dies leaves.

The drive to and from the place was tiring, to say the least. The internet connection of the diners was spotty at best. Locals were overly friendly with the city folks who came passing through their towns. The roads reek of roadkill and manure from the farm animals that were left to roam for fresh grass.

At least you get to come home in a spotless apartment, alone once again.

But not lonely.

Your space is yours again. No trace of anyone anywhere. Immaculately yours.

—

Humans are social creatures.

No one can truly be alone, especially in today’s world where we’re connected to everyone—whether we liked it or not.

Your resignation meant that the company’s free of any dirt from you, Bucky’s disappearance quickly becoming a joke and a rumor blending in one.

You woke up one morning craving a healthy serving of coffee and pancakes, luckily the town’s local diner wasn’t far from your new home.

The coffee was too hot, the pancakes were amazing, fluffy, and just right. You’re sitting in a sunny booth, the warmth doing its wonders.

“Hi, can I get today’s paper, please?” Your voice is sweet as you call your server, giving her a quick smile.

A pair of Raybans adorn your face, unconsciously hiding behind its darkened glasses. The waitress gives you a thick stack of newspapers, refilling your cup with black coffee.

Upon opening the paper, you ignore the town’s headlines and go straight for the job postings. The door jingled open as patrons come in and go, waving to familiar faces.

Job Vacancy Announcements

Secretary to the Town Sheriff

You skimmed over the rest of the details, only noting the address of the office. The job looks quite lucrative for someone who would only take messages and organize files for the sheriff.

Looking over the job posting again, you read over the words walk-ins only. That shouldn’t be hard enough.

“Hello, darling.” The man croons in an accent, he looks over to you, “join me in my booth, will ‘ya?”

You’re in no position to reject his proposal, you’re the one who needed an answer.

Taking your coffee cup, you slide into his booth, “hi.”

You look over to him, trying to understand how that small of news spread like a wildfire, “yeah. I moved in a week ago.”

He leans over, smiling sweetly as he unabashedly lets his eyes roam your features, “What’s a city girl like you doin’ in a place like this? I hope we ain’t too boring for you, gal.”

Chatty—he’s way too chatty.

“What business are ‘ya bringing into the office?”

“A job, actually. Says here that they’re looking for a secretary.” You might as well tell him everything, he seems too chatty to be dismissed over and over again.

You bite back a giggle, you’ve always wanted to be involved with the law.

#bitchassbucky writes #dark!bucky #dark!bucky barnes #dark!bucky x reader #dark!bucky x reader smut #dark!bucky x reader fluff #dark!bucky x reader angst #dark!bucky barnes x reader #dark!bucky barnes x reader smut #dark!bucky barnes x reader angst #dark!bucky barnes x reader fluff

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sleepy-sunlight · 6 years

Note

"You're ticklish?" Maybe to contrast all the pieces that have made me cry recently 😉

sdfjsfklsjkfasjf Of course!! I’d be more to write such a request!! I hope it helps make up for all the angst I’ve written lately

Anyhow, thanks a bunch and have a terrific day darling!! Enjoy!! ٩(๑❛ワ❛๑)و

———————————————————————————————————–

You sat down at the foot of the bed, unraveling the tangles of your hair, a smiling naturally rising upon your lips as Cullen sat up in the bed, wiping away at the hints of sleepiness in his vision.

“Hello, love, how was your day?”

“It was… something I suppose,” You simpered, cocking your head from side to side in your consideration. “You know that tailor who arrived from Val Royeaux?”

“Vaguely, Quinn was her name I believe?”

“Well, Josephine and Vivienne deemed it a day to ‘treat yourself, I spent most of it being fit for new gowns.”

“Oh how thrilling,” Cullen scoffed, folding his arms across his chest. “I’m sure you could hardly contain your excitement?”

“It’s a struggle even now,” You remarked, scrunching up your face amusedly. “And you?”

He lit up like a flame, leaning over to you with his brows raised, interest piqued. “Now that you mention it, my day was very interesting.”

“How so?” You retorted, tipping closer to him.

“Well, I was informed of the most peculiar rumor.” A smug glimmer in his features that couldn’t help but leave the smallest of nervous knots tangling in your stomach. “About you in fact.”

“About me?” You shook your head, a gentle fairness to your voice that few ever got to see. “I didn’t think I was so scandalous. What was it about?”

He paused, trying to stifle a quiet sort of laughter before he eventually mustered the words.

“You’re ticklish?”

You froze, a heavy lump growing in your throat as a sudden stress erupted through you.

“N-No!” You blurted out, your heart racing so much you thought it may burst from your very chest.

“Maker’s breath, you are!” He beamed like a firecracker, beginning to lean towards you, his fingertips just barely grazing your side before you practically sprang from your spot. Rushing away to the corner of the room, failing to hide the sheepish smile that you couldn’t tear from you no matter how much you wished otherwise.

“I swear to Andraste herself who told you?” You exclaimed, clinging awkwardly to the dresser. “Who would tell you s-such a… a lie!”

“I would to spoil but perhaps a certain dwarf?”

You cursed under your breath, puffing out your cheeks indignantly. “Oh, he’s going to get it!”

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed over dear,” Cullen said through his delight, rising to his feet carefully. “I won’t do anything.”

You watched him suspiciously, crinkling your nose. “Do you really think I’d believe that? I know when you’re lying!”

He did his best to soften his voice, always finding some way to comfort you despite it all. “I promise, I won’t do anything.”

You hesitated, folding your lips meekly. “You really mean that?”

He nodded. “I do.”

You relaxed, just a tad, letting him approach you to reach out a palm for you to take.

“Will you come back to bed now?”

“I… I don’t see why-”

He didn’t even let you finish before pulling you into his arms, fingers trickling along your sides and stomach as you exploded into fits of pure laughter.

“Cullen!” You managed through your giggles, twisting and turning furiously, your face coming to bury into his chest, muffling your hilarity. You tugged at his loose, heavy shirt, legs weaving with his as you gasped for breath between your sniggering. “S-Stop it!”

He stopped to lift you up, your shoulders slumping while you caught your breath, playfully narrowing your eyes at him.

“You lied you cheeky bastard!” You wrapped your grip in his cheeks, your grasp twirling in his messy tangles of hair. “You broke your promise!”

“I wanted to keep it but I couldn’t stand to miss it!” He confessed, sweetening his voice like honey. “Your laugh is so precious!”

“Precious?” You snorted, dramatic as you groaned. “I’ll have you know that the last thing I am is precious!”

“Of course. You’re terrifying.” He muttered. “Especially when you curl up like a Nug late at night. I’m practically shaking at the very thought of it.”

“Very clever Commander,” You ruffled his blonde curls, drawing about those amber eyes you couldn’t ever seem to get enough of. “How proud are you for coming up with that witty thing?”

“It may be one of my better moments.”

“And if I were to ask you, if you were also, in fact, ticklish, would you tell me the truth?”

He stared at you, clicking in his mind almost immediately.

“I-I ah – I don’t know what you mean.”

“You are aren’t you-”

“Time for bed love let’s get-”

You managed to escape from his hold, racing to draw your fingers along his side and chest, laughs brighter than sunlight itself echoing from him in an instant as a shock sped up his spine.

“No that’s enough of that!” He managed, clasping around your waist as he 1qheaved you up, pulling you onto the bed despite your enthralled protests. He ensnared you in his lap, your body turned to meet him.

“I never would’ve guessed…” You murmured, giving a sly smirk. “That’s so cute…!”

“Oh for the love of-” He let out a heavy sigh, trying to hide the red that crept onto his cheeks. “I suppose if anyone were to find out, I’m… not entirely against it being you.”

“If it’s any consolation I think it’s darling. I was starting to worry you didn’t have a weakness.”

He thought for a second, taking your hands in his own, a gentle thumb painting against your knuckles in delicate strokes.

“Well, I do have a weakness, but I’ll be damned if it’s such a thing.”

“What is it then?”

He didn’t even need to debate to answer, barely above a whisper but softer than silk as he responded with words that left your heart utterly and absolutely melted.

“It’s you of course. It has been ever since we’ve met.”

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absinthehq · 5 years

Photo

MAYA GULATI

THIRTY ONE. VICTORIA BONVENTRE’S PERSONAL ASSISTANT.

trigger warning for death, addiction mention.

Maya knew glory. She knew power. She knew money. She had everything -- the media's attention, a darling fiancé and a rich, influential politician of a father whose money was the key to all success. Including hers, of course. A socialite in the making, she was on her way to becoming an influential media darling through her father's money and power, until it all went down the drain.

His gambling addiction and corrupt scandals sent them in a downwards spiral into hell, and Maya saw everything she loved and conquered slip from the palm of her hands: her father was arrested and sent into prison for life for his crimes against the government, her fiancé broke off the engagement, the media painted her as the spoiled brat she never was and everyone eventually forgot about her. Well, except for Maya, the fallen angel whose glory now painted heavy with dirty secrets and forgotten promises.

She was only twenty and had just lost everything when the arms of Victoria Bonventre were open to her, welcoming her as the role of her newest assistant -- the previous one had found Victoria too demanding. And in truth, Victoria was demanding: never going one day without her makeup artist or her hair stylist, always booking appointments and sessions at the salon or the spa, and being and overall diva, even though she had the right to: Maya never judged her for it, because she had been a diva herself way back in the day when she was famous and loved.

But part of Maya couldn't help but envy the Bonventre clan, despite their helping and benevolent ways towards her, she wanted what they had. She wanted what they were. So it began small: a couple rumors sold here and there, maybe one scandal per year, another one or two... and suddenly she found herself selling vital information of Victoria and Cesare's family to the media. She received much more money than ever intended, enough to build herself an empire again, albeit a discreet one -- she couldn't afford to call out too much attention. Not then, not now.

At twenty six, she was a trusted woman of the Bonventre clan, and was introduced to his mob’s inner-workings soon after. Of course she used such information to sell rumors to the media -- small ones, but enough to ruin Cesare's reputation. Guilt washed over her every time, but she wasn't one to dwell on it: she needed fame and glory just as the Bonventre needed it. And Maya was keen on getting hers back.

To the media, she's nothing but a once famous angel who's known fallen and serves as a mere informant. But to Maya, Cesare's death meant everything: the opportunity to rise up above and find her spot in the A+ list once more. She's been more ruthless, guiltier, more cunning, restless and hungrier for the fame she once had. Maya wants to redeem herself in the media's eyes and become just as famous as the Bonventre name, but in order to do it, she may have to cross her own boundaries and betray the people who worked so hard to help her through her roughest days.

GLORY AND GORE GO HAND IN HAND…

Aidan Dougherty: She knows he’s Violetta’s fiancé, but she knows they’re a mere PR stunt. If only Maya could catch his heart like he caught hers... she’s completely head over heels, but she knows it’s completely unrequited on his end. She’s persistent, and won’t give up the fight until she has Aidan on his knees, begging for her love. A scandal like this could grant her the reputation she so desperately needs to rebuild.

Melissa Baudelaire: Her best friend. Melissa has no idea that Maya has been betraying the Bonventre name, for if she knew, the friendship would surely end in a bitter way. Melissa is a trusted and loyal woman, and to her, there’s nothing worse than lies and manipulation. If her best friend finds out about Maya’s schemes, she may just be doomed for eternity.

Ella Stockhausen: Ella is hell in high heels. And with her loyalty to the Bonventre name, things couldn’t be worse. Maya will never convince Ella to betray them, but she might just use something against Ella, if ever needed... The two hate each other after all, and only work together for the sake of money.

Victoria Bonventre: The woman is demanding, a diva, has erratic and unpredictable behavior, and to make matters worse, she’s now a grieving widow, emotional and needy in her ways. Maya will be there for her till the ends of the earth, not because she enjoys or appreciates Victoria, but because she needs all the information she can get.

THAT’S WHY WE’RE MAKING HEADLINES!

✉ SENT @ 2:54pm → AIDAN: you’re one bad boy. ✉ SENT @ 2:57pm → MEL: we need our girls night out!! ✉ SENT @ 5:32pm → VICTORIA: absolutely. it’s been booked.

available. faceclaim: priyanka chopra (negotiable)

#priyanka chopra fc #rp #mafia rp #crime rp #rpg #open: female #open: all #open: unaffiliated #mw #maya gulati

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thehouseofsalazar-blog · 7 years

Photo

DAPHNE GREENGRASS | SIXTH YEAR | SEVENTEEN YEARS OF AGE | TAKEN

BASIC INFORMATION

Gender: Female.

Date of Birth: April 29, 1979.

Positive Traits: Charming, charismatic, likable, captivating, protective.

Negative Traits: Manipulative, provocative, shallow, enigmatic, insatiable.

Faceclaim: Phoebe Tonkin.

BIOGRAPHY

Daphne Greengrass was the firstborn daughter of Elias Greengrass and Celeste Carrow. She was born in late April of 1979.

When she was just six months old, Elias brought scandal, disgrace, and shame to the Greengrass name when his indiscretions with a young witch named Veronica Grimani were publicized after it was discovered she was pregnant with Elias’s child. With the prospect of a son on his mind, Elias made tentative plans to cast aside his wife Celeste and firstborn; however, these plans fell through when Elias discovered Veronica had given birth to a daughter, who she had named Astoria. Elias suffered a great disappointment that resulted in him ending his relationship with Veronica and electing to return home to his wife and firstborn.

Despite his rather large, year-long blunder, Celeste welcomed her husband back with open arms and, in time, forgave him for all the hardship he had caused their family. Their marriage had suffered greatly as a result of his relationship with Veronica, and would never truly return to what it had been before; however, with a lot of time and work, the two rebuilt much of the trust that had been lost as well the respect and affection that had been there from the start.

Several months after Elias returned to Greengrass Manor, Celeste went behind her husband’s back to reach out to Veronica Grimani, the woman her husband had cast aside. It was Celeste who insisted that Elias form a relationship with his daughter; it was also Celeste who suggested Veronica and she give their daughters, who are half-sisters, the opportunity to meet.

Perhaps a sibling rivalry would have been expected under such circumstances, but Astoria and Daphne were inseparably close from the start, entirely devoted to one another beyond whatever games their families insisted on playing to try and pit them against each other (and there were many antics that threatened to do so growing up).

Without Elias’s involvement (he wanted as little to do with Veronica and Astoria as possible), Celeste and Veronica, two very unlikely friends, arranged several times a month where their children could meet. As they got older, Celeste and Veronica opened their homes to both girls. Astoria spent most of her time at her mother’s estate, while Daphne preferred to spend her time at the Greengrass Manor, though the as she got older, Daphne would float between households without any reservations.

Elias showed a consistent disinterest in Astoria, though he was never violent or cruel to her; he insured she had a good life though was adamant in preferring his eldest, as Daphne was his heir in business and the heir to his name. Elias and Daphne maintained a close relationship throughout her childhood, though their closeness dissipated as in Daphne’s teenage years, when it became obvious she had little to no interest in learning about the family business. As time went on, she showed even less interest in the prospect of ever inheriting it, to Elias’s great frustration. He began to push his eldest daughter, hoping this might motivate her; however, whenever Elias pushed Daphne, she would push right back three times harder.

Both Elias and Daphne had similar temperaments and would often end up engaging in quarrels. This placed a significant strain on their relationship, and although Elias maintained that Daphne was his favorite child, he then attempted to engage with Astoria, who he had cast aside from the moment of her birth. Recognizing her potential, Elias attempted to get Astoria to uphold his impossible standards. He saw a collection of his own faults in Astoria, making him believe she was an unsuitable candidate for taking over the business once he no longer could manage it; despite this, he pushed her, hoping to correct those failings. She often stumbled, and unlike with Daphne, Elias was unforgiving towards Astoria’s shortcomings.

Daphne began attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry when she was eleven. She was sorted into Slytherin House, where she quickly formed friendships with Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, Tracey Davis, Draco Malfoy, Millicent Bulstrode, and Theodore Nott, several of which were childhood companions.

With the freedom to shed her father’s overbearing hand, Daphne thrived at Hogwarts both academically and socially. She was well-liked within her house, and well-known throughout the rest of the school, a fact she quite liked. The gossip surrounding her father’s scandal was all but nonexistent within the castle, allowing the eldest Greengrass to create a name for herself rather than having her father’s reputation represent her.

When Astoria arrived at Hogwarts the following year, Daphne quickly took her under her wing and the two became inseparable yet again, save for the moments when Pansy Parkinson would intervene and drag Daphne off for a couple hours. Despite Daphne’s tendency to lean towards irresponsibility, she was always very protective of Astoria and ensured that all of her friends - in addition to herself - were looking out for her little sister.

In her Fourth Year, Daphne engaged in her first serious relationship with Marcus Flint, who was two years older than she (though only one year ahead of her). Their courtship was highly publicized in Page Six of the Daily Prophet - as is much of Daphne’s life, as she is commonly referred to as “the Page Six darling” - and ended quickly and badly. No one knows the details of how their relationship dissolved, as Daphne refuses to talk about it and will hastily change the topic if anyone is ever foolish enough to bring up Marcus Flint.

As she got older, Daphne’s reputation evolved into something of a wild child. She was infamous for her trademark enigmatic smile and her ruthless charm that left no man standing when she focused her attention entirely on him. She was undeniably charismatic and often provocative for shock value, though as insatiable as she was captivating. While Astoria was poised and pretty and known for her bright smile, Daphne was likely off doing something reckless and adrenaline-pumping, known for her love of adventure and refusal to be held down or back by anyone or anything (that included, but was not limited to, rules, fear, and the possibility of death or serious injury).

Rumors of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s return are swirling as Daphne returns to Hogwarts in 1996. The Greengrass family has thus to declare who their loyalty lies with, though Daphne has no doubts that her father - never a man to get his hands dirty - will financially support He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s cause. Daphne is relatively unbothered by the aspect of war as she has no intention of getting involved. But what will happen when she discovers her sister has been writing to her godmother, Alecto Carrow, and might be heading towards direct involvement with this conflict?

CONNECTIONS

THEODORE NOTT: Childhood best friend, romantic interest.

ASTORIA GREENGRASS: Younger sister, protective of.

BLAISE ZABINI: Close companion, confidant.

PANSY PARKINSON: Best friend.

DRACO MALFOY: Childhood companions.

ADELAIDE MURTON: Developing friendship.

#DAPHNEGREENGRASS #CLOSEDFEMALE #CLOSEDSIXTH

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gillianfoster · 7 years

Text

lesbian cal lightman post 3x13 lie to me fix it fic, also the most niche thing i’ve ever written

This isn’t the first time she’s done this, showing up at Gillian’s in the middle of the night. She still remembers the last time, after that woman at the bar had asked her who her ideal woman was, and then there she was at Gillian’s door. It’s a vulnerable feeling, like a bruise fresh on her cheek or skin scratched raw just at the surface. She doesn’t know what to do or how to react when she stands at Gill’s door like this, admitting she needs something. She knows how to deflect and how to make herself unreadable. How to hide.

When Em had asked her what she was waiting for, she’d lied. She knew exactly what the problem was. Lying to her daughter, it made her heart rise up in her throat. She hated it. But Emily still had so much good in her - living in DC, being raised by two mums. She didn’t think about things the way Cal still did. Gillian married a man. Dated men. It wasn’t that Cal didn’t think she couldn’t also be interested in women, it was just that she’d never seen Gillian with a woman. She thought, sometimes, that there was a chance. She’d heard a joke about college experimentation once. This was different, though, and she knew it was different, and she couldn’t trust herself around Gill, not enough to be absolutely certain she wasn’t projecting something.

By the time she’s knocked and she can hear Gillian’s footsteps, she’s realizing she’s made a mistake. Gill is mourning. Now’s not the time. Em brought up a good point, but Cal should be waiting. She shouldn’t be here now.

Then Gillian opens the door, and she’s standing there with the light behind her, and it’s making the little frizzy hairs sticking out of her bun sort of glow, and she’s in a cardigan and her pajama bottoms and she looks beautiful. Just drop dead gorgeous. And her eyes aren’t still red.

Cal forgets to speak.

“Cal?” Gillian prompts. It’s the tone of voice that means ‘what the fuck are you doing here, it’s the middle of the bloody night,’ only in Gillian speak. Cal swallows.

“Right. Hello. Sorry, love. I, ah… I just wanted to check up on you. You alright?”

Gillian blinks at her, and tilts her head. “I think you probably know that I’m not. No matter how much trouble you might say you have reading me. But I’m not… You didn’t have to come all the way out here, Cal. Not while Emily’s home.”

“Well. She’s, ah. She’s gone to bed. So I just through I’d come and say hello again. I know I didn’t run off this time, I know we had a talk and everything, but I just…” Cal bites her lip. Gillian’s right here, in front of her. That shouldn’t feel so strange when it happens every day, but she knows that both of them can at least feel that this is a vulnerable moment if nothing else. She steps inside the door, just inside, closer to Gillian. Almost close enough to feel the heat she seems to generate. “I just can’t get it out of my head. Seeing you in that hallway. Covered in blood. I was… Jesus, love. I was terrified. You called me in a panic and I wasn’t… I wasn’t sure yet that you weren’t hurt.” This is more vulnerable than she was prepared to be, but things are spilling out now before she can stop them. “You’re… you’re one thing I’m not prepared to lose, darling. You and Em. I can’t… that can’t happen.”

Cal realizes she hasn’t been making eye contact. Her hands are clenched into fists at her sides, and she shakes them out a bit and looks up at Gillian’s face. It’s soft. Touched. There’s a sudden ache somewhere to the left of Cal’s heart, and for just a second she thinks she might be having a heart attack, but no. No. That’s just what Gill does to her.

“Thank you. For telling me that. That… means a lot.”

This is the problem with both of them. Cal can’t say a damn thing to her, because she’s so terrified of giving herself away, so when she does say anything, Gillian goes into shrink mode to be sensitive with her to encourage her emotional vulnerability. She’s fucked up in plenty of ways, but the way she is around Gillian isn’t just abuse and trauma and the things she’s seen. It’s also just fear. Fear of all the ways she’ll fuck it up, like she always bloody does, fear of all the ways Gillian could gently let her down.

“Yeah, I…” Cal wants to say more, but it’s not right. Not now. Still not now. She chokes it back down and swallows again. She steps back, down off the doorstep. “I shouldn’t have come all the way out here tonight. Sorry. You were right. I’m not… This isn’t… You need your rest, love, yeah? Especially right now.” Cal runs a hand through her hair, pushing it back off her forehead where it’s flopped down a bit, and she starts to turn away.

Gillian stops her just with her voice. “I wasn’t really planning to sleep. Not tonight. At least not on purpose. In this one case it’s… too personal. I’ve seen a lot of things but this was… I don’t want to fall asleep.”

Cal turns back to look at her, and sees the vulnerability in her expression, too, and walks back over and steps inside. She pulls Gillian into her arms, and that part’s easy. This is something they both still know how to do, how to hold each other, be the one thing keeping the other one together.

When she pulls back, Gillian’s looking up at her, and it feels dangerous. Wallowski went on a date. They’re not together anymore. Cal still feels suddenly like she should tie up all the loose ends. Do something else. She pushes Gillian’s hair behind her ear, where some’s come loose. Then, she steps past her just a bit and turns. “Should I come inside for a bit then? We can watch something on the telly. Just pass the time. I’ll text Em in case she wakes up. I can keep you company.”

Gill nods at her, and Cal goes in and straight towards the kitchen. “I’ll make you some tea, shall I?”

“Cal that’s at least the fourth warm drink you’ve made me today.”

“Still take an ungodly amount of sugar?”

She can practically hear the fond smile in Foster’s sigh as she walks away, so she goes about pulling down the mugs, getting the kettle started. Once everything’s set up, she pulls her phone out of her pocket. She does text Emily, hoping it won’t wake her up, and then she sends a text to Wallowski. “Was your date good enough that if things between us are over you won’t hold it against me?”

The kettle’s not boiled, but she knows she’s probably only got about five minutes between that and the time for the tea to steep, and she’d really like to get a response before she goes into the sitting room. She waits and taps her fingers against the counter. It’s cold, and her finger bounces back a little with each tap. Just as she knows the tea is starting to get a bit strong, her phone vibrates, and she jumps. Thank Christ Gillian wasn’t there to see that.

The text is from Wallowski. “Go get her, idiot.”

Concise. Comforting. Cal knew there was a reason she liked her. Never as much as Gillian. Nowhere close. But there had been something about her.

Cal takes out the tea bags before the tea’s completely ruined, and leaves her own black and puts far too much sugar and milk in Gill’s. She carries both mugs to the sofa and gives a light pink mug to Gil with a slight flourish and a bow. “Your awful tea.”

Gill smiles at her, and Cal sits down and puts an arm around her. Her mug is in her free hand. This still feels natural, too. Not dangerous yet. The danger is still, though, in the fact that she came here at all. That she said what she did to Emily. Said it out loud. That she’s officially broken it off with Wallowski. She’s here for a dangerous reason, and it’s nagging at the back of her skull every time she thinks she can forget it. Gillian trusts her, trusts her enough to let her close and be affectionate with her and use her for comfort. The reason she’s here feels like an abuse of that trust. Cal takes her arm back and puts it by her own side, then switches the hand her mug is in so she won’t be tempted.

To her surprise, Gill turns to look at her. Cal gives her an apologetic smile. “Just getting a bit warm. Sorry, love.”

Though the look she gets is skeptical, Gill still nods. Then she smiles. “You could always borrow something from me. Change out of that sweater you’re always wearing.”

“I’ll just push up the sleeves, I’ll be fine.” Cal puts the mug down on the table in front of them and does just that, then puts her arm back around Gillian. “See?” Gill scoffs, and Cal moves her arm again, turning to look at her face on. “What?”

“I have pajamas. Especially if you’re gonna spend the night, you don’t have to sit around in all that.”

“Me? In your pajamas? Gillian, please, I’d look like a tit.”

Gillian laughs, and Cal can’t help but smile back at her.

“You could just borrow a t-shirt at least. Not everything I own is that feminine, Cal.”

“You put me in a nightgown and I’m leaving.”

As Gill stands up, Cal follows her, and they go right back to her bedroom. She watches Gill shift through closet and drawers, but mostly just gets overwhelmed by how much everything looks soft and smells like Gillian. Then there’s a blue t-shirt being shoved at her.

It’s a little bit light blue for her tastes, but she still smirks a bit. “Alright, fine. But what am I meant to wear for bottoms?”

“I don’t have anything you won’t object to, you’ll just have to stick with your boxers.”

“Who told you I wear boxers?”

“You did, Cal.”

She shrugs, and grins. “Right, well. They’re comfortable. Fine, then. I’ll go and change.” Cal starts towards the bathroom, then sticks her head back out around the doorframe. “Can’t believe you’re telling me I ought to sleep in your house in my underwear. That’s scandalous, that is. Could start a rumor at the office like that.”

Gill just sighs at her, but she can’t hide the smile around the corners of her mouth - she couldn’t even hide it from someone else, right now. “I’ll see you back in the living room, Cal.”

Cal changes there in the bathroom. Down to just her boxers, bra, and a t-shirt, she truly does feel vulnerable. Comparatively comfortable though her sports bra may be, she’d normally take it off to sleep or relax, but she doesn’t trust herself enough. Not right now. Still, she folds up the rest of her clothes and puts her belt on top and walks back out to the sitting room, putting the pile of clothes down next to the couch. She sits down, and she puts her arm back around Gill.

“There. All better.”

It’s not better. It’s much worse. Gillian’s taken the time while Cal was in the bathroom to take off her sweater, and her socked feet and her legs are curled up beside her on the couch, and her short sleeved sleep shirt means that Cal’s fingertips are just brushing the skin right below her sleeve. It’s probably what hell is like, but frankly it’s a hell Cal would sign up for a thousand more times.

She watches Gillian finish her tea, and there’s something on the telly but she’s not looking at it. She can’t, just yet. She can’t take her eyes off of Gill. Maybe there’s something to what she actually said when she showed up. Well. Of course there was. It was true. But maybe she needed just this more than she realized. She’d gotten so caught up in fighting for Foster, fighting that two-bit prick, that she’d forgotten herself. Another one of her many bad habits. Seeing Gill in a hallway, totally vulnerable, in shock, covered in blood. It shook her. The idea of something happening to her before Cal ever said anything, before she ever even tried. It was awful.

Cal shakes herself from her thoughts, pushes Gill’s hair back behind her ear again, turns to the telly. She sees her tea on the coffee table, and she knows it’s gone cold by now, but she doesn’t care.

After a moment, after she’s at least managed to pretend to focus on whatever late night channel Gillian has on, she can feel eyes on the side of her face. She doesn’t look over.

“Cal.”

“Mm?”

“Why did you really come here tonight?”

Cal swallows, and shakes her head. She’s still looking at the screen. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to, love.”

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want the answer.”

She finally turns her head, and Gillian’s face is far too close. This isn’t jokey flirting in her office with Loker right there watching. This isn’t a momentary tease. This is for just the two of them. Cal shifts back a bit, and looks her in the eyes. The arm that was around Gill comes up next to her, and she uses her fist and elbow to prop her head up against to the back of the couch.

“I really don’t think it’s the time for this.”

Every statement gives her away. Everything is incriminating. But she won’t outright lie when they’re both feeling so unsteady, and she can’t be honest.

“When is the time, Cal?”

She shakes her head. “Not right now, Gill. I came over because I… I had a talk with Emily, and I decided to come over. But it’s not the night, yeah? You’re still… We’re both still in a mess. It’s not a time for a serious talk.”

“Is it ever the time for a serious talk with you?”

Cal grits her teeth, just for a moment. “You don’t get to say that. Not right now, not when I said what I did when I showed up here.”

Foster sighs, but for once Cal knows she’s right. “Yes, fine, that’s… You’re right, Cal. That isn’t fair. But I just… I feel like you’re never being completely honest with me.”

They’re dancing around the edge of something, but Cal still isn’t sure that Gillian knows just what that something is. “I am honest with you. Almost more than anyone. You know that, Gill.”

They make eye contact again, and this time it lasts for a long moment. Gillian nods. “Right. I know that. But I still like to know you’re not hiding something. At least not something important.”

Cal licks her lips and glances at the back of the couch, right next to her. “Yeah. Well. There are things we don’t say, aren’t there? There are lines.”

“Cal, for god’s sake. We got rid of the damn line a long time ago.”

She knows that Gillian’s right. The lines are gone. “You mean I did.”

Gill laughs half-heartedly. “With the things I said about Wallowski? I have, too.” Cal watches her shake her head. “And I should… apologize for that. I’m not happy that you called her for this, but it’s… It’s good that you’re happy. At least she’s not toying with you. And you deserve something steady.”

Cal starts shaking her head while Gill’s still talking. “Don’t… That’s all over and done with. You don’t have to apologize for any of that.”

“Since when?”

“Well she went on a date, didn’t she?” The line doesn’t even feel genuine in her mouth. She sighs, and drops her head forward. “Fine, alright. Since… I broke it off. Didn’t want to do it anymore. There’s nothing between me and Wallowski, nothing between me and anybody. There’s just… me.”

Gill’s staring now. “And when did this happen? During the case?”

“You want the truth on this one, too?” Gill nods, and Cal winces. “When I was making tea in the kitchen, just now.”

Gill frowns, and her brow furrows. “You broke up with Wallowski in my kitchen?”

“Just… checking it was over. There’s no hard feelings. It was already done.”

“Why?”

“We’re getting back to that thing you don’t want to hear, love.”

Gillian shakes her head again. “I don’t have any idea what it is, Cal. I don’t know why you seem to think I do.”

“You really don’t know?”

Another shake of her head.

Cal sighs, and pushes her own hair back again, but the little bits at the front just flop back over her forehead, and she feels like a mess. “I’m… I came here tonight, because… Em asked me, after I got home tonight, after everything else I’d been through… She asked me. About you. But specifically how I… felt. About you. And this… I know this is something we’ve joked about for years, Gill, but it’s not… It’s not a joke for me. I’m not certain it was ever a joke for me.”

“What’s not a joke for you?”

Cal still doesn’t look at her. “I love you, Gill. I’m… I’m in love… with you. And now’s not the time, and it’s a shit night for both of us, but Emily asked me tonight why I’d never done anything and I was at your door before I’d had time to think about it.”

There’s a long pause, and Cal finally looks up, and she can’t read anything but confusion on Gillian’s face. “Cal. What? I… I’m nothing like the women you date.”

She laughs, and she knows Gill can hear there’s no humor in it. “Well that’s the bloody point, isn’t it? They’re nothing like you because you’re you. They’d date me. They’re attracted to me. Of course they’re nothing like you. You don’t date women, let alone women who… who drink too much and gamble and wear fucking boxers. And that’s the mildest list of reasons I’ve got, love.”

“I didn’t know it wasn’t a joke to you.” That stings her, more than Cal would care to admit. She has to look away again. “It’s fun, it’s always been fun, but with the way you’ve dated and gone around over the years, and the way you flirted… I didn’t know it was serious. I wasn’t sure you could be serious, about… Anyone but Zoe.”

Cal can feel the bile churning in her stomach. She shakes her head and goes to stand up. “I think I’d like to go ahead and go to bed, love.”

“Cal.”

She’s stopped in her tracks, and she realizes it’s Gill’s hand around her wrist that’s done it.

“Don’t walk away. Not right now.”

Following direction, although she doesn’t know why, she practically falls back onto the couch, and she looks at Gill with what she knows is full brunt of the ache she’s feeling.

Gillian’s touch is warm on her face, and she closes her eyes.

“I’m not you, Cal. I can’t read you the way you can read me.”

She turns her face into Gill’s hand, glad for the sign she hasn’t ruined it all. “I’ve told you, I can’t read you either. You can read just as well as I can for anyone else, you know that. But for you, I’m… I always thought I was putting too much on you. Reading things that weren’t there. That night you got drunk on my scotch and told me to say thank you, I…”

“I… wanted you to kiss me.”

Cal opens her eyes. There’s another hand, on the side of her neck now, and she shivers. “Yeah?”

“Just because I thought you were joking didn’t mean that I wasn’t… falling for the joke. Every time I’ve ever pulled away when I shouldn’t have… I thought I was protecting myself.”

“From me?”

Gill shrugs, and Cal places her hands at Gill’s waist.

“I don’t want to hurt you, love. That’s the last thing I ever want to do.”

“I wasn’t sure you’d be able to help it.”

Cal opens her mouth to say something, then shakes her head and starts again. “I suppose we’re both a bit bad about that. Between who we are, and the job we do… maybe it isn’t always possible to avoid. But I can try and get better. We can make new rules, and try our best not to break them, and be honest when we do.” It’s the kind of promise she’d only make for Gillian. “I don’t want to fuck this up, love.”

Instead of responding, Gillian leans close, and there’s a press of lips against her forehead. Cal grins, and pulls back enough to look up at her.

“You could at least give me a proper kiss, darling.”

“I could, could I?”

Gillian smiles at her, and it’s dazzling. Then their lips are pressed together, and they’re kissing. It’s not one of those god awful quick little platonic pecks, either, that they’ve peppered across their friendship. This kiss is proper. Lingering. Their lips shift against each other, damp, and Gillian breathes out into the kiss and Cal takes the opportunity to bite gently at her lower lip. When they both pull back, Gill is blushing a bit, and Cal can feel warmth at the tips of her ears.

“You still gonna make me sleep in the guest bedroom?” Cal asks teasingly.

Gill gives her a look even as she gently brushes a hand over Cal’s hair. “Before you even take me out for dinner?”

“Oh come on, no funny business. I’m gonna make an honest woman out of you. You deserve to be wined and dined.”

“Hmm.” She watches as Gillian glances at the telly and then turns back to her. “We’ll see.”

Cal puts her arm back around Gill, and this time Gill leans into her properly, head against her chest, and maybe they’ll fall asleep that way, and maybe they’ll move to a bedroom, and maybe Gill will shoo her off to the guest room after all. Whatever happens now, it’s alright.

#fic

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