Via Vogue: “For an appearance on The Graham Norton Show that will air tonight, Styles performed in a custom suit from the Italian house that showed how the now-solo star might bring louche glamour back to the stage.The peak-lapel jacket married ’70s and ’90s design cues, thanks to its strong shoulders and velvet trim. The retro Bowie-meets-Jagger effect continued onto Styles’s flared trousers, which came with red silk embroidered dragons running down the pant legs. A simple silk shirt kept everything sleek, as his go-to rings completed the rock star look.”
Harry Styles, former One Direction heartthrob, remains one of the best-dressed men in music. Back in 2013, he won a British Fashion Award for his signature skinny suits, but has since swapped out the slick Saint Laurent for more whimsical, graphic pieces from Alessandro Michele’s Gucci. For an appearance on The Graham Norton Show that will air tonight, Styles performed in a custom suit from the Italian house that showed how the now-solo star might bring louche glamour back to the stage.
The peak-lapel jacket married ’70s and ’90s design cues, thanks to its strong shoulders and velvet trim. The retro Bowie-meets-Jagger effect continued onto Styles’s flared trousers, which came with red silk embroidered dragons running down the pant legs. A simple silk shirt kept everything sleek, as his go-to rings completed the rock star look.
Summary: Drunk Emma really likes pizza. She also really happens to like the cute delivery guy who seems content to carry out all of her wishes via the “Special Instructions” box on the website. (AO3) Rating: E (fuck it, I’m upping the rating bc I know this will turn into filthy smut by the end) Word Count:~3000 Chapters:OneTwoThree
well this was a bitch to rewrite since the original chapter got accidentally deleted. sorry for the wait, babes. have some UST. 🍕😏
It had been nearly a month since Emma had gotten stupid drunk at home and thrown herself at the very attractive pizza guy whose name she now knew was Killian Jones.
Jones, as in, “Jones Bros. Pizza.” Literally his last name, and apparently a poorly executed cartoon caricature of his fucking face, was on the logo on every pizza box she’d gotten from them and she’d had no idea. She hadn’t really given a flying fuck to the name of the place before; she just knew that they had a website, online ordering, quick delivery since they were located only a few blocks north of her apartment, and actually great tasting pizza that wasn’t hit-or-miss like the big chains.
With that revelation came another: Killian was not a delivery boy.
Well, he wasn’t supposed to be one. He was co-owner of the place, along with his older brother, and only went out on deliveries if he was filling in for a sick employee, or if he needed a break from the atmosphere (read: his overbearing brother), or, as it turned out, if her name came up on the order list. (He’d been sick the night that his sister-in-law had delivered to her sober self; go figure.)
It had been a pretty damned good feeling to know she got special treatment. After their first encounter, he’d been “captivated” and felt “compelled to see her again” (his words) – yeah; sweatpants, HANGRY, hot mess Emma in all her broken-hearted glory. She sent him a middle finger emoji as a reply to that particular text message, assuming that he was being a sarcastic ass but somehow knowing that beneath it all he was probably sincere.
So I think this is my first time writing real fanfic? I don’t know but it’s a post-Rogue One everyone lives AU where Bodhi settles into base life on Yavin and ends up adopting one of the Jedhan refugee children–because happy single dad Bodhi– also the rest of the crew shows up to help too–
2262 words ll Rated G ll fluff it’s just fluff ll AO3 Link
“Who’s going to be there?” Nesta sat on the couch next to Cassian, tucking her feet underneath her, eyes on Willow as the kitten batted around a little ball that had mysteriously appeared in the apartment a few days prior.
“The usual suspects. Your sisters, my brothers, Fox Boy, Amren, obviously Mor. Oh, and Sabine and Brisa.”
“And I have to go.”
One side of his mouth pulled up into his crooked smile as he glanced sideways at her. “No, you don’t have to go, but your presence would be appreciated. Besides,” he put an arm over her shoulders and pulled her closer, “we might find something fun to do on the way there. Or home.”
She rolled her eyes, but he did have a point. There were lots of shadowy corners and solitary gardens in Velaris where they could sneak away for a little excitement. “Okay, fine. But I’ll have to go to the townhouse, I don’t have the right dress here. And don’t expect me to dance.”
He pressed a kiss to her cheek, then her jaw. “That’s fine, we can fly up there and head to the restaurant with the rest of the group.” Willow zipped by and he snagged her with one hand, lifting her high above his head. She looked down at him, waved her little paws, and squeaked in protest, and he chuckled and brought her down to eye level. “What, tiny one?” The kitten planted a foot on his lips, and he kissed the little pink pads before setting her back on the ground. She arched her back, pounced on his toes, then scampered off through the kitchen.
The sun was beginning its descent as they landed in front of the townhouse, earning open-mouthed looks from the kids playing on the street. Before they could even make it through the gate, they were swarmed by children, all clamoring for Commander Cassian to take them for a flight. He grabbed one and tossed him in the air, catching him easily before setting him on his feet again. Nesta headed up the walk while the rest of the kids started climbing Cassian’s legs, turning back in the doorway to watch him spinning and tossing each child, then slowly extend his wings so they could admire them. The door opened behind her, and Mor’s voice said, “He does that on purpose, you know. Lands in the street instead of the roof so that the kids will come over.”
Nesta didn’t reply, keeping her eyes on the warrior while he held his arms out, two children swinging off each arm, and she heard Mor’s exasperated huff as she retreated into the house. He looked up to catch her watching and grinned, pure joy lighting his face, and she turned and walked into the entrance hall. She could hear voices in the family room so headed quietly up the stairs to her room. It had only been five days since Cassian found Willow and she unofficially moved in, but her room already felt vacant. It even smelled different. She sat on the bed for a minute savoring the silence before taking a deep breath and crossing to the armoire. There was a specific dress she thought would work, perhaps a little plain compared to what the others would wear but something easy to walk in and nicer than what she usually wore. Yanking the doors open, she stopped and stared. A glorious dress in a blue so light it was almost white - like thick ice - hung there. It was cut perfectly for dancing, though more daring than her usual choices, and small crystals lined the broad shoulder straps, the neckline, and the bottom of the flared skirt in a pattern that looked like mountains. She stripped quickly and slipped it on. The back was bare almost to the waist, the neckline deep and square, and the dress clung to her body until just below her hips, where it flared out to float above her knees. In her mortal life, she never would have left the house in this dress, but here… There was a gentle knock on her door and she opened it to reveal Nuala, who slipped in to arrange her hair. When the wraith was done, Nesta dug through her armoire and pulled out the only pair of shoes that could possibly work with this dress, then left without a glance at the mirror.
There were more voices in the family room, she realized as she walked slowly down the stairs. She paused in the doorway and scanned the full room, cataloguing the occupants. Rhys. Feyre. Elain. Lucien. Amren. Mor. Those two Illyrian females. Her heart began to pound. The shadowsinger. Another male and female she didn’t recognize. Before she could turn into the dining room instead, her sister spotted her. “Nesta!” Feyre over, grabbed her wrist, and dragged her through the room to where she had been standing with Elain. “That dress is incredible, where did you find it?”
“In my armoire. I thought you got it for me.”
“No,” Feyre said, with a look over her shoulder, “Rhys’s dressmaker strikes again, I guess.”
The High Lord just grinned from where he stood by the bar. Nesta scanned her sisters. Both were also dressed to the nines, Feyre in a truly daring midnight blue dress, that lightened to the bluish-gray color of dawn at the hemline, Elain in a slightly more modestly-cut creamy concoction with red and orange flowers embroidered over the soft fabric of the full skirt. More importantly, both were glowing with happiness. Elain’s brown eyes were clear and calm, centered in a way she had never seen before, even in the mortal lands.
“Where have you been?” Feyre demanded. Nesta retreated a little at her tone. “I was starting to get worried! Cassian said you were hanging out at his place, but for all I knew he had, I don’t know, murdered you and dumped your body in the Sidra.”
Lucien snorted from over Elain’s shoulder. “Well, that got dark in a hurry,” he said drily, mouth quirked. Feyre glared at him while Elain smiled. “Come on, now, it’s a big leap from ‘he asked her to move in’ to ‘he dumped her body in the river.’” Feyre shot a fist of flame at him that he easily blocked while shielding his mate. “Now play nice. Let’s not ruin Mor’s birthday with a fire fight.”
“Seriously, though, did you move in with Cassian?” She could feel everyone’s eyes on her, waiting for her answer, and her skin started to crawl. Ignoring her pulse beginning to race, the bile rising in her throat at the pressure from so many stares, she lifted her chin, willing the ice that had always saved her to sculpt her mask.
“She adopted a kitten,” came that familiar rough voice. Cassian stepped up behind her, not quite touching her, but his huge body blocked her from the view of everyone except her sisters and their mates. Did he know? She didn’t even care as long as she could breathe easily again.
“A kitten!” Feyre exclaimed, at the same time Elain cooed, “Oh, a kitten! When can we meet him?”
“Her,” Cassian corrected automatically. Nesta’s mouth twitched up involuntarily.
“Maybe next week I can bring her over. We need to get her used to flying anyway.”
Feyre shook her head. “I can’t picture how you ended up with a cat, but you’ll have to tell me on the way. We should get moving.”
Indeed, everyone else was shuffling towards the door. It was a warm evening, but Feyre draped a shawl over her shoulders so Nesta and Elain followed suit. As they walked down the street in small groups, Nesta told her sisters how Cassian had found the kitten soaking in the storm the previous week and had brought her home, intending to find her somewhere else to live. How she had decided that they were obligated to keep her, having saved her life, and how they now spent what seemed like all of their time figuring out what toys she liked best and laughing at her antics. Elain chatted about the work she was doing with Azriel, trying to call in visions at will instead of them springing on her involuntarily.
“I keep getting this one of a glacier splitting apart, a huge chunk of ice falling into the sea, and a sense of something, some…creature springing free,” she said. “We can’t figure out what it means. He contacted Kallias to let him know, in case that means something to him, but he said it didn’t trigger anything concerning his Court.” She shrugged. “It’s probably nothing.”
“None of your other visions were nothing,” Nesta said, her voice a little sharp.
Feyre nodded in agreement. “Just because you don’t know what it is doesn’t mean it’s not important. Maybe it’ll, I don’t know, expand?”
Elain just shrugged.
They reached the restaurant. It was tiny, and Rhys had reserved the entire thing for this party. The dark female who scurried over at their arrival greeted Rhys, Feyre, Mor, and Amren as old friends. The food was brought over as they all took their seats, and pretty soon the restaurant was full of a pleasant cacophony of voices talking over one another, laughter, and clinking glasses. Nesta let it all wash over her, not trying to follow the conversation as she savored the rich, complex food. One set of dishes was cleared and another was brought as presents appeared on the table. Mor gave a little squeal and started unwrapping immediately. A set of novels by a favored author, a fancy wineglass set, a beautifully woven wrap that she immediately threw around her shoulders. She plucked Nesta’s small box off the table and unwrapped it, then let it fall on the table, staring at it, stunned. “By the Cauldron,” she whispered, “it’s beautiful.” She swallowed hard. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Where did you find it?”
Nesta cleared her own throat. “Just a jeweler. Not far from here, actually.” She didn’t mentioned that she’d commissioned it specifically, choosing the jewels to match the colors Mor usually favored.
Mor reverently lifted the necklace so everyone could see it, and there were gasps around the table. It was a delicately woven web of yellow and white gold, narrow at the clasp but widening to about two inches where it would fall below her collarbones. The widest point was set with tiny rubies and diamonds arranged like flames; the movement of the necklace made it look like the flames were flickering. Mor vanished the pendant she had been wearing and Azriel stood to help put the new one on, then she dipped her chin at Nesta. “Thank you. I…Thank you.”
Once again everyone was staring at her and she straightened herself as she drew slightly back into her chair, nodding and murmuring, “You’re welcome.” Cassian leaned forward, calling for the next present to be opened while pouring himself another glass of wine, and as everyone’s attention turned back to Mor he reached down and squeezed her hand. She brushed her knee against his thigh in response then withdrew her hand. Presents were finished with and dessert had been served when Amren turned to her.
“What have you been working on while I’ve been away?” The tiny female’s silver eyes may have now been full Fae, but they were still shrewd as if she knew the answer already.
Amren snorted. “Nothing?”
“I still can’t access any power. I can feel it there, but since that battle, since the Cauldron was reformed it’s…there’s something blocking it.”
Amren shook her head, wrinkling her nose in disgust. She seemed about to reply when Mor stood up and announced, “We’re all heading up to Rita’s for some dancing!” Everyone stood and made their way to the door. Amren and Sabine headed uptown, while the rest of them turned up the hill towards the lounge. Mor, Cassian and Azriel were joking about something with the unfamiliar male, Lucien and Elain were meandering hand in hand, Rhys and Feyre were doing that silent communication thing that they thought nobody noticed, so Brisa and Nesta found themselves at the back of the pack. Thankfully the Illyrian seemed no more inclined for casual conversation than she was.
Rita’s was packed as it always was. Males and females, High Fae and other species, all dancing in a mob. Cassian managed to find a booth that was empty (or he emptied one) and slid into it with Nesta, Brisa, Lucien, and Elain while the others all hit the dance floor. Cassian took everyone’s drink order and went up to the bar. Lucien tried to keep a conversation going, but it was almost impossible over the music. Elain convinced Lucien to join her in the fray, and dragged him off just as Cassian returned. Nesta sat with the two Illyrians watching the dancers, interrupted by the waiter coming over and distributing their drinks. He eyed Nesta appreciatively, then blanched and scurried away when Cassian snarled. She elbowed him. “Don’t be an overbearing Illyrian bastard,” she snapped.
He just looked at her, eyebrows raised. “But that’s literally what I am.”
Brisa laughed, and Nesta’s eyes narrowed. “Fair enough. Don’t be an asshole.”
He shrugged and grinned. “Wanna dance?”
“I already told you I wouldn’t.”
“I know, just figured I’d double check.” They sat, sipping their drinks, watching the chaos around them. His eyes kept straying to the his friends, she noticed. Mor, Azriel, Rhys, and Feyre were dancing together, Elain and Lucien nearby.
“You go ahead and join them,” she told him. “I’m going to use the restroom.”
“Do you want me to come too?” Brisa asked, but Nesta just shook her head.
“No need, I’ll just be a minute.”
Cassian pointed her to the back corner and watched her edge around the dancing bodies to reach it. She turned back just before entering to see him rise and cross to the others, wings tucked in tight, body moving instinctively with the beat as he avoided the dancers. Brisa was still sitting in the booth, ankle on knee, foot twitching in time.
The restroom was surprisingly clean. A cluster of females stood at the sinks, adjusting themselves in the mirrors. She emerged from using the facilities as they finished their last tweaks and left, laughing at some private joke. While she washed her hands another female appeared and joined her at the row of sinks, leaning over to check herself in the mirror before turning to Nesta.
“You came here with Morrigan’s friends, didn’t you?” the female asked. Nesta stiffened and nodded. “Oh, I’m so jealous, I’ve always wanted to meet her. I’ve heard she’s a regular but I’ve been coming almost every night for weeks and this is the first time I’ve seen her here. You’re the High Lady’s sister, aren’t you?”
“One of them.”
“Do you think you could introduce me?”
“No,” she laughed, “I mean, sure, the High Lady’s a legend, I’d love to meet her, but she’s also, like, obviously taken. Do you think you could introduce me to Mor?”
Nesta’s voice was flat. “No.”
The other female was taken aback. “What do you mean, ‘no?’” she asked, a little aggressively.
“Mor is the friendliest person in the city. You want to meet her, go introduce yourself.” The female stared at her, green eyes narrowed, before flicking her dark hair over her shoulder and leaving. Nesta followed more slowly, pausing on the edge of the floor.
Feyre and Rhys were still dancing together, oblivious to the crush of bodies around them. Elain and her mate were doing the same, Lucien’s hands on her waist, her arms above her head, eyes closed as she swayed against him. The other three were still dancing together, laughing, moving in synchrony without thought. Five centuries, Nesta realized. They had been doing this exact thing for five centuries - twenty times her own span of years. Cassian’s face was open, relaxed, that little slight tension around the eyes that he always showed with her totally absent. This wasn’t just friendship. This was family, this was something she could never quite be a part of, something that had evolved through pain and trial and having each others’ backs again and again. He wasn’t even looking for her, hadn’t even noticed she was still gone. She started to edge around towards the door, needing to get out, away from the heat and the noise and the smell, but her progress was impeded by the fact that she couldn’t take her eyes off of them. Mor scooted out of the group for a second and reappeared with Brisa, who joined right in, that lithe dancer’s body finding the rhythm easily. Cassian and Azriel shifted to include her, and at that Nesta pulled herself together and slipped through the door. She stood just outside for a minute, gulping the fresh air, pushing against that feeling of…of loss. She had been deluding herself, she realized. For how could you lose something you never really had?
She gathered the shawl around her shoulders, grateful for it now that the night had cooled enough for the air to have a little bite, and headed down the hill. After a couple of blocks she felt him behind her. “You should have stayed with your friends,” she said.
“I wanted to be with you.”
She shook her head, letting out a breath. Suddenly wings wrapped around her, not touching her but blocking her path. She stopped abruptly, Cassian so close behind her she could feel the heat emanating from him. Neither of them spoke for a moment.
“Did you know I’ve never lived with someone?” he said, his voice quiet. “I mean, I’ve had roommates, shared living quarters with other warriors, but I’ve never asked a lover to stay with me.” He laughed, a quiet huff of breath with little mirth. “Hell, I usually couldn’t wait for them to leave. My brothers have each lived with lovers, sometimes for decades. Mor too, though not for as long. But not me. Five hundred years since the war ended, and not once have I wanted to share my life. Until now.”
Nesta swallowed hard at the vulnerability in his voice. “Feyre said…she told me you were Mor’s first.”
“Yes.” There was so much pain in that word.
“She also told me why. What you risked, for her. What Rhys did afterward.” He was silent. “Do you regret it?”
“Even though you two never…”
He put his hands on her arms and stepped closer behind her, her back brushing his chest. She was totally enveloped by him, his heat, his scent, as he spoke low in her ear. “What Mor and I did, it saved her from being sold into a lifetime of misery. If it hadn’t been Eris, it would’ve been somebody else. I will never regret being a part of that, though I do regret not being able to save her from her family afterwards. But we were never meant to be together. I’m not what she wants.” An image of the girl in the bathroom rose to Nesta’s mind, unbidden. “And she’s not what I want. It’s been several centuries since she became nothing but a sister to me.” She didn’t know what to say in response to this, whether to tell him that she remembered every cold look from Mor, every time he pulled away when his so-called sister approached. So she said nothing, just stood there, encased in his wings, then his arms as he wrapped them around her. “Should we go back to the dance?”
Her body locked up. “I don’t know how to dance,” she admitted, “not like that.” She could dance a reel with the best of them, the impersonal precision of it, but what she had seen in that hall…
“I can teach you,” he murmured. Then, “What is it about people looking at you that makes you so uncomfortable?”
How had he known what it was? She wasn’t surprised he had noticed how she felt, he was uncommonly good at feeling changes in the tenor of emotions. A talent that served him well when commanding legions. But that he had pinpointed it so exactly… “I don’t like being judged,” she whispered.
“But what if they’re not judging you?” He pressed a gentle kiss to her neck. “What if they’re noticing how beautiful you are?”
“It’s still a judgment.” He pulled back just a little, not releasing her, but still putting distance between them. She turned her head to look at him, unsure of what she would see on his face. He was studying her, head cocked to the side, expression contemplative.
“I never thought of it that way.”
“No one ever does.”
He smiled at that, not his usual cocky grin but the soft smile that he reserved for her, and kissed her temple. “Come on. Let me teach you to dance.” He turned her to face him then slid one arm around her back and the other under her buttocks, lifting her to his chest, before sweeping back his wings and sending them skyward. In just a few powerful beats they were on the roof at Rita’s. The music was pounding out the open windows and doors and she could hear the movement of the people below her feet but they were alone up there. He placed himself behind her, hands on her sides, and bent his head so his mouth was level with her ear. “All music tells a story. Sometimes, like that symphony last week, it’s such a good story that you need nothing else to feel what the composer is trying to say. Other music relies on the people listening to complete it.” She looked sideways at him in surprise; she had never pegged him for being so educated on the nuances of music. It was so easy to underestimate him. He went on, her look unnoticed or ignored. “This type of music is meant to have a lot of people dancing to it, and that’s part of its story. Close your eyes.” When she had obeyed, he went on. “Feel the beat.” His fingers tapped lightly against her ribs, matching it exactly. “Now, listen to the melody over the top of it. What does it say to you?” She opened her mouth to speak, but felt him shake his head. “Don’t tell me, just…feel it.”
At first, it sounded harsh, oppressive. She felt pushed by it, wanted to push back, to resist. Behind her, Cassian began moving, a little sway without moving his feet, the warrior’s body graceful despite his bulk. He had told her once that fighting was just a dance with bloodshed. She caught that thought, followed it, opening her mind to the story the music and the people below her were telling. The song was one of loss and rediscovery, she realized. Of losing your sense of self, and finding it again in the people around you. A song of war and recovery. She started to move, and it was easy. Easy to surrender to the music, to the male behind her who felt her movement and matched it, then deftly took over, carrying her rhythm as their feet began to move. He spun her to face him and she opened her eyes. His hair was coming out of its tie, brushing against his cheekbone, and he held her gaze as he ran his hands down her body, over her hips, up her bare back, down her arms. She didn’t know how long they danced, lost in the energy pulsing through them from below their feet. Finally she was spent and panting, and he took her in his arms and they just swayed gently back and forth as he kissed her lips, her forehead, her temples, below her ear, down her neck. He stilled them finally, closing his eyes, and just breathed in the scent of her, his lips resting at the junction of her neck and shoulder. She was distantly aware that she was sweaty, that her hair had half come down and was sticking to her neck, that she should be stepping away, spooling herself back in but she just couldn’t. Couldn’t even find the part of her that wanted to. Without a word he swept her into his arms and vaulted into the sky, following the path of the river up the city, a dark ribbon between all the lights, drawing them towards home.