. ۫ ꣑ৎ . 𝐁𝐚𝐛𝐲 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤!
ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢs - ᴛʏʀɪǫ ᴡɪᴛʜᴇʀs ᴀs ’ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʀᴇsɪᴅᴇɴᴛs sᴏɴ’ ᴛʜᴇᴏᴅᴏʀᴇ ғɪᴛᴢɢᴇʀᴀʟᴅ x ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ! ғᴇᴍ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ
sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ - “ɢᴀᴢɪɴɢ ᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ʟɪᴋᴇ ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴍɪʟᴇs ᴀᴡᴀʏ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴀ ғᴇᴡ ғᴇᴇᴛ ᴀᴡᴀʏ, sᴛᴀɴᴅɪɴɢ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴘᴇʀsᴏɴ. ᴛʜᴇɪʀ sᴛᴀʀᴇ ɪs ʜᴀʀᴅ, ɪɴᴛᴇɴsᴇ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴀʟsᴏ ᴍᴇʟᴛɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ʙʟᴀɴᴋ.”
ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs - ᴛᴇɴsɪᴏɴ, sᴇᴄʀᴇᴛ ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴄᴇ, ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇs ᴏғ ᴀʀʀᴀɴɢᴇᴅ ᴍᴀʀʀɪᴀɢᴇ, ʏᴇᴀʀɴɪɴɢ
ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ - 𝟷,𝟻𝟺𝟷+
ᴍᴀʏᴏʀ ᴍᴀɴᴅʏ’s ɴᴇᴡs ʟᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ 📮- ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴀ sᴍᴀʟʟ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴜᴛᴇ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ʙʟᴜʀʙ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴏɴᴇ ᴛᴡᴇᴇᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴇɴᴛ ᴏᴜᴛ. ɪ ʟᴏᴠᴇ sᴄᴀɴᴅᴀʟ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡʜᴇɴ ɪ sᴀᴡ ɪᴛ, ᴍʏ ʜᴇᴀᴅ ᴀʟᴍᴏsᴛ ᴇxᴘʟᴏᴅᴇᴅ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀᴍᴏᴜɴᴛ ᴏғ ɪᴅᴇᴀs ᴛʜᴀᴛ sᴘᴀᴡɴᴇᴅ.
sᴜɴɴʏʙʀᴏᴏᴋ ʟɪʙʀᴀʀʏ ⛅️ | sᴜɴɴʏʙʀᴏᴏᴋ ᴍᴀɪʟʙᴏx 📬
ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇɴ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏɴᴛʜ 💋
The air in the ballroom felt suffocating.
Gold chandeliers hung low, their light catching every crystal of the lamp, every diamond that adorned the limbs of the partygoers, and every fake smile that graced their faces.
You were tired of smiling. Tired of pretending that being the Princess of Themyscira was something so glamorous and so easy. That you were perfectly fine with being handed off like a diplomatic gift to a boring man of nobility all for the sake of the throne.
Across the room, Thodore Fitzgerald Thomas Grant IV was doing what he did best — charming the crowd. Every senator’s wife and their daughters loved him for his jokes and gorgeous looks, and foreign minister hung onto his words for insight, while also laughing at his clever quips. His smile was nothing but rehearsed and picture perfect.
And to you, so infuriating.
He looked like America’s poster boy dream, and you hated how good he looked doing it.
You tried to avoid him. You’ve been trying to keep your distance since the engagement announcement two weeks ago, but it seemed to be one political gala after another.
When the orchestra swelled and the crowd began to move toward the floor, you slipped away. You needed air — or space, or silence, it didn’t matter. Anything that wasn’t that stupid part and the sight of his stupidly handsome face.
You found solace in one of the marble corridors that led toward the palace gardens, your heels echoing against the floor. You gripped the railing of the balcony and let out a long, slow breath.
“Running off again, Princess?”
There he was, just like you supposed when you slipped through those large doors. No matter how you felt towards him, no matter how far away he was, his voice was warm against you skin. He was teasing, you could tell by the lilt in his tone as your back faced him.
You spun around, the satin of your gown catching the moonlight as it swayed in the breeze. “Are you following me?” You asked firmly.
Teddy leaned on the doorway, his tux coat unbuttoned, his tie loosened, and that same insufferable half-smile playing on his lips. “You make it sound like that’s a bad thing.” He said.
“It is a bad thing.” You pressed. “This isn’t part of your campaign tour, Mr. Fitzgerald. And frankly, I don’t need the bad press.” You sassed, crossing your arms as you started at him.
His face dropped slightly at your words, and he blinked at you before stepping forward, letting out a short and sharp laugh. “Campaign tour? You think that’s what this is? Fucking, brownie pints? Newsflash, Your Highness, I didn’t want this either.” Hole hissed, moving closer, never taking his eye off you.
“Could’ve fooled me.” You shot back. “You seem to be enjoying yourself just fine. Smiling for cameras, shaking hands with the important people. Pretending like this isn’t a publicity stunt for both our parents.”
He stopped a few feet from you, jaw tight. “This again? You think that’s all I do? Just smile and pretend?”
You crossed your arms, the cold air biting your skin. “Isn’t that what politicians do?”
He laughed bitterly. “If that what you think of me, turns out you don’t know a damn thing about me.”
“Then enlighten me.” You said, stepping closer, voice low and sharp. “Because from where I’m standing, all I see is the former President’s son. A spoiled, entitled, man pretending he knows anything about duty or sacrifice.” You hissed through cleansed teeth.
That did it. His expression darkened, that charming composure slipping.
“You think being born royal makes you the only one who knows about duty?” He asked, voice rising now. “I am the son of the Olivia Pope and the former fucking president of the United States. I’ve been groomed since birth to fit into a box I didn’t build. Every step I take, every word I say, it’s already decided for me. You think that’s freedom?” He spat, chest rising up and down as pointed to himself.
You stared up at him, breath uneven as you tried your best to hold back the tear that bristled your waterline. The honesty in his tone caught you off guard. “At least you get to choose who you pretend to be.” You said quietly. “I’m not even allowed that.”
A thick silence then fell between you. It was heavy, but fragile.
Teddy’s gardened exterior feel as he took another step forward. “You hate me that much?” He asked, his voice now softened.
You immediately shook your head, but was hesitant to answer as your bottom lip quivered. “No. No, I don’t hate you.” You said softly, looking down at your hands. “I could never hate you.” You said finally. “…I just hate what this is. I hate that we’re both pawns in some…huge spectacle.”
Teddy took another step toward you, standing only mere feet away from you, and placed his hands on the Sid wig your arms. His large and soft hands warming your exposed skin in the cold night, thumbs moving up and down. “Then stop treating me like your enemy.” He said.
You blinked, caught off guard by the way his tone gentled. He was so close now that you could see every flicker of emotion in his eyes, the tension in his shoulders even as he held you. “Because if you think I don’t feel trapped too…” He exhaled, eyes flicking from your lips back to your gaze. “You’re wrong.”
You wanted to say something — anything — but the words were tangled in your throat.
“Don’t look at me like that.” You mustered a whisper.
“Like what?” He murmured, voice deep and soft now.
“Like you care.”
“I do care.” He didn’t hesitate once. “And I think that’s what scares you.”
He was right. Damn him, he was always fucking right. And It terrified you. The way your pulse raced whenever he was near, the way your body leaned toward his even when your pride screamed not to.
“I don’t—”
“You do.” He said, cutting you off. His voice cracked just slightly. “You wouldn’t argue with me this much if you didn’t.” He said, and a small, humorless laugh escaped you. “You are so infuriating.”
“Yeah.” He said softly, stepping even closer.” But you really like pretending that you don’t like it.” He quipped.
Now infer your sad moment, your hand shot out to push him away, but he caught it, his girl firm with purpose. His thumb brushed the inside of your wrist, right over the that tattoo you’ve tried so hard to forget. One that he shared in the same place. His touch was slow and deliberate, and that tiny touch felt more intimate than any kiss could.
“Let go.” You whispered, though you didn’t mean it.
“Say you hate me.” He said, eyes burning into yours. “Say it, and I will.”
But you couldn’t.
“Say you want to marry him.” He continued to press, and you could tell his heart was racing just as much as yours by how quick his chest was rising. “That he is something your heart truly desires. No matter the duty.”
The words still wouldn’t come, because all you could think about was the heat of his skin against yours, the way his chest rose and fell, almost brushing against your bosom now, and the way your heart was breaking open in a thousand unfamiliar ways.
He leaned closer, his breath ghosting your cheek. “You can’t.” He murmured. “Because you don’t.”
And before you could stop yourself — before reason could intervene — your lips found his.
It wasn’t a gentle, fairytale kiss, but it felt perfect. It was desperate, clumsy, and full of passion. It was everything you’d both been too proud to admit. It would be demoed sloppy by any such of the members of the gala, but that’s what you love for one another was. It was sloppy and lustful, but also full of longing as your lips devoured one another’s.
When you finally pulled away, your hand still in his, both of you were breathing hard.
“That was—” you started.
“—A mistake?” He asked quietly, bright eyes browning between yours with his lips covered in your gloss. His tie was loose, his hair slightly mussed, and gosh, the sight of his puckered lips and blown eyes almost made you want to go at it again.
But you hesitated.
“No.” You said finally, shaking your head. “That was…what’s I’ve always wanted.” You admitted, a smile gracing your face. He smiled then too, small and soft. “Finally, something we can agree on.“ He grinned.
You didn’t say anything. Instead, you stepped closer again, until your forehead rested against his.
“Yeah.”You whispered. “And it’s either the stupidest decision ever or the best thing I will do in my life.” You said, and at those familiar words, his grin widened. “Stupidest isn’t a word.” He said, quoting the words of your first meeting, causing you to laugh.
And in that moment, under the quiet night of palace lights and the faraway sound of a string quartet, two people raised to play parts they never chose finally stopped pretending.
ғᴏʟʟᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴜʟᴇs ᴛᴏ ᴊᴏɪɴ ᴍʏ ᴛᴀɢʟɪsᴛ!!!
