#creloise au

"Just an Interlude" Creloise AU

Eloise moans, a soft sweet sound in her ear as she presses hard into her body. “Please, Cressida.” She says so achingly pretty that Cressida feels it in her chest as much as she feels it between her own legs. “We cannot.” She mutters against soft skin, shivering at Eloise’s slight whine of protest at her words. She kisses Eloise again to cover it and at the touch of their lips she lets herself be shoved back into the bookshelf, hitting kind of hard enough to hurt her back while making a few books loudly fall to the ground. She doesn’t entirely care though, keeping one hand in soft strands of hair while she lets her other brush down that delicate neck, pressing where that vein is that drives her crazy when it pops out. or an alternate slightly spicy take on what happens between Creloise in episode 5 in the Cowper Library

Summary:

“What’s a stunning thing like you doing here?” And at first, it’s just the terror of being caught somewhere she’s not supposed to be. She would have played it cool, but her fingers have frozen on the zipper and her eyes… her eyes are on the most vicious looking angel she’s ever seen her life.

Pale blonde tumbling hair shining in what little moonlight there is peaking through trees and there’s… something red on her chin, eyes black but it must just be the darkness, and that red on her chin litters across the whiteness of her very old looking dress. She briefly registers that the wailing in the distance has stopped, but her eyes cannot move from the commanding presence of the woman in front of her.

She looks like hell, and she looks…

Lost in time.

or a Vampire!Cressida AU

With Love, Eloise (Creloise, Bridgerton)

Summary:

“You should try writing to her, even if you are not to send them. I find, when I have so many feelings that I am unsure what to do with them, it helps to release them creatively.” “But you draw, and I’m not much of a writer honestly. Well… most of the time anyway.” “There are all kinds of writers you know. You believe yourself to not be a writer because there are so many of them already around you, but the world is full of creativity, full of art, full of someone who will always be better at something than you Eloise. Besides, I’m not asking you to publish a book of poetry for a long-lost lover. I’m just saying, try an outlet for once that doesn’t involve smoking on a swing?” At that she had laughed but she had gone to bed with Michaela’s advice singing in the back of her mind and then had spent many nights when she couldn’t sleep in Scotland doing exactly as she had suggested. And now Eloise stared at the never-to-be recipient of dozens of letters that hide in her desk drawer that resides in her room at Aubrey Hall and she is none-the-wiser and oddly calm and beautiful for someone who has been stuck with sheep for the last year.

playlist for story:

No Rest for the Damned (Creloise, Bridgerton)

Summary:

“What’s a stunning thing like you doing here?” And at first, it’s just the terror of being caught somewhere she’s not supposed to be. She would have played it cool, but her fingers have frozen on the zipper and her eyes… her eyes are on the most vicious looking angel she’s ever seen in her life. Pale blonde tumbling hair shining in what little moonlight there is peaking through trees and there’s… something red on her chin, eyes black but it must just be the darkness, and that red on her chin litters across the whiteness of her very old looking dress. She briefly registers that the wailing in the distance has stopped, but her eyes cannot move from the commanding presence of the woman in front of her. She looks like hell, and she looks… Lost in time. or a Vampire!Cressida AU

playlist for story:

Tell Me Something Wicked (Franchaela, Bridgerton)

Summary:

Michaela’s fingers, which are a bit cold, graze the inside of her wrist. “It’s not innocent like this.” She whispers now too, fingers slide up her forearm. That certainly doesn’t feel innocent to Francesca, who bites down on her lip to suppress a whimper at the contact she’s not at all used to. Most touches did not feel as Michaela’s fingers do now, tracing across the inside of her arm, pushing up the sleeve of her dress so that skin can meet skin in some distracting sort of way that immediately sparks a new melody in Francesca’s head. As her fingers dance in what is supposed to be an innocent action across the soft skin of her forearm, she is finding it harder and harder to breathe in any air. “Many nights in France I found places full of the kind of touch that you cannot possibly imagine.” Michaela is still watching every feature on her face, so closely that it would make her self-conscious about it if she wasn’t so distracted by the way her careful fingers dance across her skin. “That is the most wicked thing I can tell you of, something so ruinous that even if I had ever wanted to be a debutante, I would not have the chance.” or With Love, Franchaela.

I cannot be your friend (Clexa, t100)

Summary:

Family holidays are made a bit awkward when you're always forced to be around the girl who cold-shouldered your "I love you" with a three-month bout of silence. But man is it even more so when there are not enough rooms for everyone at the hotel that was booked and you get stuck sharing a bed with that same sort of ex who is trying their very best to get back to the friendship that you once shared. None of it's that bad really, it's really easy to mold over the past, make things easy for each other since you'll see each other for every major family event. Problem is... Lexa doesn't want to be friends.

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