elegant-jackets

Feysand Mate Reveal AU

So I’ve always wondered how it would have gone if Rhysand had gotten the chance to tell Feyre about him being her mate himself. So this slight AU takes place the day after the Inn scene and assumes they had never been shot down and the Suriel wasn’t in the picture.



Rhysand grasped me tightly in his arms as he aimed us towards his Velaris townhouse below. The city was a canvas of lavender and orange in the fading light, the lanterns lining the winding Sidra like a chain of stars.

As he held onto me, I tried not to notice the way his torso was pressed up against mine, every contour of that strong body matching up with every soft curve of mine, the way his muscles eased and stretched with every flap of his enormous velvety wings. 

I let my head lean in to the crook of his shoulder and jaw, resting there beneath. I could almost fall asleep, despite my usual terror at flying with the Illyrians. I was so comfortable in his arms. I let my eyes close for a moment, savoring the warmth between us.

My mind wandered, and maybe it was the closeness of our bodies, but my thoughts took me to the night before…remembering the way we had tangled and touched in that tiny bed at the Inn…the way he had felt propped up behind me as I yielded to him…the way he had run his hands over me…how much I had wanted him to just take me fully…it was enough to set me aflame right there in the sky.

I jerked my eyes back open and tried to focus on the leather detailing of the lapels of his Illyrian training jacket, anything to stem those traitorous thoughts. I counted the threads in the silver embroidering of his undershirt, counted the buttons below that, opened loosely over the russet skin of his tattooed chest. The chest that was broad and smooth with muscled strength…another wave of warmth ran down me, pooling at the core of me and I bit my lip hard, hoping he wouldn’t notice the strain across our bond. 

I edged a glance upwards at his face, wondering if perhaps he too was remembering our night…but his dark brows were furrowed, his eyes faraway and focused. I swallowed, wanting to say something, address this thing between us, whatever it was.

We had scarcely spoken the entire way home after those hours training in the Steppes. I could sense he had wanted to say…something. I had indeed caught him several times opening and closing his mouth as if starting to speak before thinking better of it. I had shrugged it off, busying myself instead with my own training. But I wouldn’t be able to ignore it much longer, especially now that we had permanently crossed some invisible line that had been drawn in the sand between us these past few months.

As we touched down on the Townhouse roof terrace, I let out a relieved sigh at the reliable feeling of a steady surface below us. He set me down gently and removed his hands from me quickly, as if he were afraid of repeating last night so soon.

He straightened up, adjusting his elegant leather jacket as I tried to rearrange the tussled strands of my windswept hair. I watched his deft and graceful hands button the places his shirt it had gone loose from our day of travel, wanting so much to feel those nimble fingers in me again…

But no. I couldn’t let those thoughts in. I reinforced my mental walls of adamant, envisioning them wrapping in more vines of protection. Whether from his intruding thoughts or my own traitorous ones, I wasn’t sure.

“Dinner,” was all Rhys murmured after a moment, gesturing to the stairwell to our right. His eyes did not meet mine as we quietly made our way down to the dining room, where I hoped to find Mor or Amren or…anyone really. Anyone to fill the heavy silence between us.

The corridor of the Townhouse was dark, the last bits of sunlight streaming in from the stained glass windows casting a low glow over the floorboards. I watched my boots as we descended each flight of stairs, marking each of his steps behind me, thinking about how much I wanted to just turn around and hide in one of the passing bedrooms.

When we finally reached the dining room, I was disappointed to find the large oak table spotless and empty, save for two steaming plates of chicken and vegetables flanked by a glass of wine each.

“Cerridwen and Nuala,” Rhysand said in answer to my questioning look, pulling out a chair for me. “I sent a request directly to their minds an hour ago while we were flying. I assumed you would be too tired to go out,”

Indeed he was right, and I tried to arrange my face into some semblance of graciousness as I took a seat. I jumped slightly as I felt his broad hands graze my shoulders, but he was only spreading the napkin out into my lap for me. 

Ever the gentlemen, but it irked me for some reason. I shot him a mildly indignant look and snatched the napkin back.

“I can handle that myself, thank you,” I curtly unfolded it myself.

But Rhysand only smirked as he made his way around the table to the opposite side where his plate was set.

Damn you, and your damn smirking.

Surprise flashed across his face as he took his seat, before being replaced by that feline amusement I was so used to. I felt a wave of relief at that. Maybe we wouldn’t have to acknowledge last night at all. Maybe we could continue on as normal, unchanged after all.

But something told me that wasn’t going to happen as my body thrilled at the sound of his deep voice in my head, replying,

But that winning smirk worked so well for me last night.

I felt a hot flush creep into my cheeks, but I refused to look at him. I gingerly began cutting my chicken, trying not to let my knife and fork tremble in my hands.

You’ll end up cutting yourself that way, Feyre darling.

I shot my eyes back up to meet the crinkled violet of his as his smirk deepened. I scowled and ignored him, carrying on with my tenuous cutting.

The clock on the mantel chimed half past eight, nearly causing me to jump out of my skin at the sudden noise. My eyes caught on Rhys’s movement across the table, it seeming to jar him as well.

“Is it really that late already?” I said, in a lame attempt at small talk. 

I watched his face, trying to read any reaction there. But it indecipherable was as he replied smoothly, “It’s been a long day, we should get some rest,”

“Yes, I want another good night’s rest,” I slyly hoped he would catch my intention behind the words. I had slept more restfully last night than I had in months. The fact that it was due to being in his arms was a small matter I wasn’t sure I could handle.

But he only cast his eyes down at my plate.

“Feyre, you’ve barely eaten anything,” he said, and I could see the veiled concern etched within his eyes. I looked glumly down at my barely-touched dinner, the food indeed more moved around on the plate than anything.

“What is it to you?” I asked casually, putting down my utensils on the smooth wood varnish.

A muscle feathered in his jaw. “Are you hurt? Sick?” he asked softly.

“No,” I replied, sitting back in my chair. “I’m fine,”

“Why aren’t you eating?” he asked, lying his hands flat on the table, as if ready to spring to my aid at a second’s notice. 

I resisted rolling my eyes as I said, “I’m just…not hungry. Really,” I hoped it would quay the emergent worry in his face. He relaxed, though I could tell he didn’t fully believe me.

“Well, then I suppose if I am just being a distraction,” he muttered curtly, swiftly standing and disappearing the plates with a wave of his hand. 

I felt an unwelcome pang at the word. Distraction. What I had asked for last night…not friendship, not a bond…not even love. I internally cringed and watched his dark silhouette disappear up the stairs.

I instantly wanted to run after him…to apologize or flirt more, I didn’t know. But my legs would not move, and any words died in my throat as I heard the distinct click of his bedroom door shutting upstairs.

Ten minutes later, I found myself pacing outside his room, up and down the hallway, praying he couldn’t hear me, couldn’t see what a fool I was.

I nearly knocked once, but couldn’t bring myself to. Couldn’t think of what to say. I had too many questions for him. But I also felt a need to apologize. To explain. But the nerve never came.

Not knowing what else to do with myself, I hid in my room the rest of the evening, holed up in bed with a book in my lap. But I read without really comprehending anything, my hands mechanically turning the pages as my mind wandered elsewhere. These months I’d spent here…how he had taken me in, given me clothes and money and food and shelter and everything else. It had begun as a bargain, yes, but now?

I had had his tongue in my mouth and his fingers inside me last night. Yet I had stupidly told him it was just meaningless fun…but I knew, deep inside, that it wasn’t just fun. It wasn’t just a distraction.

And that terrified me.

I sat there in bed, trying to find the right words to say to him until the clock on my cherrywood dresser tolled eleven. So, I gave up and dressed for bed, though sleep sounded as equally unappealing to my racing mind.

After slipping on my satin nightgown and silky robe, I crawled underneath the plush green duvet and switched off the lantern at my bedside. Instantly, the darkness sweeping across the room seeming to gloat at me, yet another reminder of the High Lord no doubt sleeping peacefully down the hall.

But as I drifted, my mind wandered back to that cramped room in the Inn…to the feel of his hands on my breasts, his fingers moving in me, his lips devouring my neck…how I had wanted so badly just to yield fully to him, to let him have me completely. How much that meant to me. How much that frightened me to my very core.

I shivered and clamped my knees together, as if it could keep the wave of want at bay. My mind played the night over and over…the way he had spoken…the bits and pieces he had given me…Let me touch you…Because I was jealous and pissed off…She’s mine.

I stiffened. That was it.

I needed to know. Needed to know what it all meant. What I meant to him.

I clenched my jaw, let out a sharp breath and sent one word down the bond;

Rhysand.

The seconds ticked on, and my heartbeat fluttered faster. Waiting. 

We have one awkward meal and you’re back to calling me Rhysand?

I fought the tug of a smile that lifted my lips and I shot straight up in bed, though there was nothing in the darkness of my room. It was just his voice inside my head.

Please. I want to talk to you. In person. 

A pause.

Might as well address me as High Lord, while you’re at it.

I rolled my eyes and just sent one word back down the bond: 

Please.

For a few horrible moments, I thought he wouldn’t come. Perhaps he had decided I was too indecisive, too spiteful, too soiled for him. I put my hands over my face, feeling shame creep in, and slumped down against my pillow.

“Well I suppose if you say ‘please’…”

I shot back up, throwing the covers off me as he appeared in the darkness, as if made from mist, silent and swift as the night. I clenched my bedsheets as I took him in; he was shirtless, loose silk sleeping pants the only thing covering his form, his velvet wings hanging unceremoniously behind him. 

With some effort, I fought to keep my eyes from tracing the contours of his torso, the way the pattern of his tattoos tapered off towards his lower abdomen…the corded muscles of his forearms leading to strong hands now dipping into his pockets as he leaned against my bedpost.

“Feyre,” he said in a singsong voice, no doubt tracking where my eyes were. It snapped me from my observance and I flushed warmly. 

I could see the slight amusement in his eyes as I met his eyes again. 

“You wanted to see me?”

I rose quickly and rather shakily from my bed, the hem of my satin robe hitting the floor and opening the front, revealing the simple albeit very short nightgown I had put on underneath.

“Or perhaps you wanted another distraction,” he said as his eyes drank me in, not a question at all.

I watched Rhys watch me, saw the panic and lust and unsureness cross his face as he took me in, from toes to eyebrows. Saw the silent restraint in his body, the body I had become so used to seeing over these months of training together.

I took a slow step towards him. He stood unmoving, not taking his eyes from mine, though I could now see him grasping that bedpost like it was supporting him entirely.

“Not a distraction,” I said firmly, trying to convey everything I felt in those few words.

He did not hide his reaction to me as he again cast his eyes down my body. I tried to ignore the way my nightown rode up with each step, at the growing impulse to throw my legs around his waist right there and then.

“I need to know…” I hesitated as I finally closed the gap between us. My shoulders tensing, I continued, “…what there is between us,”

His face was unreadable and again he didn’t move, did not even flinch as he held steadfast onto that bedpost, as if one wrong move would send us spiraling into dangerous territory again.

“I need to understand this, Rhys,” I gestured to the small space between us.

I watched his face change again, into something hopeful, but hesitant. His hands finally let go of that post to grasp my arms, lightly running up and down them. It raised goosebumps in their path. 

Something drew me into him, something I couldn’t name. Like a tether, ever shortening as the minutes passed…

“Feyre…” he voice was guttural as he angled his head to rest against mine. I heard him breath in. Breathe me in. I did the same, reveling in the citrus and sea that always hovered around him.

“You said you just wanted fun,”

I cringed, and swallowed thickly. “I know what I said, but that’s not what I want,”

“Then why am I here, Feyre?” There was the question. His hands left my arms. My lower lip trembled as I took in his beautiful face. So devastatingly beautiful.

“Rhys,” I steadied my voice, as I asked a question of my own, “Why do you bother?”

Confusion darkened his eyes.

“With…?”

“With me,”

“I happen to find you quite attractive, Feyre,” His hands resumed their exploration, this time running slowly over the curve of my hips, gently tugging the fabric of my gown upwards. “As I have told you many times,”

“Evidently,” I breathed, pushing my pelvis against the new hardness of his, wishing we could just throw away all that had been said and submit fully to this feeling. He gave my thighs a long squeeze as his mouth met my cheekbone, trailing kisses down towards my earlobe. I could feel the cool air kiss my now exposed upper thighs. He bunched the fabric up more, his own hips moving ever so slightly in to crush gently against mine. I stifled a groan, tried to ignore the melting feeling soaring across my body.

“But why bring me here? To Velaris?” I whispered against his jaw as his mouth roamed to my ear, placing a restrained kiss upon its point.

“I happen to find you quite interesting, darling,” Rhys breathed into my ear, but there was panic in his eyes as he straightened back around to face me. He couldn’t hide that, not from me.

“But why bring me here to your home?” I broke from him, taking a step back, stemming this flow of warmth before it consumed us fully. “Why let me sleep in your private rooms? Why introduce me to your family, your court, your—”

“I…care about you Feyre,” Rhys interjected, scanning my face.

“Why?” My voice became strained.  “Is it just petty revenge against Tamlin, still?”

“No,” Rhys hissed. “He has nothing to do with this, Feyre,”

“Is it our bargain then? Are you not able to break it or–”

“The bargain is nothing,” Rhys’ voice was flat as he placed both his broad hands on either side of my face. “Nothing,”

And I believed him, but still there was something missing. Something I couldn’t quite reconcile…

“Then why am I here?” Tears escaped my eyes, tears I had kept at bay for too long, tears of frustration, tears of hopelessness. I still didn’t understand. Why he had gone through all these pains to give me a place to be happy. Even if he now felt as strongly for me as I did for him, in the beginning we had been barely more than strangers. It still didn’t add up.

“What am I to you?” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

Rhys struggled for a moment, his jaw set, his eyes furiously scanning my face again, as if trying to read something within it.

“Feyre, I have to tell you something,” His voice sounded almost shaky, his lips near trembling. “Something I should have told you sooner,” 

I had never seen him so…vulnerable. Not in this way.

I waited for him to go on. But he didn’t say anything for a long moment before he gently backed us up until my rear met edge of the mattress. I reached behind me and grasped onto it, anything to keep me steady, to keep my hands from grasping onto him and never letting go.

He leaned in and laid a soft kiss on each side of my neck, before lifting his mouth to my tear-stained cheeks. He gently kissed away my tears, as he once had done Under the Mountain.

“You’re not just a distraction,” I whispered against his face. “You’re…more than that, Rhys,”

I locked eyes with him, and before I could decide against it, I swiftly brought my face to his and kissed him deeply. There was hunger and desperation in that kiss, a kiss we had not truly shared yet. 

His hands returned to my hips, running over the bend of them as I pressed myself fully into him, wanting to taste him and feel him and understand this pull between us. And from the way his lips drank mine in, the way his hands roamed my thighs, I knew he was trying desperately to understand, too.

“Rhys…” I said from behind his lips and broke us apart again.

He stood panting before me, eyes closed. His hands went slack at his sides, and he angled his body away again.

“Feyre, don’t…” he trailed off. “I don’t think I can handle it…not again,”

My heart broke for him as I took his hand back in mine.

“Rhys, I’m not going anywhere,” I said. “Just…tell me, please,”

“Feyre…” He gave me another kiss, this time long and sweet, like it held all the words he was about to give me. “There is a story I need to tell you first,”

—-

I imagine after this, Feyre reacts very much the same as in the original, with her fleeing to Mor and demanding to be taken away to think. So you can assume the cabin scene plays out the same in my AU :) Hope you all enjoyed!

Reylo Attending the A.I. Gala

In honor of Oscar night, have a little fancy dressed-up Reylo!

Kylo Ren is dressed sharply in a tailored Burberry navy blue suit; a textured wool jacket with elegant black satin lapels, simple white shirt, black bow tie and black lace shoes completing his look.

Rey is wearing a stunning Zuhair Murad burgundy chiffon gown with a plunging neckline and thigh-high slit; a Salvatore Ferragamo gold clutch and Christian Louboutin heels complete her outfit.

Thank you so much to the talented @auroralynne for doing this commissioned work for me. It’s so beautiful!!! :D 

This is taken from a scene that occurs in Chapter 9 of The Escort. If you wish to read this modern AU Reylo fic you can do so on AO3 or FF.net 

5trawberry-tallcake  asked:

Staple closet pieces? Including shoes and jewelry 😊

Alright this is going to be a long post…

My personal style can be described as classy and elegant with a twist of edgyness. Think elegant Kendall Jenner x Bella Hadid x Ulyana Sergeenko candid & formal photos.

Although it happens that I put less effort into dressing for university and other unimportant stuff like just running errands or do some small shopping in town because frankly, I don’t care and do not have to impress anyone with my 900€ shoes and 3,500€ coat. I live in a small town, so this just adds to me feeling indifferent. It doesn’t happen often, but still.. it does happen. However, when I am in a big, fancy town, I of course dress to impress and like I’m about to see my worst enemy. I think that this should go without saying haha!

Aside from that my style is as I have described above.

I used to buy stuff from H&M and Zara a lot and mix it with high-end designers, but now it all shifted to just high-end designers. It’s just personal preference. I am fed up with the poor quality and designer knock-offs. I very much cherish the improved quality that I have with designer pieces. Although the quality from oh so many pieces is pretty ridiculous too, to be honest! Do not think that designers necessarily offer the very best quality for their price. Most of the time the prices they charge can’t possibly ever be justified with the quality of their merchandise. It’s just the name you are paying for, really. This is why my #1 mission is always to look for the best quality in anything. I can see a Valentino dress that is so god damn gorgeous and not like the fabric. Or the beads and embellishments seem to be very cheap. I will not buy it, although I regret it because it’s stunning but whatev.

Understand that I am on a monthly budget just as everyone else is. Yes, I might have a whole wardrobe bursting with luxury and designer names, but I have amassed this all over years, with roughly 80% of my own money and 20% of SD money. I am a very practical person and buy clothing, shoes and jewellry that I am able to wear every day and for any occasion. There are some occasional SPECIAL purchases too, of course. But only when I see something seriously special. I had a phase in which I bought at least 20 pairs or so of Louboutins.. and how many have I actually worn out? Maybe…6? This, too, taught me to be practical.

As for jewellry, I generally don’t wear jewellry except for my gorgeous silver ring that looks like a flower made of tiny diamonds, with a beautiful big black pearl in the center of it. It is very special to me. As for earrings, I alternate between beautiful pearl studs when I want to look all preppy, classy and elegant (I think that they also make me look younger, funnily enough) and diamond studs and chandeliers sometimes for daytime and evening as well. I don’t care. I wear stuff that is supposed to be worn in the evenings in the day, too. It adds to the ‘uniqueness’ of my style which sets me apart from others. 

Please mind that I am not going to drop designer names (xcept for four) because well, I don’t want to seem like an arrogant, overly spoiled brat who just wants to show off. No! I am happy to provide you with pictures or whatever in private, if a certain piece has piqued your interest or if you want to know which pieces I exactly have, so just gimme a shout.

So, my general staple pieces for the day would be:

* A few pairs of skinny jeans - lighter denim colour without wash, one distressed black one (I like the slits at the knee), a normal black one, a mid-dark denim with a subtle wash. I only wear skinny jeans at this point in my life, with a seldom exception. Full length and I very much like ankle length or a little over the ankle in summer. Skinny jeans accentuate my lean and long legs - and I like to shift focus on my legs. 

* Skinny black leather pants. Normal ones, not like the Givenchy & Saint Laurent zipper thing.

* This seldom exception would be one pair of black high-waisted, perfectly tailored trousers that are overall just a little bit wider. 

* Two pairs of black cigarette trousers like Audrey Hepburn used to wear.

* As for t-shirts and tank tops, I like basic black and white ones. Round-neck, V-neck, doesn’t matter. I do not like any kind of prints unless it’s an okay print. Well I guess I am guilty of owning the black & white Balmain tank tops with the three golden buttons on the left shoulder haha but these are the only printed shirts in my wardrobe because they do add a little bit of sophisticated edge to my day looks.

* Elegant silk blouses are also a must in my wardrobe. Here, I like playful pussy bow blouses and a bit more ‘daring’, statement blouses. Although I do not like statement or ‘IT’ pieces in general and usually stay far away from them. I like to wear these blouses with my black high-waisted trousers.

* I am a sucker for coats. I own a lot of coats. Fur and normal ones. I adore a good camel coat and am also a sucker for military-inspired coats. The colours of my choice, for normal coats, would be camel, black and navy at this time. Other colours for fur coats.

* I fucking love capes and have quite a few. Black ones, mid-length to the middle of the thigh I’d say.

* Jumpers / Longsleeves / etc. Here, I am always looking for good quality cashmere, and wool. Mainly wearing them in autumn and winter. I like turtleneck pieces a lot.

* Warm Scarves - all my scarves are of a cashmere/silk mix. I also wear them when it’s cold or just throw them over my shoulders on a chilly summer night when I’m out at a dinner party or so. 

* Fancy Scarves - silk. I sometimes wear them under/over a blazer, with a normal button down shirt and a high-waisted skirt. 

* Skirts - one high-waisted black leather mini skirt, a black high-waisted heavy wool skirt / knee length

* Shorts - different pairs of mini denim shorts, beautiful lace mini shorts, black leather mini shorts

* Blazers - oh boy. I love blazers. I have so many. Again, black and navy coloured blazers. I have this beautiful slim, perfectly tailored black blazer that is a bit longer than a usual blazer - just beautiful. one of my fav pieces.

* Jackets - love. black leather jackets for the edge, but elegant leather jackets. I also dig black leather jackets with a beautiful embroidery on the back side. and uhm *coughs* of course the classic - the Chanel jacket. normal black and beige. is an absolute must have. and so versatile! I have the cropped versions as they fit my body far better than the regular length ones.

* Dresses - oh uh. I collect dresses. For any occasion. However I prefer short dresses, above knee length and mini dresses. Do have a couple of mid-calf length dresses, though. Here I say that the fancier the dress, the better. But it still has to look absolutely beautiful and not dramatic. Although I would have loved to have that black/red and red Proenza Schouler ostrich feather dresses just because they look so badass.. but where the hell would I have worn it to.. that’s the other question haha! I love brocade, I love silk, I love lace, I love velvet dresses. My dress colours are usually black and red but I also do have some white, silver, blue dresses. As for the regular shopping day in town, I just wear a long black dress with gladiator flats and that’s it. Dun care. Bye, Felicias. 

* Shoes - sexy black high pumps, the famous espadrilles (I like wearing them in summer with my ankle-length skinnys), the famous Balenciaga boots with the cutouts at the sides and the two buckles with silver hardware, not gold (literally every Russian jetset baby has these boots omg haha), velveteen ballet flats, silken/satin ballet flats, gladiator sandals (which are bound up to the knee), sexy suede overknee boots - I like my overknee boots to be of mid-thigh length, sneakers (have so many omg..leather and suede (apart from the one pair of Nike sneakers I like to wear on long haul flights. various models, various colours), various black combat boots that look more delicate than ugly and harsh, lace-up high heels, platform pumps, I LOVE high heels! gosh… it’s hard to describe without naming the designers and the particular models because it all sounds so vague and ugly haha! I like classy shoes as much as I like very special models like embellished shoes or just some fancy colours, etc.

* Silk Pajamas - I have a pair of baby pink ones and a pair of baby blue ones.

* Lingerie - am a lingerie addict, but which girl isn’t?

* Silk Robes - long dressing robes, short morning robes, everything. Black, white, red, and the pastel colours from above (babypink, babyblue)

* Invest in good stockings! Quite a few pairs of normal black ones. And black ones with the sexy seam at the backside for more..well, special evenings and occasions ;)

* Hats - Maison Michel; different colours, made of felt 


These are pretty much my staples. I am so sure that I have forgotten many many other things, but this should suffice. I have written a post on my personal fragrance choices which you might want to check out if you are interested in this as well!

Any more questions, just ask!

; velvet blood sinks into your pretty little frame

[ Day 1 : Sartorialism ]

[ Word Count : 1,069 ]

[ Rating : M ]

[ Triggers : Mild Blood ]


He built himself with a structure that outshone the sun, carrying a pride as strong as an emperor’s. He was small, yes, his frame was similar to the beautiful women he grew up around. But having a small figure didn’t mean that he wasn’t packed with utmost strength that rivaled those who wished to defeat him. He was woven together with steel and gold, ambrosia and wine red energy coursing through his veins as he laughed like god and lowered his lashes like a courtesan.

“Chuuya,” the name rolled off his partner’s tongue like slow honey dripping down the side of a teacup, sultry and silk-like. He was able to wrap the unstoppable beast around his finger as quickly as he could lie.
Dazai was waiting for the redhead to appear, this was a business date with the higher ups that they’ve been expecting for almost a year.

Dazai’s attire was just as elegant; the long jacket that rested atop his shoulders was gray like glassy storms battling in the sky, wine red danced in the scarf he wore, the dash of gold-like yellow in the darker colors made his tie stand out like a tiger without stripes.
His eyes widened when he watched his partner, his redhead, strut down the stairs.

He carried himself with the same pride he was taught to utterly indulge in. The heels of his shoes clicked against the ivory stairs like the high heels of whom he called his mother. Such a magnificent beauty in that suit, the velvet blazer and pants was a cobalt similar to the galaxies hidden in his cerulean eyes. The maroon shirt under was almost as dark as his black tie. Dazai eyed the tie, wanting to pull it down and smash his lips against Chuuya’s with a force that would make the other male crumble and whimper beneath him.

Part of him wished that he didn’t finish off the outfit with such an atrocious hat.

“You’re gorgeous,” he whispered, lips ghosting over Chuuya’s.

“You’re quite a sight yourself, Future Mafia Boss~” he purred in reply, tilting Dazai’s head down and kissed the corner of his lip. They both knew it, Dazai was going to be the next boss of the notorious port mafia. They knew it because the executive was going to assassinate Ougai Mori at that meeting they were attending.

Dazai opened the door for Chuuya, a grin lacing on his lips, “Are you ready?”

“Ready as ever.” He returned the smirk and walked out the doors, drenching himself in moonlight.

-

“You’re not wearing your collar,” Dazai finally noticed, brows furrowing.

Chuuya’s brow twitched, “It’s a choker- and why do you care?”

“Because Chuuya looks more like my dog when he’s wearing his collar!” The executive whined, “woof woof!”

“You…!”

He inhaled through his nose and jabbed Dazai in the stomach, “I am not your dog. I don’t belong to you,
I don’t belong to shit.”

“Ah- geez, Chuuya, you don’t have to get so emotional…” Dazai winced, his smirk dropping.

Chuuya only gave a ‘tch’ in response, folding his arms over his chest. Dazai pecked his lips before sitting down in the row of superiors far too wise and dangerous to be taken as “old and boring”. But the executive still addressed them as such, laughing like a child.

The redhead smacked him upside the side when he smiled at the eldest executive and said, “Good evening, Ojiisan,” dragging a snarl from the other man’s curled lips. At the far end of the table, Mori’s eyes glinted with a scarlet gleam that Dazai wanted to dig out. He smiled.

The meeting was long and, if Dazai were to explain it, earth shatteringly uninteresting. Everyone’s voice was monotonous and he felt as if he died somewhere in the meeting before Chuuya revived him by whispering the plans to kill his predecessor and giving him a way to celebrate back at home.

-

“Mori-san,” the name of his predecessor rolled off his tongue with a poison strong enough to kill a hundred men. His eyes shone like a viper’s, and he was ready to strike his prey. “The meeting was fun this time, but I’d like to ask a question.”

Mori sneered, not once did he ever enjoy seeing his subordinate and adopted son. How he wished to grab Dazai’s chocolate locks and and shove his face in a tub full of icy water. His fingers twitched.

“Yes?”

The executive’s grin grew to a size too cheshire for comfort. In but a flash, the end of a gun was pressed against Mori’s forehead. The mafia boss only chuckled, a gun of his own positioned under Dazai’s chin.

They both held a smirk that mirrored each other’s evil.

“You really thought I was just as idiotic as you?” Mori sighed, the grin refusing to fall off his face, “I thought I taught you better than this…”

“You didn’t teach me anything,” Dazai’s lip twitched, “you broke me.”

Mori’s voice died down to a simple whisper,“ Is there really a difference?”

Dazai’s eyes glinted with bloodlust. Hearing his predecessor speak was just as painful as a migraine. He preferred to rip out his spine over simply putting a bullet in his skull. Mori hummed, taunting the executive by juggling a scalpel between his fingers. It was a now or nothing decision, but it needed to happen.

“I’ll make sure he dies if you do this,” Mori spoke softly, pulling more strings until Dazai was on edge.

“Who…?” The executive growled, his voice was icy cold.

The deadman laughed before throwing the scalpel past Dazai and watching as if whizzed through the air and hit whatever was in the doorway.

“Chuuya.”


He pulled the trigger without a word and- bang.

Mori fell limp against his chair. Dazai breathed heavily, the scent of blood was intoxicating. His suit was stained in red petals, blood sticking to his skin as well. He whipped his head around to Chuuya, who’s shoulder was pierced and bleeding velvet.

He only snickered, holding his injured shoulder, “You’re the leader now,” he punched Dazai in the arm weakly and stared at the corpse of who he used to call “boss”.

Dazai stared at his attire, a rip was present in the shoulder where he had been cut. “Your suit is ruined…” he sighed solemnly.

“It’s fine,” Chuuya chuckled, lightly kissing Dazai. “You’re going to tear it off, anyway~”

anonymous asked:

Wouldn't you mind write something about Kinabra, please? A kiss would be nice, but you choose^^

Ah, now here’s something I’ve never written about before…
I hope you enjoy it!

Words: ~ 2100 | Also available of FFN and AO3.


A Kiss for Kinana
by request


The Fairy Tail Guild had hosted an all-guilds ball for Valentine’s Day earlier in the year. [1] The decorations had been magnificent, the food had been superb (Erza had chosen the desserts), and the drinks had been almost-but-not-entirely-free from magical shenanigans.

As usual, the antics of the rowdier mages had been spectacular. Kinana, who had been diligently acting as wait-staff throughout the evening, had even heard that Gray-san had somehow stolen Lyon-san’s specially-hired canal boat and then turned it over to Guildmaster Jellal and Erza-san for the rest of the evening. That sounded improbable at best, which meant that it was likely true. In any event, Kinana had been surprisingly uninterested in all of strange (i.e., usual) goings-on. The thing was… well, the thing was that Erik, the dragon slayer also known as Cobra, had arrived at Fairy Tail along with his guildmaster and colleagues. Kinana had known him immediately.

When she had last seen him, he had been taken into custody by magical law-enforcement officials before she could talk to him properly. He had insisted that he wasn’t the one who had been calling out to her for some time previously, but she’d known better. She had abided by his clear wish for her not to become embroiled with his problems, and she had watched him go. They had shared a smile then that had seemed to hold a promise - or at least a sliver of hope - for the future. So why had she not seen him since? True, he had been imprisoned for some time, but eventually, Jellal-san had formed Crime Sorcière and he had somehow been released.

Somebody - Wakaba, perhaps - had explained that Crime Sorcière was not like other guilds. They were a guild of loners and misfits; people making up for past crimes that were not easily forgiven or forgotten. Kinana had nodded as though she understood, but she had still woken most mornings wondering if today was the day that he would finally be able to come to the Fairy Tail guildhall so that they could finally be together again, in some as-yet-unknown way. It had been very odd to sense him approaching the hall on that February evening; even stranger to see him looking somehow more whole than he had before - healthier in both body and spirit.

She had waited patiently for him to come find her, knowing without words that he didn’t want every interaction scrutinized by the mingling throng. It had finally happened when the expected brawling had begun - and only after Erza-san had departed with Guildmaster Jellal.

Thank you for waiting. I’d promised the others to do my part to make sure Jellal finally took a break and, uh, spent some time with Erza.

The incredible relief at hearing the longed-for for voice in her mind had almost overcome her then, but she had finished serving her customer before requesting a break from Mirajane that was promptly allowed. With a sigh and a slight shiver, she had stepped out the back door of the guildhall into the frosty air.

“Not really warm enough for you here, I’m sorry.” Erik’s voice - Cobra’s voice – had been at once entirely unknown and perfectly familiar to Kinana. It had been disorienting, but she had moved closer to the man nonetheless.

They had studied each other in silence for some time. Kinana had been unsure what to do, or say, and Erik had seemed content to just stand there with her. Eventually, he had given her a rather twisted smile.

“I guess I should let you get back to work – and get out of the cold, too.” And then, even before she could react to the terribly common-place and therefore hurtful words, he had flung up a hand and added: “No – wait! Ah, I knew I’d be terrible at this…”

Keep reading

bedelia-du-badass  asked:

Prompt where hannibal discover bedelia's tattoo ( if possible in juicy situation 😇😇😇😇 )

I’m sorry this took so long! ♥ But you can always count on me to write it eventually. This is more of a Hannibal learns the story behind her tattoo, hope that’s okay!

Piece of a puzzle

It was something as enigmatic as the woman whose skin it adorned.

The hour of their weekly session had arrived once more and Hannibal relished each second of it. He allowed himself a quite pleasure of observing her. As their conversation paused and Bedelia made a note on her pad, he admired the elegant moves of her hand.

A flip of her hand caused her blouse to shift revealing an ink design on her wrist. Hannibal eyes widened at the sight of her tattoo. A single Sanskrit sign, usually hidden beneath her elegant jackets and shirts. He had glimpsed at it during their stolen moments together, when the words were replaced by hungry lips and exploring hands. Hannibal could still feel her slick skin against his. Those moments were too brief and too few for his liking. He wished to trace the ink with his tongue, but had never done. It felt too intimate, something she would not allow.

Bedelia’s curious eyes studied him as he awkwardly shifted his gaze back. No doubt, she had noticed him intensely watching her wrist, but said nothing of it.

Hannibal wanted to discover the origins of her tattoo. He desired nothing more than to know her.

Now his fingers trace the pattern on her wrist as she sleeps nestled next to him in their bed in Florence. He marvels at the softness of her skin, he is astonished by the intimacy of this moment and closeness they have shared since their arrival here.

Yet still he does not ask her about it. He is an open book; its heavy cover was lifted, revealing all his secrets. All for her to read and explore. There is thrill in being seen and an even greater one in being accepted by the woman he wanted most.

The veil between them is gone and he can focus on discovering her. Hannibal does not want to rush it; to a man like him, cherishing all things rarefied, she is the most exquisite of them all. He will savour every drop, collecting them like priceless pieces of the most perfect puzzle.

Like a surprising new piece, she has allowed him to discover that very evening over dinner.

“It was during my graduate year in Paris,” she speaks and they both know what she is talking about,” after that year, to be exact.”

Hannibal stares at her, afraid to disturb the moment with any sound or even a slightest movement.

“One night, my friends, the students of my year, decided to get tattoos, a memento of our year in France. They tried to persuade me, but I did not participate. It was a silly whim of drunk minds. And I did not wish to succumb to peer pressure.”

Her eyes shine brilliantly and Hannibal smiles. He imagines the same determined stare on her younger self, standing out from the rest of the students. A priceless diamond amongst a plain mound of coal.

“Yet, I was curious, I wanted to know what made it so special. It seemed like a rite of passage to some of them, “she continues,” I had it done after my return home. And… it was nothing. I was considering having it removed at one point, but I decided against it. It is a reminder that what most people find interesting, does not appeal to me and I should not waste any time trying to prove myself otherwise.”

She concludes her story and stares at Hannibal. He says nothing, but takes her hand and kisses her palm, and then her wrist. Here they are, two unique people who have found each other.

It is not the symbol that matters, but the skin it was placed upon.