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therenlover · 3 years

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Orestes Fasting and Pylades Drunk (A Young Revolutionary!Zemo x Non-Binary Reader Oneshot)

(a/n: so, in honor of barricade day, have this young revolutionary!Zemo fic, which is basically just canon Enjoltaire dynamics but with a Zemo/reader twist on it, because that dynamic is literally my whole heart. Consider this a weird twisted Les Mis au if you want to, but you don’t need to know the book or musical to enjoy this, if it can be enjoyed...)

Synopsis: Helmut recalls the story of how he came to be the ruthless man he is and, more specifically, how he came into possession of his strange purple mask.

Tags: Canon Compliant, Angst, Young!Zemo, Non-Binary!Reader, Death, Enemies to Friends With Benefits to Lovers????, Implied Sexual Content, Friendship, Pining, Revolution, Speedrunning A Slow Burn

Rating: M (+16)

Warnings: Major Character Death, Implied Sexual Content, Gun Violence, Drinking, Minor Homophobia/Transphobia (it’s one sentence near the end and it’s very vague coming from Heinrich), Swearing, Survivor’s Guilt, Really Just Death Everywhere

Word Count: 10,200~

“What’s with the mask?”

The question was innocent enough.

Sam posed it while lounging on the expensive couch of Zemo’s Riga apartment, head tilted back and eyes closed in silent contemplation.

Bucky remained silent as Zemo glanced over from his place at the counter. Outside, the sun was long gone, giving way to a stunning moonrise over the city that poured through the stained glass windows and lit up the night with its glow. It was quiet, much quieter than things usually were between the trio. Still, things being quiet didn’t mean they weren’t tense.

Clenching his teeth, he took in a long breath through his nose. “I am unsure what you mean by that, Sam,”

“The mask,” Sam pushed, “you know, the one you wore during the fight in Madripoor. What’s the deal with that?”

“Ah yes. That mask,” As if on cue, Zemo took a long swig from his glass. It burned all the way down. He didn’t speak again, though, instead choosing to let his gaze fall on the elaborate tilework above his countertops, tracing the patterns with his eyes. Anything to divert himself from the thoughts that rushed back into his mind at the thought of the knit piece of cloth that sat firmly in his inner coat pocket.

Unfortunately for him, Sam wasn’t satisfied with letting the topic fizzle out. “Come on man,” he griped, rubbing a hand over his face, “we got you out of prison, so you owe us one. In fact, you owe us a lot. So, spill. What the hell is the deal with it? Were you Sokovian batman or something?”

That urged a dry laugh from the baron’s lips as he set his crystal glass on the counter with a little more force than was necessary. “Are you always so interested in your captives’ personal lives?”

“Usually,” Bucky chimed in dryly.

“I suppose I’m outnumbered,” Zemo sighed. The bile rising in his throat was easy enough to force down as he turned himself out on his stool to face the room. It wasn’t the right time for true weakness, not yet, but he couldn’t deny that painting himself in a desirable light and offering the pair honesty might give him the upper hand. So, he folded.

Slowly he retrieved the purple mask from his coat and turned it over in his hands. It still fit after all the years it had sat gathering dust in his storage unit which was a blessing in its own right. It still served its original purpose too. That mask had seen horrors beyond imagination, had been washed clean of blood more times than could be counted. Did it hold the memories of the things it had seen within its fabrics as Zemo did in his mind? Or was it as naive as he had been at the time of its creation? He let out a bitter laugh. That was a question they would have asked him.

As he exchanged his literal mask for one entirely emotional, Zemo leaned back on his stool and managed a smile. “How educated are you on Sokovian politics?”

Sam shut his eyes again, letting his head lol back once more. “I went to public school, so I don’t think I even knew Sokovia existed until it didn’t,”

“I know enough,” Bucky added. From his place leaning against the way, ever vigilant and ready to jump into an imagined battle, he turned to face Zemo and crossed his arms. “Hydra had fingers in the government there, more so than other places. There was a big power struggle in the ’90s when the king died, right? Because people wanted democracy, and they didn’t want the little shithead prince to take over,”

“Yes,” Zemo nodded, “My cousin Emil. I’m glad you’re familiar,”

A spluttered laugh escaped Sam’s lips as he shot up. “I know I shouldn’t be surprised by this stuff anymore, but damn,”

“He and I weren’t close,” Zemo waved his hand dismissively, and yet there was a strange sadness in his eyes. It wasn’t for his cousin, though. Not in the least. “But James was correct, there were riots in the streets when the king died. They were shut down quickly by the National Guard, though, who had more than a little help from Hydra’s favorite supersoldiers once they realized just how much power the citizens held. What street were you assigned to, James?”

Bucky sucked in his cheeks, eyes falling to the floor, but before Sam could butt in and defend him he had muttered an answer. “I cleared the barricade at 18th Avenue, the second largest. Those kids fought valiantly,”

Zemo hummed lowly. “And so they did,”

“Okay, what does any of this have to do with your stupid purple mask?” Sam exclaimed.

He was sitting up fully now, face turned to where Zemo had stood from his stool and begun to round the bar. His mask still sat in a small ball on the marble. It seemed to be a member of the conversation all its own, silent and sure, drawing all three men together as it weaved a story from the past into the present with its very presence.

“That mask served me well and hid my identity when I stood against the very men that were serving my family,” Zemo muttered, letting his fingers brush the fabric gently. The names of the lost sat heavy on his very soul even if they would never pass from his lips.

Hans, Andrei, Ivan, Vladimir, Anton, Lazlo, Nicholas, little Sebastian…

Y/N.

“I was young then, too young for my own good,” he said softly, “naive and hopeful and convinced that the world was able to change for the better if I simply willed it to be… so when I discovered the connection between my family and Hydra I packed up my things, emptied my bank account, and moved into a tiny apartment with another like-minded friend, Hans Perlitch,” a soft laugh escaped him, genuine and youthful and all too honest, “We preached to the hungry masses of a world free from the thumb of the elite and all the while we would return home to a heated apartment and a stocked pantry. Still, we were well-liked and gathered a bit of a following. That was when everything changed, the early fall of 1997…”

------------

“You know, for someone who claims to be as smart as you say you are, you’re quite a fool,”

The voice came from the back of the room, smoke still hanging thick in the air from the cigarettes shared by the masses of students that had packed the tiny repurposed stockroom of the bar while Helmut had given his speech for the week.

He didn’t give the interloper the dignity of his full attention as he gathered a few of his scattered notes from the table that served as his soapbox. Still, he was in a generally good mood. Almost double the usual students had shown up for the meeting and a few had even chimed in to ask questions, so he took a deep breath and resigned himself to the fact that rooting out one ignorant opposer now would mean less work in the long run. “I’ve never claimed to be smart, so I’m not quite sure what you’re referring to,”

A scoff came from the back of the room, but the person made no effort to come closer. “You can change your last name and present yourself as a member of the public all you want, but someday someone is gonna recognize that pretty face of yours, and your whole revolution is going to come crumbling to the ground,”

Now that was enough to make him pause.

“How did you-”

“How could I not?”

It was sardonic, biting and harsh in the worst of ways. Everything about the tone made Helmut’s blood boil beneath his skin. He was not one who enjoyed being threatened or outdone. Still, the play was out of his hands now, should this strange intruder choose to ruin him.

Biting his tongue, he finally turned to face them. “You have my attention, now what do you want?”

Across the room, the stranger remained unphased. They were relatively unremarkable, a bottle of cheap beer held firmly in their grip as they toasted to nothing and drank down the remaining dregs. With a smile and a chuckle, they propped their feet up on the small, round table before them. Something about that sight lit a fire in Helmut’s chest. He didn’t know who they were, or why he was there, but he was certain that he despised them already.

“I don’t want anything,” They replied, and with a certain grandness reserved for a gamin mocking the bourgeoisie, they flourished with their hands, letting their booted feet drop to the ground as they stood and bowed. “I’m just saying that if you’re trying to convince people that you’re not the missing baron while you’re pretending to be all impoverished and rallying us commoners, you might want to change more than your last name and your fashion sense,”

Helmut gritted his teeth. “So what? Did you come here just to rub my face in it, or are you going to help me make a change?”

That elicited a small snort from the stranger, but they did take the opportunity to traipse up to meet him at his table, leaning on the edge as they gazed up at him with a strange look in their eyes that he couldn’t quite identify. Their face was soft upon closer examination, alive and bright with a merriment that only came from intoxication. It made Helmut sneer involuntarily.

Licking their lips, they murmured, “Make a change? Is that what you think you’re doing?” and as they let a giggle escape their parted lips Helmut lost it.

He gasped them firmly by the front of their baggy sweater and dragged them in close. “At least I’m trying! What are you doing about it? Extorting the only person who might be able to actually make a change in this shithole of a country? That’s so much more helpful!”

Their faces were inches apart as Helmut spat his words like venom and yet the stranger never stopped smiling. It was almost dopey, the grin that made its way across their lips. Helmut couldn’t stand it.

“You know, baron,” they purred, setting down their empty bottle on the table beside them, “I like you. I might just stick around here for a little while, see what else about your little plan I can pick apart,”

Never in his life had Helmut been less thrilled for someone to join his cause.

“Why are you here anyway,” he groaned, releasing their shirt, “don’t you have something better to do with your Friday night than bother me?” and, as an extra jab, he added, “besides drinking yourself to death, of course,”

The jab didn’t land, though.

Taking it all in stride, the stranger simply grinned as if they too knew how badly they stank of cheap alcohol and was thrilled that someone had noticed. “Anton invited me. He said I should get out more, make some friends. It’s just a coincidence that I happened to recognize you while writing down an itemized list of all the things you got wrong while you grandstanded,” There was a pride in their words, a giddy energy burbling just beneath the surface of their skin, and suddenly it all made sense.

Anton was newer to their group, a poet and a free thinker, something hard to find in the slums of Novi Grad. Still, he lightened the impromptu meetings up with his smile and would often spend the hour scrawling away fervently in his notebook as he immortalized each and every word that was said “for posterity”. Helmut was sure that only someone as accepting as Anton would ever choose to spend their time with someone quite as insufferable as the person before him. Suddenly, and uncomfortably, he became aware that he didn’t even know their name.

Swallowing down a nasty barb, Helmut sighed and offered up his hand, which the stranger took after a moment of pause. “And you are?”

“Y/N,” They replied.

“Well, Y/N,” he spat their name from his mouth like a cherry pit, “I suppose I’ll have to get used to having a man like you-”

“Don’t call me that,”

Helmut cocked his head to the side. “Pardon?”

“Don’t call me a man,” Y/N replied, “and before you ask I don’t want to be called a woman either. I’m just… I’m just Y/N, at least for now I am, it’s not like I’d give a rich brat like you my legal name while we’re mixed up in all this illegal, halfway-treasonous nonsense you insist on spouting. Maybe next week I’ll be something completely different and new. Until I tell you otherwise, though, I’m just Y/N, your highness,”

“Do I dare dream that that means you might learn to respect my ideas?” Helmut sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face and choosing to ignore the sarcastic address in the hopes of letting such things fizzle and die without encouragement. Unfortunately, the goofy grin he got in return told him that was wishful thinking.

Suddenly, the door opened and Helmut jumped away from his newest tentative ally (if you could call them that) to find Hans standing in the doorway. At his side was Andrei, the third in command of their little posse and final member of the leading triumvirate. They seemed shocked at his lateness and he was quick to try to gather himself up lest they see him as undone as he had found himself while facing the smallest taste of Y/N’s antagonistic nature.

What had he even been doing when they interrupted him? It took him a moment to even gather himself together enough to remember. Scanning the room, his eyes fell on the papers

Oh yes, he had been gathering up his notes…

He was quick to finish the task as Y/N sauntered away towards the door, preparing to push past the two men who stood beyond it.

“You’re Anton’s friend, right?” Hans asked, back stiff. When Y/N nodded he did little more than give a noncommittal noise from the back of his throat. He had always been good with making things impersonal as he crunched the numbers and calculated probabilities. That was why Helmut liked him so much.

Andrei, on the other hand, provided a needed warmth to their leadership in his outreach.

He smiled warmly at Y/N and clapped a hand on their shoulder. “I hope we’ll be seeing more of you around,”

Y/N was quick to offer one of their signature grins before winking back at Helmut in a way that made his stomach turn. “Oh, you’ll be seeing plenty of me from now on,”

“We’re glad to have you,” Andrei replied as they passed.

Before they fully left, though, they turned one last time to shoot Helmut a final smile. “Till next Friday, fearless leader,”

Then, Y/N was gone, lost in the crowd of revelers beyond the small, smokey storeroom and, more importantly, beyond where Helmut’s eyes could follow. Somehow, despite everything, he missed having them there. He quickly chalked the feeling up to wanting to keep a close eye on people with the ability to thwart his best-laid plans and left it at that. Besides, he had no room in his heart for anything besides the betterment of Sokovia.

Attachments meant the possibility of other priorities, and other priorities got people killed. He couldn’t have that happening on his watch.

Thankfully, Hans snapped him out of his melancholy quickly. “Do you have everything sorted?”

Helmut gave a short nod before tapping the pile of papers against the table and setting out towards the door, abandoning his thoughts and feelings about his interaction with Y/N at the table as he exited the room and gathered himself once more into the man his friends needed him to be.

He could only hope that as long as he ignored Y/N’s jabs, they would soon grow tired and be gone within the month once they realized he was anything but afraid of their little games.

------------

Much to Helmut’s abject disappointment, Y/N did not, in fact, stop showing up.

They did quite the opposite.

Instead of leaving him well enough alone, they showed up to Helmut’s meetings every single Wednesday and Friday for months, always piss drunk and happy to jeer at him from the corner, shouting their unwanted opinions and throwing off every meeting with their nonsense.

It was as if they did it just to get on his nerves, and get on his nerves they did.

As the seasons changed, from spring, to winter, to fall, and, finally, to the very beginnings of summer, so did the types of jabs Y/N decided to throw.

In the beginning it was all business, comments on the idiocy of his plans for a protest based on common police routes or mocking jokes about his unending optimism when it came to fighting the national guard on a large scale, but as things began to get more and more serious on the path towards a full-fledged revolt, they seemed to aim more and more of their vitriol towards Helmut personally.

Sometimes it was a comment on his face or voice. “Ease up pretty boy,” they’d jeer, “keep talking like that and a guardsman might just do more than knock out a few of your perfect teeth,” Other times, which Helmut found infinitely worse, they’d throw a jab at his ability to lead them to victory. “The only thing that waits for us at the end of this is a painful death, especially if you’re not joking about those fucking super soldiers they supposedly have on ice,”

The worst part was that half the time, Y/N was right.

Helmut hated to admit it but it was true. More than once he had to go back and edit his plans to take into account a valid point thrown in by Y/N that he had never even considered. Hell, if it had been anyone else picking him to nothing he would have been grateful, but it wasn’t a well-meaning contributor trying to make the world a better place, it was a drunk who seemed to have one solitary life goal: making his life as miserable as possible. Perhaps that’s why they had devolved to frantic angry fucks behind crates of wine and massive cans of chocolate spread after the worst of their arguments…

Not that Helmut cared for them.

No, he didn’t do attachments. Neither did Y/N. They hated each other, after all.

It was just a way to release their tensions at the end of stressful meetings and nothing more. They were dealing with matters of life and death after all. It was only normal to seek comfort in the warmth of a companion, if he could even call Y/N a companion.

Whether he liked it or not, though, they were they to stay, even if they rarely made themself useful to the cause.

By early June, the drunkard had become close friends with all of the remaining students that still gathered at Helmut’s location for meetings instead of ending up at the offshoots that began to form once the group got too big to pile into the storeroom. Helmut loathed thinking about it, but Y/N was probably invited to more birthdays and Saturday night get-togethers than he ever was. There was something about their smile that drew people in. It made them feel wanted, welcome. Helmut hated that he never got those smiles from Y/N, only ever the mocking, blithe kind that they handed out freely to friends and enemies alike.

He didn’t have time to think about that, though. Not with so much fast approaching as the first pears began to hang from branches down in the royal orchards, soft and ripe and ready to be harvested. Their growth marked King Hugo’s daily weakening. His death could come any day, and when it did, Helmut knew he would need to strike quickly if he truly hoped to overturn the system before the coronation of his cousin. That meant every meeting, now more frequently held throughout the week, was filled to the brim with preparations and planning.

Well, preparations and planning and a healthy dose of Y/N and Helmut yelling at each other about nonsense across the room until Anton or Laszlo stepped in to pull Y/N down into their chair once more so the meeting could resume and they could all go home before things got too late and they were questioned in the street on why they were possibly out and about at such an hour.

Things were no different on that Friday meeting on June 4th.

“Is there anyone here who isn’t already passing out pamphlets in the dorms at NVU tonight?” Helmut asked the room, scanning for a hand that didn’t belong to his least favorite member of the group. Unfortunately, none came up. “Come one now, at least one of you has to be free,”

Y/N groaned. “It’s like you don’t even see my hand waving up here, oh great one,” There they went again with the ridiculous terms of address that made Helmut’s blood sizzle in his veins. He remained composed, though. At least, as composed as he could be given the situation.

“I’m ignoring you because I remember the last time I asked your drunk ass to pass out pamphlets. What round of dominos were you on by the time I showed up to check on you, five or six?”

The scalding remark was enough to get Y/N to sheepishly lower their hand, eyes downcast. It was getting easier and easier for Helmut to manage to shut them up the more frantic meetings got, and he couldn’t say he was displeased by that fact no matter why it was the way that it was. A quiet Y/N meant less chance for mistakes which meant fewer future casualties. Fewer casualties were good, it was what he strived for.

Thankfully for Helmut, a new hand came up.

It belonged to Vladimir, the oldest of the group by a year rounding out at an even 26 years old. He was dependable, definitely the kind who could be trusted to run an errand as important as the one Helmut needed to have done. The thought that Vladimir would be the one to pick up the shipment of smuggled guns was a relief. He made as much evident while explaining their next moves.

Throughout the remainder of the meeting, though, Helmut couldn’t help but feel watched. It didn’t last long, half an hour at most. Still, there was the creeping itch on the back of his neck that told him there were eyes on him that he wasn’t aware of. Only when the group was dismissed and the feeling didn’t go away did he realize exactly who was staring at him so intently.

“I hope you know I really did intend to hand out those pamphlets,” Y/N said once they were the last one remaining, the rest of the group having trickled out to get food and drinks before heading home for the night. It wasn’t unusual for Helmut and Y/N to be the last two remaining at the end of a meeting. That didn’t mean he was happy about it though.

So, instead of offering up an acknowledgment, he busied himself with plotting out a few potential spots to barricade the roads and hunker down when things got messy in highlighter on the large, laminated map of Novi Grad that had found its home on the big front table.

Y/N didn’t let up, though. They never did. “I know you don’t believe me, why would you, but I did. I just wanted to loosen them up before I started talking about overthrowing the damn government, which is a terrible plan, by the way. Have I told you that lately?”

“Only every time you see me,” Helmut sighed.

Somehow, that made Y/N smile, soft and sarcastic and all too honest. Helmut didn’t know how they managed it. Secretly, he envied their neverending veracity. He’d never say that though. No, not while they crossed the floor and offered up a large bottle of whiskey.

“A drink, dear leader?”

“Absolutely not” He griped, pinching the bridge of his nose. “How many times do I need to remind you I don’t drink?”

“Too many,”

“For once, I agree with you,”

A laugh passed through Y/N’s plush lips and, regrettably, Helmut couldn’t help but look up at them and relish in the sight. Their hair was a bit longer than they usually grew it out, a particularly unruly piece tucked behind their ear. Helmut hated that he noticed little details like that, despised the way he had come to know the soft dip of their cupid’s bow and the warmth of their palm. It was still Y/N, after all, for better or worse. He couldn’t help but allow himself those small recognitions though. It made him feel human, or something close to it.

Still, all good things must come to an end, and they did when Y/N decided to speak again. “You know, the longer I show up for these stupid meetings, the more I think you’re actually gonna try to go up against those bastards,”

Helmut should have known the barb was coming, but perhaps his better nature, if it truly existed, prevented that. Nevertheless, he sighed into his hands as he dropped his highlighter. “If I didn’t intend to actually try to change things, why would I have spent the last year of my life living in a shitty apartment and putting up with you?”

“You’d be surprised the things people do and never finish. Not everyone is as driven as you are,” Y/N huffed. They were quick to seat themself on the table once Helmut wasn’t actively working over it, smearing the highlighter away on their corduroy pants. “Nobody would blame you if you did tap out, you know. There are plenty of ways to make a change that don’t involve trying to take down the entire local Sokovian military force until they decide to give you what you want,”

“The changes we could make without a revolt wouldn’t really be changes, they’d just be the illusion of changes. You know that as well as I do,” Helmut replied with a groan.

Two of the fingers from Y/N’s free hand, the one that wasn’t gripping their bottle like a lifeline, pointed towards the closed door behind them. “Is living under our current system and knowing they have fingers in a few less-than-savory organizations really worse than leading all of your friends to their deaths?”

That struck a nerve in Helmut’s chest.

“And who says that has to be true?”

“Come on, oh benevolent and giving baron,” Y/N’s voice was light yet pointed, like a million minuscule particles of glass flying through the air, “Do you really think we’re all gonna make it out of a fight with the big guys? And even if all of us do, can you say the same for the poor kids fighting where we aren’t?”

“I never said there would be no casualties-”

“What about Sebastian? The kid is barely 12 and I know you’re going to say that if he tries to show up, you’re gonna send him home, but I think you underestimate how many people will want even someone as young as him dead if they catch him in the street. Are you really going to let him risk his life for this? A half-assed plan for you to get revenge on your asshole relatives for making your childhood shitty?”

“You know that’s not what this is about,”

“Do I?” Y/N asked, and for just a second, no, a millisecond, Helmut wasn’t sure anymore. It was only a brief moment though, nothing more. The fact that they could make him doubt himself do deeply though… it was a problem. Calling it that was an understatement, but there was no other way to put it that truly worked.

Helmut growled lowly and nodded, pushing the doubt from his mind. He was right. He had to be right. What would he be if he was wrong? A spoiled rich boy who was leading his friends to their dooms for nothing?

No.

He had to be right, so he was. It was as simple as that.

“Is there anything else you need to critique, or can you leave me to work now?” Helmut asked. His patience had long since worn thin. That didn’t matter much to Y/N, though. They liked to wear him down thin, see just how far they could push without breaking his resolve. It was a game they were both intimately acquainted with.

They played their hand expertly. “In fact,” Y/N smiled while they spoke, another mocking little grin that made Helmut’s stomach turn in the best and worst of ways, “there is one last thing I needed to ask about,”

“I shudder to think what it might be,”

“How are you going to hide your face?”

The question caught Helmut off-guard as he leaned back on his heels, letting his forearms brace against the edge of the table, his face scrunching up in thought. “What?”

Y/N gestured absently towards his face before bringing their bottle to their lips. “I’m betting that your family will expect you to be out there whenever we actually stage our attack. If I’m right, that means the soldiers will be looking for you as their top priority, and if they find you, they’ll kill everybody around you just to get a chance to drag you back to mommy and daddy. Even if they don’t kill us on sight we’ll be charged for harboring you without turning you in to the proper authorities. So, how are you going to hide your face?”

Once again, Helmut found himself thinking that, despite their drunken stupor, Y/N might just be right, and he hated it. He hated that he hadn’t thought of it first, hated that it was a valid point, hated that he had no satisfying way to answer the question they had posed. He hated it all.

“I’ll just throw on a bandana,” He managed to grumble, and that was that.

Or, that should have been that, but Y/N scoffed at the idea, setting down their bottle and leaning in close to Helmut’s face. After a moment of contemplation, they brought their hand up to his face and let their thumb come to rest on one of his largest beauty marks, the mole that rested high on the left side of his nose. “I’m afraid that a bandana isn’t going to cover up your absolutely blinding radiance, fearless leader,” There was a softness to their voice, a gentility Helmut was unused to. It made his chest hurt. He hated that too.

“Are you going to offer a solution or are you just going to sit there telling me I’m stupid,” His words were a low groan.

Much to his surprise, though, Y/N reached into their back pocket only to pass him a crumpled purple ball. It was obviously fabric, though the outside seemed to be coated in some sort of weatherproofing, and upon closer inspection, once unraveled, two distinct eyeholes became visible.

“Is this-”

“A mask?” Y/N finished his sentence for him, “Yeah. I figured you wouldn’t think about it, so I whipped something up with some old polyester-based yarn and then I coated it so it wouldn’t be a problem if it got wet. It should still be breathable, though,”

For the first time since he’d known them, Helmut looked up at Y/N and thought that they were incredibly valuable. He still hated them, of course he did. Y/N was Y/N and he was himself and they hated each other because they were, at their basest, entirely incompatible.

At his silence, Y/N looked away, almost nervous. “I hope it’s alright,”

“It’s more than alright,” Helmut said as kindly as he could possibly manage, “I hate to say this, but owe you one,”

“Could I collect on that debt now?” Minutely, Y/N leaned closer, eyes falling to Helmut’s lips.

He swallowed thickly. “You’re drunk, Y/N,”

“I know I am. Isn’t that wonderful?”

“Why would that be wonderful?”

“Because that means I won’t remember this,” And, with that, they closed the gap between the two of them and captured Helmut’s lips in his own.

Kissing Y/N wasn’t a new thing. They had kissed plenty of times during their frenzied hookups; soft kisses and hard kisses and long kisses and short kisses. Still, Helmut would never get used to the thrill of it. That was yet another thing he hated about Y/N. He could never quite get used to them. Every single interaction always felt as fresh and raw as their first.

With a fervor only he could muster, Helmut kissed back and pushed at Y/N’s hips, pressing them harder into the table below, and just as quickly as he had gained a physical mask, he had lost his emotional one.

------------

In the end, that was the last time Helmut had slept with Y/N.

They had fallen together, two sweaty half-dressed bodies laid out over the laminated map of Novi Grad, and then Y/N had gathered themself up and left with little more than one last kiss pressed to Helmut’s temple. By the time he himself had gotten home to Hans, the news of King Hugo’s death was almost an hour old.

After a few phone calls to lay the final plans and keep every sect of their band of revolutionaries on the same schedules, things rolled into motion like a finely tuned machine.

On the morning of June 5th, the barricades rose and Helmut wore his mask proudly as his people fought for freedom in the streets he had walked since childhood. Y/N was beside him.

By the early hours of June 6th, they were the only barricade that remained.

Helmut should have known that once things got too challenging that the super soldiers would be released, he should have anticipated that they’d be waiting for the backlash once king Hugo passed, and yet he hadn’t. He had blindly walked into the disaster with his eyes wide open. There was no one to blame but himself.

Little Sebastian, just one month shy of 13 years old, was dead, shot at long distance when he had attempted to grab a fallen box of bullets that had toppled over the peak of the jumble of hoarded furniture and scrap metal. Anton was dead too, taken at gunpoint while he stood guard at a side street and executed with his eyes bound and a sonnet on his lips. Even Ivan, stoic and strong Ivan who bound his knuckles in boxer’s tape and sparred with Helmut when he needed to clear his head, had been caught in the initial fire and bled out over the course of the day, dying with a smile on his face as he leaned on a discarded chair.

I never said there’d be no casualties.

His own words rang in his ears, taunted him with every bullet he shot and every breath he dragged into his aching lungs. How had he ever been so naive to believe that even one life could be expendable?

The real lowest point came at almost midnight when Helmut picked up a call from a student on another barricade only to met with screaming. “Winter is coming!” They had wailed, “Winter is coming!” and then they had died, right there over speakerphone. Helmut had the good sense to hang up once it got to the worst of it, the strangled gurgled growing to be too much for the group.

As things truly settled, in those hours so early that the world still considered them night, Helmut still stood vigilant. That’s when Y/N finally approached.

They wore no smile, not like usual. Instead, their face was stoic as they came to stand beside Helmut and waited silently for a moment. He took the chance to beat them to the punch.

“You don’t have to tell me you were right. I know you were,” I hate you for it.

Y/N offered a gentle, humorless laugh. “I wouldn’t rub it in at a time like this, but yeah, I was,” I know you do. I hate myself for it too.

Slowly, Helmut brought a hand to his face, scrubbing the exhaustion away from his eyes. How had it all come to this?

“How much time do you think we have,” Y/N was speaking before he had a chance to say anything more, saving him from having to elaborate on his admission. He was grateful. Grateful to not be alone, grateful to be spared more shame, grateful to see Y/N’s gentle smile one more time. He’d never show it though. No, he was to be the fearless leader till the end.

So, he sucked in a deep breath and stared out into the starry sky. “A few hours at most. I’m surprised they haven’t made another advance after the last big push in the evening when we lost…” he swallowed thickly, “when we lost Anton,”

Licking their lips and pushing back their hair, Y/N sighed. “For what it’s worth, for a minute there I really believed you could do it,”

It was a bigger compliment than it seemed and they both knew it, but neither acknowledged it. Instead, Helmut gestured absently towards the half-full bottle of wine in Y/N’s hand. “You mind if I have a drink of that?”

A grin spread across their lips, but it was as far from mocking as was possible as they passed the bottle over.

“I never thought I’d see the day,”

Lifting the bottom of his mask to take a swig, Helmut groaned at the deep, bitter burn of it. “Don’t get used to it,” He replaced the fabric quickly before passing the bottle back.

“I’ll try not to,”

“Happy 20th, by the way,” Y/N added, “this is a hell of a way to celebrate, but it’s very you,”

Helmut froze as the realization sunk in that it was, in fact, the 6th of June, even if it had only been that way for a couple hours.

There had been a party planned. It was just an intimate thing, cake and a few card games in the afternoon with his closest friends, but that was long behind them now, forgotten in favor of the larger cause. To Y/N, though, there was never a larger cause than Helmut himself. He was realizing that slowly. In a bitter moment of realization, he laughed.

“What?”

“You weren’t invited,”

They quirked up an eyebrow. “Huh?”

“To the birthday party. I didn’t invite you,”

“Well, I’m here now, and this is a pretty good party if I do say so myself. You and me and the revolution all jam-packed together in the middle of a street. Wouldn’t it be cool if the new democracy was born on the same day you were?”

He smiled softly. “It was meant to be,”

“I got you something, you know, even though I knew I wasn’t invited to the party,” Y/N added breathlessly. “It was stupid, just some dumb sweater with a whole bunch of random ass quotes from Machiavelli all over the back, but Anton and I saw it when we visited the better side of town to hang up those fliers for the march a few weeks ago and we knew you had to have it. It’s sitting all wrapped up on my front table,”

“It’s a shame I won’t get to open it today,”

They nodded distantly. “Yeah, a real shame…”

Then, they were quiet again, staring up at the stars mere feet away from each other and yet miles apart, farther than they’d ever been.

Y/N cut through the soundless night first, but not before several silent minutes had passed, filled with only the distant chatter of their surviving friends and the gentle whistling of the breeze over the rooftops above. “When everything goes to shit… with the universe, I mean, not now. Everything’s already gone to shit now. But that notwithstanding, when the world goes kaput and the sun explodes, we’re all gonna be starstuff together, right? You and I and Sebastian and Andrei and Anton and… all of us. We’re gonna be nothing but matter and dust out there in space,”

“Is there a point to this or are you just having an existential crisis?” Helmut muttered, but there was no bite to it.

They just chuckled as their eyes scanned the sky.

“I was just thinking, if all of us are gonna be nothing more than matter and dust and star stuff, it only makes sense that someday, even if it’s a billion years from now, a little part of each of us will be together again as part of some supernova in the sky to be seen by somebody else, and, when that day comes, I think I’m gonna know, and everything is gonna be alright,”

He hummed thoughtfully, running a hand absently over the thick purple knit of his mask, relishing in the gummy softness of the coating on his bare fingertips in the cooling air. “That makes no sense,”

“Do you think I don’t know that?”

“Still, it’s a pretty thought. Anton would have liked it,”

“Yeah, he would have…”

Helmut let his eyes fall from the sky to his companion. They looked so fragile, so broken, that he could barely stand himself, because, if he hadn’t made the stupid choices to lead them here, they never would have felt that way. They’d be curled up in bed somewhere, asleep and safe, far from the cold darkness of the night at his side. It made him sick.

How could he possibly put that to words? How could he apologize for denying every nudge, every chance to turn around? He couldn’t, and it made him as bitter as the wine that Y/N sipped from absently before turning to face him once again.

“Hey, Helmut,” they whispered, and his breath caught in his throat because how dare his voice sound so sweet on their lips? How dare they keep that joy, the joy of hearing his name whispered with reverence on the early morning breeze, real and caring and perfect, away from him for so long? “Do you think I could take a chair from the barricade?”

Just as soon as it had come, the joy was gone. “Why would you need a chair?”

Y/N shrugged. “I want to go sleep,”

“Why can’t you sleep out here?”

“I don’t want to be woken up,”

“We wouldn’t wake you until the fighting was starting back up again-”

“Oh, my darling fearless leader,” their voice was empty, tinny and cold, “I don’t ever want to be woken up,”

Their words pierced Helmut straight through the heart he didn’t know he had. It made him feel so much, so many emotions he had simply not allowed himself out of a misplaced sense of self-preservation. “But we’ll need every able body ready to fight when they send in the super soldiers if we even want a chance at making it out of this,”

The smile that crossed Y/N’s lips didn’t come from a place of joy, nor did it mock Helmut for his blind and dying faith. It was simply there because they did not know how to do anything else. “There’s no making it out of this. Not for me, at least. For you, though… you still have a chance,”

Denial and anger went hand in hand as Helmut sucked his teeth, grinding his molars and letting his hand ghost over his pistol hanging at his hip.

“So you’d really rather die like a coward than take a stand against the evils in the world?” he spat, harsh and cold as the air around them. “Pathetic,”

“Don’t do this now, Helmut, not after we were finally getting somewhere. I don’t want to die with things like that,”

“I’m not the one who’s giving up,” he snapped.

He just needed… something. A reaction. A reason to keep fighting when the war was already lost. Anything. Why couldn’t Y/N light the same fire in him that they’d kindled for months? The fire that had driven him to spend sleepless nights poring over maps and plans and speeches and guns. If he just pushed a little harder, just hit the right button, they’d light it again, he just knew it.

“Please,” the word fell fragile from Y/N’s lips. Not a beg, just a soft plea.

It fell on deaf ears.

“You know what? You can take your chair!” Helmut was shouting then, loud enough that the remaining students on the barricade could hear every word. “Take your chair and leave us to fight while you die in your sleep. If we make it through the day I’ll put the bullet between your eyes myself. Now get out of here! I don’t want to see you again,” There was a cruelty to it, an edge that he thought might just push them off the edge. Still, it wasn’t cruel without reason. Helmut thought that maybe, if he was lucky enough, Y/N would simply leave.

They had no stakes in the results of the revolt, no serious lasting ties that would get them hunted down in the weeks to come if things came to a gruesome end. If he bid them to leave, to disappear from his sight, there was a chance, however small, that they would disappear into the shadows with a chance to live.

Against all odds, though, Y/N smiled one of those empty smiles again and drank down the very last of their wine.

“As your baronship commands,” they whispered, before departing to gather up a chair and disappearing into the restaurant where they had met so many times before.

Then, they were gone, and Helmut was free to sink to the ground as his heart broke and mended and broke again.

------------

As expected, the super soldiers arrived only a couple of hours past Y/N’s departure.

Their arrival was silent, only marked by the slow thud of retreating national guardsmen in the distance. They weren’t needed there anymore, and the less they saw the better.

Helmut watched his friends fall one by one in the panic, the barricade falling to ruin as the soldiers- if they could even be considered that, soldier seemed a far too human term for the monstrous creatures before him- pulled it apart with their bare hands. From there it was just a game of who was caught first in the insanity that ensued.

Nicholas; caught a bullet through the neck.

Vladimir; thrown against a solid stone wall at a speed near impossible.

Lazlo; impaled on a bit of broken wood as the wood exploded.

Andrei; shot 3 times point-blank in the chest as he held the door closed to buy Hans and Helmut a little more time with a love confession for his closest companion falling from his mouth.

Hans…

Helmut didn’t know how Hans died.

He had never asked. All he knew that the shots had come as he wailed Andrei’s name, and then there was a deathly silence in the golden light of the morning sun as Helmut stood alone at the back of the storeroom, taking in the 4 walls that had held the best year of his life.

What remained now?

A failed dream? A pile of bodies? A single survivor waiting for his death?

Helmut didn’t know. He couldn’t fathom it.

The two soldiers sent to finish the job were nameless and nondescript as they slipped through the door, armed with long, silent rifles and hidden by masks not too dissimilar from Helmut’s own. They did not speak, not a word. Instead, they simply raised their guns and took aim at Helmut as he closed his eyes and thought of-

“Wait!”

The word rang out heavy and made the two executioners snap to the side.

“I’m with him! I’m with the revolution! Down with King Emil! Down with the monarchy!”

There, hidden among the crates and shelves of canned goods and glass bottles, was Y/N.

They looked objectively awful, eyes rimmed red and hair mussed up and coated with oil. Still, it was the most beautiful sight Helmut had ever seen.

It was only right that they go together.

Slowly, Y/N made their way across the room to take their place at Helmut’s side. “I know you said you never wanted to see me again, but I assume you’ll make an exception for the circumstances,”

“I never meant it,” he whispered back, and Y/N smiled, “You have to know, I never meant it,”

“Even if you did, I never would have listened-”

Suddenly, one of the soldiers spoke, taking aim straight for Helmut down the barrel of their gun.

“Quiet,”

Y/N only paused for a moment before pressing their hand into his. “Kiss me, Helmut?”

Who was he to deny them?

Pulling off his mask, he pressed his lips to theirs and clasped their hand like it was the last thing he would ever do. When he pulled away, they were smiling one of their old, mocking, joyous smiles.

“Oh, fearless leader… I win,”

The words were a whisper of air against his lips. Before he could fathom the true meaning of them the pair was peppered in a spray of gunfire as Helmut closed his eyes to the world for what should have been the final time.

When he opened them, Y/N was struck dead at his feet.

------------

It was their final winning move, he later realized, the checkmate to a game of chess he never believed would end.

In the end, Y/N had been as correct as they always were.

All the same, he hated them for it.

Some nights, in the darkness of his room back at the summer estate where his father has imprisoned him until further notice, he wondered if Y/N had kissed him because they wanted to or if they had done it to get him to remove his mask long enough that the soldiers would recognize him and spare him. It wouldn’t surprise him. Y/N did have a tendency to be right about things like that.

Ghosts haunted him often.

Not full specters, he would wish for something so merciful. Instead, he saw flashes in the periphery of his vision. Outside his window, he’d hear a child’s laugher and be so sure it was Sebastian until he looked out to find that it was simply a group of the staff’s children playing ball. Or, when the assigned guardsman brought him his dinner, he would glance down the hall and be so sure that a man at the other end was Lazlo, preparing to face a board of proctors as he delivered a thesis he would never write. It never was, though. It never would be.

Worst of all, when he laid awake in his bed as the clock struck twelve, he would feel them beside him.

They had never slept together in the literal sense. Whatever they had shared (love, Helmut would come to realize after many, many years with Heike, painfully hollow without the same kind of flame. He had loved them and simply never known how to show it) was purely physical and contained within that bloody, bloody storeroom that he was sure would be torn down someday soon as they glossed over the casualties and stamped out the evidence. Still, he could feel Y/N beside him in the darkness despite the fact that they had never been there.

Their head on his chest, their body pressed flush to his side, their hot breath fanning over the fabric of his nightshirt, creating a patch of damp warmth in its wake…

It was maddening, an eternal punishment he was doomed to endure for his stupidity. Nevertheless, if he let his brain wander to a better place, a different lifetime, it was almost comforting to feel their ghost wrapped tightly to his side.

When he woke, though, the loss of the dream was more maddening than living through it.

Almost a month after the failed revolution, in the hot and heady days of early July when the wasps buzzed loud at the window and the skies were filled with thunderclouds most of the time, his father finally came to speak to him.

“I trust you spent your birthday how you wished to,” Heinrich said plainly. There was no question to it, just an empty sentiment.

Mockery wasn’t nearly as pleasant when delivered by his father and not his lover, Helmut thought distantly.

“On the contrary, I spent my birthday watching everyone I cared about die,” he snapped back.

Heinrich didn’t offer any sort of commiseration. He simply shrugged and continued on with what he was there to say, not that his son minded much. The less time he spent there the more time Helmut would have to himself, which was preferable to listening to his father’s droning.

“You’re lucky to be alive. The family is on thin ice thanks to that stunt you pulled, but with time we’re all sure that you’ll become an asset if you simply learn to use that fire for something more… productive,”

Who the ‘we’ was went unspoken. It didn’t need to be.

Helmut sighed and looked out the window at the rain falling on the garden. Nicholas would have loved the gardens at this home. He would have pressed every flower at least once in the little book he kept beside him filled with the pieces of the world that he collected as he passed through it. Where would he be kept and collected now that he was dead?

“I’ve called in a favor and enrolled you for military service. You’ll be tested to find your strengths, sent where you’re best suited, and trained from the ground up. Once we know you can be trusted, you might even lead your own squadron and make some friends more of your caliber,”

It took all Helmut’s strength to clench his teeth and hold back the rage he felt in his chest. “When do I leave?”

“As soon as you’re married,”

Married.

The word struck a bolt through the rage and dissolved it, giving way to pure shock. “What the hell do you mean?”

Crossing his arms, Heinrich took to pacing a 2-foot line back and forth in front of the door. “We’ve found a suitable match from a good standing Sokovian family, and they’re willing to look past your little misstep as long as their daughter becomes a baroness and is adequately involved in society. She’ll be here in three days time and you’ll have a week to get acquainted before the wedding,”

“I never said I was going to get married,” Helmut growled, “You can’t make me get married,”

His father stared down at him from above like he was a little boy again. “I can make you do whatever I want. Don’t think I didn’t hear about what happened with that freak they shot down at your side! No son of mine is ending up with someone like-”

In an instant, Helmut had rushed across the room and punched his father square in the jaw. As blood poured down the man’s face, a hiss escaped his son’s lips.

“Never talk about Y/N like that again,”

“So it had a name!”

That earned him another punch, but Heinrich escaped Helmut’s grip quickly, cupping a hand beneath his nose to catch the redness that poured from his face. As he retreated out the door, he turned to deliver his final verdict. “You have three days to get your act together, and maybe, just maybe, if you don’t fuck this up, I’ll let you know where they dumped all your little friends to rot,” And with that, he shut the door behind him and left Helmut to pick up the pieces of his soul.

------------

The tale Zemo wove was a sad one (sans most of the details about Y/N. That was a story whose finer details he would take to his grave) and as he came to a close, the purple fabric between his fingers was a tether to reality. The coating was a bit old, thinner in places than it should have been, but it had remained steady and strong for over 20 years and he didn’t know the first place to start repairing it.

Y/N would have known, they’d been the one to do it in the first place after all, but they were long gone, not even a ghost anymore. Just a name and a face forgotten to time as all the other impoverished students were, buried in an unmarked grave in a place he never learned. It was all that remained of them. The only thing that proved they were ever there at all.

“You know the rest of the story,” he added firmly. “I married Heike, climbed the ranks of the military, had my son… and they were simply lost, an unwritten page in the history of a country that no longer exists,”

Suddenly, though, a deep voice cut in through the heavy air between them.

“Ciczheni,”

“Pardon?” Zemo asked softly, pouring himself a final tumbler of whiskey and stuffing the mask back in his pocket.

“We buried them in Ciczheni,”

He nearly dropped the bottle in his hand.

Bucky was quick to continue, voice low and eyes clouded with memory in a way that only the two of them would ever truly understand. “It’s a tiny town along the border to the Czech Republic. There’s a big open field there, or at least there was, marked with a flat grave marking it as a burial site. I don’t remember the name on it, some random pseudonym, but they’re all there, all 57 dead and buried in the ground under that rock,”

Helmut gave a stiff nod. “I see,” Then, in one long gulp, he downed the whole two fingers of whiskey straight and relished in the way it burned down his throat. When the glass was empty and set down safely on the counter again he was quick to school his expression as he turned away. “I’m afraid all that excitement has exhausted me for the day. Goodnight, gentlemen,”

He was gone down the hallway into his bedroom before the pair had a chance to say another word.

Ciczheni.

As he undressed, he smiled softly, letting a few errant tears drip down his cheeks.

They had been born and raised in that tiny farming town. Sometimes, when he had let himself listen in on their conversations with some of the other members of their small, tight group, they would talk about how much they wanted to return someday, once they’d made enough money to live on for a while if they supported themself by growing a small garden and maybe keeping some chickens. The thought, even then, had always made him smile. Just Y/N and a cottage and a chicken or two.

Sometimes, if he was especially indulgent, he would imagine himself there with them. Sharing a home.

Making a family.

His biological family, the one he had created with marriage and his own flesh and blood, was something different entirely. He had loved them. God, how he’d loved them. Still, it was never the same. He was never at peace. He was never home. There would always be a bitterness there, as bitter as the dark summer wine he’d drunk the night he’d turned 20, a resentment that came with the obligation of creating a place in his heart for them when there never should have been.

For Y/N, though...

He sighed, wrapping himself in his robe and slipping on a pair of fleece pajama pants before crawling between the sheets and laying flat on his back, eyes to the ceiling.

Things wouldn’t have been happy all the time. Hell, they probably wouldn’t have been happy even most of the time. Still, they would have been where they belonged, seated firmly at his side for the rest of their long, wonderful lives.

Ciczheni, he repeated in his mind, then the memorial for Novi Grad. It was a minor detour, adding barely 2 hours more to the whole trip when he had plenty more to spare.

Ciczheni, then Novi Grad, and then, finally, peace.

Beside him, he could feel the phantom limbs wrap around his body, resting their weight firmly on his chest where the guilt and shame and terror built by the day, and for the first time in almost a decade they were not Heike’s. Perhaps, if all went according to plan, they wouldn’t be phantom much longer.

Or, if not, he would wait. He would wait a billion years to disintegrate into stardust and spread across the cosmos in search of them.

Either way, when they were together again, he’d know.

They both would.

--------

a/n: I’m not crying, you’re crying.

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#zemo #baron zemo #helmut zemo #baron helmut zemo #zemo x reader #helmut zemo x reader #baron zemo x reader #baron helmut zemo x reader #barricade day #zemo fanfic

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imagine-darksiders · 3 years

Note

I hope you feel better soon! When you're feeling better would you be able to write something about jealous Strife? That ask made me curious

“Do you really have to go?”

From your seat at the vanity, you heave an exasperated sigh and set down your lipstick, swivelling around in the chair to face the Horseman who stands sulking at your bedroom door.

“Strife,” you begin patiently, “I'm afraid my answer still hasn't changed since you asked me ten minutes ago.”

“Yeah, I know. It's just -” Averting his gaze, he crosses his arms and grumbles, “I thought we were gonna hang out tonight.”

“And I told you two weeks ago that I wouldn't be around tonight.”

You can't see his expression, hidden as it is behind the silver helm he wears, but you're fairly confident in guessing that there's a pout on his lips.

“And besides,” you add, “We hang out all the time. You practically live here. Hell, you've already turned my spare bedroom into your own personal den.”

'Den' is an understatement. Your spare room is now less of a bedroom more of an Earth museum, filled from floor to ceiling with all of the things that Strife has picked up simply because they took his fancy. For the most part, it's all junk. There's an obsolete gaming console that no longer works, a skateboard, a horse figurine made of glass, no less than three Nerf guns and not a foam dart between them...

Honestly, you're loathe to tell him to get rid of any of it, though you fear you might have to soon if you don't want the mess spilling out into the rest of your house.

Giving your head an exasperated shake, you check the time on your phone and stand up, throwing your bag over a shoulder. “Listen, it's just one evening with an old friend who I haven't seen since before the apocalypse. We can hang out tomorrow, I promise. But now, I really need to dash, he'll be here to pick me up any minute.”

Pausing to stuff your phone into the pocket of your trousers, you head towards the door, hardly noticing that the Horseman is still standing in front of it with his arms folded neatly across a broad, armoured chest. It's only because you glance up right at the last second that you manage to avoid a painful collision. “Um...Strife?” you ask, halting in your tracks, “... Move?”

In response, he simply leans back against your door and begins to inspect the claws on one of his gauntlets. “Nah... I'd rather hear about this friend of yours. You've never mentioned him.” Pausing, he shoots you a sly smirk that you can sense more than see, his golden eyes flashing, “You guys close?”

With a roll of your eyes, you mimic his posture, crossing your arms and giving him a glare that would make Death proud. “Strife, what's gotten into you? I just said I'm going to be late for my friend.”

“Yeah, I get that,” he returns coolly, “Just wanna know that my friend isn't walking into a trap.”

“Oh wow – a trap? Really? Of all the-” You cut yourself off and raise a hand, massaging at your temple. “Okay. Now you're just being ridiculous. It's not a trap.”

“Why don't you let me come with you, just in case?”

“Because!” you cry, throwing your arms up, “It'll be awkward! You remember what I taught you about third-wheeling?”

He remembers it well, in fact. Just like he remembers everything you teach him, committing the moments to memories that he'll carry with him until the day he snuffs it. He only has you for less than a hundred years, after all, and he's determined to remember every last bit of it. The Universe must have thought itself pretty hilarious when it placed you in his life. Of all the creatures in all the realms, the one he ends up caring about most just so happens to be the one with the shortest lifespan. It makes him want to hunt down the Creator and shoot a hole where a heart might be.

Shoving down his contempt for the omnipotent bastard, Strife returns his attention to you and lifts his shoulders in a shrug. “I don't mind tagging along. You know, just in case I have to watch your back.”

Your response hits him harder than a crack from Fury's whip. “I don't need you to watch my back every second of every day! Stop being so paranoid.”

The Horseman is too proud and obstinate to ever let the stab of hurt show in his eyes, but he can't ignore its presence in his chest.

He is not being paranoid... He's being a good friend - watching your back, looking out for you, all the things a friend is supposed to do. Not that he's had much experience being friends with a human. Or anyone, for that matter, who isn't a horse or his siblings. It's been a learning curve for both of you, though more-so for him, and so far, the most prominent challenge he's faced is balancing the line between being a friend and being an overprotective nuisance.

It perhaps hasn't helped that, ever since humanity was resurrected, the pair of you have been nigh inseparable. He's grown used to your presence – is dependant upon in, according to Death; a fact that Strife had vehemently tried to deny, at least until he learned that you'd made plans. Plans with someone else. Plans that didn't involve him.

It was only once he'd taken some time to reflect and found that he had indeed been glued to your side for months, that he realised the awful truth.

His older brother was right, after all. The smug ass.

A shudder rolls over the Horseman's body and he blinks, realising that in the few seconds he's been lost in thought, you've managed to reach around him to push open your bedroom door.

“Hey!” he complains as you all but shove past, and he – being the soft-touch that he is – simply allows himself to be moved aside. Grumbling, he follows you across the landing and down your sweeping staircase until you reach the front door and stop beside it.

From outside, the thunderous roar of an approaching, automobile's engine thrums in his ears.

“That's him!” you chirp, and Strife hates the way your face lights up at the mention of whoever 'he' is.

Throwing open your door, you head outside and try to pull it shut behind you, yet find your efforts abruptly halted by the Horseman sticking close to your heels. He ducks through the low doorframe and moves to stand beside you, his viciously keen gaze raking over the vehicle that idles at the end of your driveway.

By his own admission, Strife has always had a weakness for those 'motor bikes' the humans like to ride, with their shiny gaskets and noisy engines. But this one – the one upon whom sits a tall, lanky human – Strife does not care for.

“Anton!” you call out, flying down the driveway, splaying your arms out wide in anticipation of a hug.

'Anton' laughs brightly and kicks down the bike's stand as he leaps from the seat, his own arms only just opening in time to receive you when you crash into him with a whoop of delight.

As soon as those long, stringy arms wrap around your shoulders, the Horseman's hackles raise like a feral beast's and the sudden presence of Anarchy begins to claw at the confines of his ribcage. For a few moments, he wrestles with himself, weighing the pros and cons of letting his most primal form take over for a while, but after envisioning the disapproving frown that's sure to adorn your face should he pull such a stunt, he bitterly shoves a reluctant Anarchy back down and settles upon prowling down the gravel drive after you, glaring hard at the stranger the entire way. Admittedly, he is a little surprised at himself for the animosity. On the whole, he's always maintained a good rapport with other humans. He likes the species, a lot. So to suddenly be filled with such a strong disliking for this particular human strikes him as odd and out of character.

Then, Anton's hands slide down to your lower back and another bout of indignant fury flares up in the Horseman's belly. After what he thinks is, quite frankly, an obscene amount of time, the stranger releases you, holding onto your shoulders and leaning back to get a better look at your face.

“God, it's good to see you, Y/n,” he drawls, eyeing you from head to toe in a way that makes the Horseman's skin crawl, “I can't believe it! You've changed so much!”

Grinning shyly up at him, you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear and reply, “Hopefully for the better?”

His own smile widens. “You were always at your best, even before the apocalypse. Still, being Humanity's Hero seems to be really suiting you, huh?”

At once, your expression falls and you pull a face, extracting yourself from his grasp. “Oh god, don't call me that. I've told the media till I'm blue in the face - the Horsemen are the ones who deserve to be called heroes. Oh, speaking of whom...” You turn to face the looming presence at your side and gesture up to Strife. “I'd like to introduce you to a friend of mine.”

Anton's gaze leaves you long enough to flick over towards the Horseman and you watch as he does a very comical double-take, his eyes bulging for a moment before he manages to compose himself again and lifts his hand in greeting. “Hey! You must be one of those Horseman guys. Death, right?”

Noticing that the Nephilim's hands curl suddenly into tight fists, you interject, “Uh, actually, this is Strife, Tones.”

“Tones?” He really does try to keep the disdain from his voice when he switches his burning, golden glare between you and the other human. “I thought you said his name was Anton?”

How many other friends do you have?

“It's a nickname, Strife,” you reassure him quickly, “This is Anton.”

A nickname... Of course. The Horseman's stomach twists itself into a knot and he can't stop himself from blurting out, “How come you've never given me a nickname?”

The human concept surrounding abbreviated names was a fairly easy one for him to grasp when he first learned of them. They're terms of endearment, meant to signify familiarity and friendship.

He's your friend. He's familiar. Why doesn't he have a nickname too?

"Ugh, I'm sorry. We'll brainstorm nicknames when I get back," you huff, "But the restaurant will give our table away if we don't hurry. So -"

Turning to usher Anton onto the bike, you hardly manage to take one step before a large, metal hand is sliding around your forearm and tugging you gently to a halt. Biting back a groan, you glance over your shoulder, ready to scold him, but one look at his slouched stance and averted gaze stops you in your tracks.

"Uh. Hey, Tones?" you call, never taking your eyes off the Horseman's mask, "Can you give us a sec?"

The human behind you is careful to check that Strife isn't looking when he rolls his eyes and grunts in acknowledgement before he turns and saunters over to his bike, leaning up against it and pulling out his phone.

Once Anton has turned his attention elsewhere, you raise a brow at the Horseman and wait, patient, expectant. After working his jaw for a moment or two, he finally looks at you properly and tightens his grip on your arm, not until it's painful, but enough that you understand what he's trying to convey in the gesture.

He really doesn't want you to go.

"Strife?" you prod.

Reluctantly, he lets out a rough exhale.

Although he's far better at it than his siblings, watching Strife try to openly express emotion isn't unlike watching someone pull their own teeth out with a pair of pliers. The process is slow, and it's best to sit back and listen to him rather than try to encourage him to speak. So, that's what you do, and eventually, your patience is rewarded when after another few seconds of silence, he offers a strained chuckle and says, "This guy isn't my replacement, is he? I know the bike is cool, and all, but..."

"Your replacement?" you laugh, incredulous, "Strife. I don't know how it worked with Nephilim, but for humans, having another friend doesn't cancel out any existing ones."

He knows that. He's not some whelp who never learned how to share. Frustrated with himself, the Horseman huffs and turns his head to the side, glaring hard at nothing in particular.

"Hey..." An old habit kicks in, and before you can stop yourself, you reach up to trace your fingertips along the underside of Strife's helm, tipping it back towards you and smiling at the bewildered look in his yellow eyes. Confident that he's paying proper attention, you pull your hand away again and state, "I could search the whole universe from top to bottom for the next hundred, thousand years, and I'd never find a friend who could replace you, okay? So stop worrying. Your ranking as 'my best friend' is not under threat."

"M'not worrying," he grumbles, but inside, his heart is aglow with the warmth of your words. At the back of his mind, Anarchy rumbles happily. You said best!... He's your best friend? He tries to recall you ever calling him that before. Then he realises that, no, you can't have done. He wouldn't forget a moment like that. Not in a million years. Just like he won't forget how he feels right now after hearing those two words.

Oblivious to the fate you've just sealed for yourself, you clap your hands together, bringing the conversation to what you hope is an easy conclusion. "Good. In that case, will you please let me go with Anton now?"

The Horseman's mood sours almost immediately, but at least he peels his fingers off your arm.

"Hey, kid?" he address Anton, packing his voice with all the menace and threat that he can muster, "If I find out she gets hurt on your watch, I'll introduce you to a couple'a friends of mine..." His hands fall less-than subtly to his holsters, where the silver handles of Mercy and Redemption glint in the sunlight.

Anton's face pales upon seeing the Horseman's legendary pistols.

"Stop that," you scold him, smacking the back of your hand against the armoured chest plate before turning to your other friend and calling, "Come on, Tones, let's go."

Anton all but throws himself onto his bike, kicking the stand back and jamming his keys into the ignition whilst you climb on behind him, albeit far more gracefully. The man tosses you a helmet and you shove it onto your head.

Strife's eyes remain settled upon your hands that wrap snugly around Anton's waist and it takes everything in him not to grab you, haul you off the bike, drag you back to your home and lock you inside.

“I'll be back late tonight,” you call over the roar of the engine as you begin to pull away, “There's food in the fridge if you want to eat! And my Netflix is still logged in! I'll see you later, okay!?”

Strife doesn't respond, not because he can't think of what to say, but because there would be no point. Anton has already peeled away and pushed the bike to a reckless speed. All the Horseman can do is stand there at the end of your driveway, his shoulders drooping dejectedly.

After you're nothing more than a dot on the far horizon, he tears his eyes off you and lets them fall to the tarmac near his boots.

He never notices you looking back.

#darksiders #darksiders genesis #Strife #reader #jealousy

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lassieposting · 3 years

Note

💘💘💘💘 + ghasdug

send me 💘 + A SHIP and i’ll tell you—

where they first met and how

So Skug says they stowed away on the same ship, but this is...not exactly true.

He stowed away on that ship, because he was running away from home and he was a snobby little lordling who'd never had to fend for himself a day in his life, so the furthest ahead he'd actually thought to plan was "they won't want to turn around and drop me off once they're underway".

Ghastly was not stowed away at any point during that trip. Ghastly was signed on for the journey as a deckhand, because Ghastly's mother told him he needed to, and it had to be that particular ship. Ghastly gets seasick, and did not want to go to sea in the slightest. But Ghastly's mother has visions and so Ghastly does as he is told. Apparently there was something important waiting for him on that ship.

Anyway Skug pops out once he thinks they're far enough away from shore that they'll leave him be rather than take him back to port, and he is incredibly mistaken. The captain is in favour of turning him around right there and then, because he's clearly some rich lord's brat, and whoever his father is will probably pay handsomely for his safe return. Ghastly manages to talk the ship's crew into letting him stay on, provided he pulls his weight like the rest of them.

Needless to say, even before they're attacked by pirates, that voyage is a rude awakening for poor Skug, and good lord does Ghastly hear all about it. He has blisters. His feet hurt. This shirt was expensive and now it's all sweaty. His hair is in his eyes all the time. He's tired. The guy in the next bunk snores. Some of these people look like they have lice. He didn't realise he'd be doing manual labour, this is servant stuff, how dare they.

Ghastly does. Not realise at that point what he has let himself in for.

how long their ‘flirting’ phase was before feelings got involved

Poor Ghastly gets to pine for years. Baby Skug isn't a great boyfriend. He's less invested - he loves Ghastly, but they have two totally different outlooks.

Ghastly is ugly. He's always been ugly. He's got a face he believes only his mother could love. He's never believed he'd find someone who saw past that or loved him regardless. So as soon as he gets Skug into bed, he's over the moon and ready to commit. He's like 17, and would absolutely settle down there and then given half a chance.

Skug, on the other hand, was a weird-looking child who only recently grew into an attractive adolescent and he is loving it. For the first time in his life, girls are noticing him. He doesn't want to settle down, he wants to play the field and sow some wild oats and have fun. So there are periods of exclusivity with Ghastly, interspersed with periods where Skug basically drops him to chase after the latest pretty bit of skirt.

who fell for who first ( if applicable )

Ghastly's smitten by the time they make it back to Ireland - Skug is a bit soft and allergic to hard work and a pain in the arse, but he's flashy and charismatic and funny and pays attention to him without gawking at his face (past the initial "good god, what happened to you?") - but Skug is well and truly settled into living with Ghastly's family by the time he actually gives Ghas the come-on.

where their first date was and what it was like

They went to the local tavern and got drunk, and then rode home in the pouring rain once it kicked them out at closing time.

When they got home, Ghastly's parents had long since gone to bed, but that wasn't necessarily unusual - once Skug, who has a considerable allowance, is old enough to start drinking, Saoirse institutes a rule that if they're not home by the time she and her husband turn in for the night, she'll leave blankets in the barn and they can sleep there instead. She's not having them barging in, wasted, at all hours of the day and night, waking her up after a hard day's work.

So they put the horses away and give them a quick rub down, and Ghastly is trying to look anywhere but Skug because Skug's shirt has gone kind of see-through and poor Ghastly is an awkward, horny teenage boy, but he keeps shooting him these furtive glances over the horse's back and Skug notices because Skug notices everything and lowkey teases him about it. "Want me to sit for a portrait? It'll last longer," sort of teasing, and Ghastly tries to laugh along but he's also vibrant red because he's been caught staring, so obviously Skug realises something's up

And he's precisely as tactful about it as he ever is about anything, and jokes, "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you wanted me," and Ghastly's ears burn and he doesn't deny it quick enough and now Skug's eyebrows are inching towards his hairline and Ghastly panics because like, he's ugly, Skug is going to be disgusted or laugh at him and he can't cope with either, so he just? Freezes?

But like. Skug was a weird-looking, unfortunate child who very recently grew into an attractive adolescent, so he fucking thrives on attention. So his response to this awkward not-quite-a-confession is actually a moment of silence while he mulls this new information over (this feels like an eternity to poor Ghastly) followed by an early attempt at using The Hot Voice and, "If you want me, have me."

So, they end up having sex in the hayloft on the blankets Ghastly's mom left out for them. Ghastly has never even been kissed and doesn't admit that he has no idea what he's doing until he realises Skug is expecting him to take the lead. He also blurts that he loves Skug when he nuts, so like. It's your typical painfully embarrassing virginity loss.

It can't be all bad though, because Skug's up for doing it again.

who asks who out and how ( with a sign? spelled out on a cake? just a simple ‘will you go out with me’? )

So in my endgame-ghasdug AU, they get back together post-TDOTL. Ghastly survives being stabbed, but the blade nicked his spinal cord, so he's in a wheelchair for quite a while, and then has to do A Lot of physical therapy to relearn how to walk. Skug shows up at the hospital/facility where he's recovering every day unless there's an emergency, because Ghastly is very depressed and struggling with survivor's guilt over Anton and doesn't see the point in doing his physio because it hurts and he's exhausted and he shouldn't be alive anyway. And Skug annoys him into doing it, mostly by heckling him from the other side of the room, because he's not great at the whole emotional support thing. Ghastly will mutter, "Christ, I want to hit you," and Skug will tell him, "Well, if you come over here to do it I won't even duck." And if Ghastly gets his ass up and uses the walking frame support thing to cross the room, well, then Skug will take a punch like a man and be happy about it because Ghastly walked.

They also talk a lot during this period. Ghastly feels like shit, and he reminisces a lot about the good old days and how he never saw Ravel's betrayal coming and memories he has of Anton, and sometimes that veers into memories they share from when they were young men. And Skug, at this point, is old enough and has been through enough to admit that he wasn't great to Ghastly when they were boys. He was flighty and selfish and high-maintenance, and he would've hated to be treated the way he treated Ghastly. And he tells him that, at one point - that he's sorry, and if he could go back and do it differently, he would, assuming Ghastly was daft enough to be willing to put up with him a second time.

And Ghastly laughs and tells him, "I'd still have you now, you stupid bastard."

who proposes first

Ghastly. They're 19/20. Skug thinks he's joking.

if they keep / kept their relationship secret or let everyone know right away

Neither - they don't announce it, but it's not exactly a secret either. Ghastly's parents notice pretty much straight away, but other than a few parental pointers on what is and isn't appropriate, it's not really a topic of conversation.

where the proposal happens and how ( kiss cam at a baseball game? on a hillside surrounded by ducks? at a disney park? )

Skug's sister Confelicity accepts the first proposal she gets at the age of 16, because she's desperate to get out of their parents' house and away from their toxic relationship and controlling behaviour. Their father disapproves and refuses to attend the wedding (and, of course, their mother is not allowed her own opinion), and Carver is out of the country, so Skug stands in to a) pay and b) give away the bride. He takes Ghastly for moral support, because he doesn't like most of his relatives and also doesn't like the groom (Thurid Guild - their relationship doesn't improve when Confelicity divorces him a few years later to marry a baronet). While they're watching the couple say their vows, Ghastly murmurs, "We should get married."

Skug is right in the middle of his hoe phase and does not realise Ghastly's serious.

who’s more dominant

Generally, Skug. He is one hell of a force of personality and Ghastly does get steamrollered quite a bit, although he does eventually learn how to say no. Skug always gets things his way, always does whatever he likes and be damned to the consequences, and Ghastly is always there with a handful of the back of his shirt, pulling his ass out of whatever fire he started.

In bed, though, it's Ghastly.

how into pda they are

As teenagers, Ghastly's mother has to reprimand them occasionally for being too all over each other, but teenagers be rabidly horny. As grown men, they're just sort of casually affectionate. Comfortable with each other. When they're relaxing in camp after a day of travelling, Skug will lean against Ghastly to read a book or put his head on Ghastly's leg while they chat. They can have a silent conversation just by reading each other's faces. They'll nudge each other when something reminds them of an in-joke. They have that easy intimacy that comes with having known each other forever.

where their usual ‘date spot’ is ( if applicable )

As boys, Ghastly has a particular flowery meadow he likes to take Skug to for picnics, because he's a romantic. Skug at that age is considerably less so, and more interested in whether they can screw there without getting caught.

In the modern day, they go to see old movies. Ghastly was very into the early films of the late 1910s and the 1920s, after the war finished. He associates them with a time where he finally got to just set up his shop and live the life he always wanted to live. Skug hasn't seen most of Ghastly's favourites, because he spent that period of history fighting the truce and then spiralling into a black hole of trauma and misery, but he got very into the noir detective era to the point that he's still clinging to the aesthetic like 80 years later, so they'll alternate who picks the movies and catch each other up on their favourites.

who’s more protective

They've both spent their fair share of time fretting in the chair beside a hospital bed. After Ravel's betrayal, though, it's Skug. Ghastly retires as soon as he's considered fit to make the decision, and decides he wants to go back to Dublin to reopen his shop and just sort of try and forget Roarhaven exists. And Skug is absolutely adamant that he gets to do it. There's a lot of interest in Ghastly for a while - groundbreaking healing magic was used to fix what should've been a permanent injury, people want to know if he suspected Ravel, they want his advice on how to rebuild after Devastation Day. He's more approachable than China, and a lot more popular. But he can't cope with it all, and anyone who tries to hassle him in Dublin will have Skug to deal with.

how long it is before they sleep together ( can be as in ‘had sex’ or as in ‘shared a bed’ )

The first night Skug stays at Ghastly's family home. Ghastly is an only child, and his family isn't wealthy - their house doesn't have a guest room. It's sleep with Ghastly or sleep on the floor, and Little Lord Priss isn't going to be sleeping on the floor.

Honestly, he's relieved there isn't a spare room for him. He's never really slept alone before. Like most children of very wealthy families back then, he grew up in a nursery with his four oldest brothers and sisters, and when he was too old to live with The Children, he shared a room, first with Carver and then with Francis. The thought of being on his own in a strange house is pretty intimidating.

He moves to his own bed as soon as they get him one, but he stays in Ghastly's room, and he's perfectly happy with that.

(Ghastly is less happy. He's very much crushing on Skug and he's terrified he'll say something incriminating in his sleep.)

who steals whose clothes and how often

Skug gets to steal Ghastly's clothes for a year or two after he moves in with Ghastly's family. After that, they're built too differently. Ghastly is built like a brick shithouse of muscle. Skug is lean and toned and tall. When they're younger, he can more or less wear Ghastly's clothes as a nightshirt, but after Skug's final growth spurt, Ghastly's clothes don't sit right on him at all, and he's gotten too vain and fashion-conscious by that point to just wear them anyway.

what their usual coffee / tea orders are

Ghastly is fussy about his tea. Plenty of milk, two and a half sugars, leave the teabag in.

Skug just inhales it black, which Ghastly thinks is an abomination.

if they ever have any children together

Ghastly thanks his lucky stars every day that they have a 0% chance of accidentally spawning a skuglet. One of him is plenty.

He's very involved with Skugbab when he comes along, though. He's godfather and a very present uncle.

if they have any special pet names for each other

Skug doesn't do nicknames, and would rather not be given them, either. Ghastly gets away with "Skul", primarily because he's the only one who's known Skug since he was all of 16, but also because "Skulduggery" is a mouthful when all your blood is rushing to your downstairs brain and it's his own damn fault that he didn't think of that before he picked it.

if they ever split up and / or get back together

So many times. They're on and off again more frequently than Saracen's clothes. Every time Skug spots someone new, he ends it with Ghastly to pursue them, and then comes back when he loses interest or it doesn't work out.

what their shared living space is like ( messy? clean? what kind of decor? )

Ghastly's family home is an old farmhouse on the outskirts of Dublin. It's simple, but cosy, and Ghastly's dad is incredibly houseproud, so it's very well-looked-after. Skug prefers it by miles to his own palacial, but cold and unwelcoming, family home, and he tries to replicate the vibe later on with Wifey. It's pretty small compared to what he's used to, so it sort of feels like they're all living on top of each other, and he has to get used to not having any servants and drawing his own water to heat his own bath etc, but he's loved there, and that makes all the difference.

what their names are in each other’s phones

They're both old-ass men about some things, and this is one of them. So no emojis or anything - they're "Ghastly Bespoke" and "Skul". How romantic.

who falls asleep first and who wakes up first

Ghastly wakes up first: he's used to rising early to get started on his chores. Skug is absolutely not a morning person at this point in his life and Ghastly frequently has to turf his ass out of bed by pulling his quilt off/dumping water on him/yelling in his ear.

Reversed with modern day ghasdug: Ghastly still wakes at a sensible time, but damn it he left the army a century ago and now he likes a lie in. Skug never really stopped being a soldier and still has most of his military habits, so he's up with the sun.

who’s the big spoon / little spoon

Ghastly is the big spoon. Skug likes to be Held.

who hogs the bathroom

Skug. The boy is vain as all fuck. There is a grand total of one cloudy looking-glass in Ghastly's family's home and Skug spends a good chunk of the morning hogging it to fuss with his hair and peacock at his reflection. Ghastly is under strict orders Never to mention this to Fletcher.

#skulduggery pleasant #ghasdug #sp headcanons #long post

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mrswalkers-blog · 3 years

Text

Falling in love with you

Chapter 14 - The Storm

Book: The Royal Romance AU ( Drake x MC & Liam x Olivia)

What it’s about: This is an AU that happens two years after Riley weds Drake. Drake has lost his memory of last 2 years due to an accident. He doesn’t remember meeting Riley who is pregnant with their first child. Unaware of this fact and not able to cope with the strange new life he has woken up to , he flees Cordonia.

Liam marries Olivia for purely political purposes. Olivia on the other hand marries him because she is madly in love with him. But after two years on marriage and unable to produce an heir and unable to get Liam to love her, she asks for a divorce.

A/N: I recent watched two amazing web-series that left me hanging for next season. “People got to start finishing their story” I thought. And I should be the one to start. I have left you waiting and I am sorry for that. Here is the latest Chapter. Story is no where near end.

Summary of last Chapter : One and a Half Years Back : Regina explains Liam that not producing an heir in due time can cause chaos in Monarchy. She also hints that Olivia must consult a doctor. Olivia overhears this conversation and decides to consult a doctor. The doctor informs her that her ovary was damaged - during the fight with Anton. She was also suffering from a condition that was making it nearly impossible for her to conceive.

Now: Liam meets Drake at a ranch in USA. They talk and Liam clears that whatever happened was in past. and Riley was just a friend to him now. Liam also confirms that Riley was pregnant with Drake’s child. Drake decides to return with Liam.

Warnings: 13 + PLEASE NOTE: Past chapters links are available in my bio.Please Re-blog, Comment or at least hit like if you like this series.

One Year Back: Olivia stood in the balcony facing the private royal garden lush with thousands of flowers in all possible colors. Chirping of birds had filled the morning sky. A soft breeze were playing gently with her red locks.

It was a beautiful and peaceful morning, but her thoughts could not have been further away from it. Her thoughts were like a tornado causing complete havoc inside her. Standing in silence, with a stoic face, alone in the beautiful balcony of the grand palace, was the queen of Cordonia. The women envied by every other woman in Cordonia herself was feeling frustrated, tormented, empty, unworthy. Her entire life was flashing in front of her eyes - her parents who neglected her when she was a child, who were killed, who turned out to be traitors. She was left alone, rejected and frowned upon by everyone except Liam. She was just a child when she was made duchess of Lythikos. But she was a fighter. She had proven herself to be worthy of the title. It was not her fault that her parents were traitor. But everyone treated her differently. A child inherits not only the legacy of their parents but also their reputation - good or bad. She had learned at a very young age that one can gain respect in only two ways - love or fear. If they cannot love her, they need to fear her.

And she didn't care if no one loved her. She only needed love from one man, her husband - the King - Liam Rhys. He cared for her, he trusted her, liked her. But didn't love her.

A sad smile spread on her lips as she thought about the love of her life. It had been a year of their married life. And it seemed that the initial charm of their marriage was already dying down. The sex was becoming less frequent, and Liam seemed constantly busy in his work. She knew Liam had made it very clear that their marriage was a political one. Their first anniversary was a political affair too. They had a grand ball organized on their first marriage anniversary. Royal families of all neighboring countries had attended. The legendary party had been in news for days. But for Liam it was only a reason to meet the dignitaries of neighboring countries. A chance to make allies and strengthen the existing ties.

Her hands tightened on the railing. Was it too much to expect a small gift from him on the anniversary? Or just a loving kiss or a hug? maybe a few words saying what she meant to him?

She had hoped he would eventually fall in love with her. She was doing everything she could - taking care of his every need like a good lover, guiding and helping him in all state matters like a good queen, pleasing him in bed.... she was draining herself out - but all her efforts were going to a barren land. Not yielding any fruit. same way as her barren womb.

Would producing an heir change his feelings towards her? Or she would again be left aching for him? And would she even be able to produce an heir? Questions violently gyrated inside her like a tornado. It had been six months since the doctors appointment and even after taking the medicines regularly, there was no result. Maybe she was barren, empty, unworthy. She looked down the balcony. Will this agony end if she just take a leap? Her eyes were fixed at the land 20 feet below her.

“Liv” - Liam called out to her. Olivia felt as if she woke up from a trance. She turned and saw Liam standing at the door. She ran to him and wrapped him in a tight hug, burring her head in his neck.

Liam gently wrapped her in a hug,”Are you okay?” he asked. She just nodded without lifting her head. “You seemed lost there” he asked again.

She didn’t reply. But gently pulled away. She started to walk away from him, but Liam grabbed her by her wrist. “Something is bothering you, Liv” he asked, “dont want to share it with me?”

“There is nothing, really.” Olivia said looking in his eyes. Her gaze as fierce as ever. But Liam could see the pain covered behind the strong exterior. He however decided it is best to let go of topic.

“Liv, I was thinking that we should visit Lythikos for this weekend.” He was glad that he came up with the idea, because he saw a spark in her eyes as soon as she heard Lythikos. Her entire body relaxed and a smile spread on her face.

“Lythikos?” she asked.

“Yes, you haven't been to Lythikos since our wedding, and we can spend some time together. “ he suggested.

The two thing she loved - Lythikos and Liam - together for a weekend, what more could she ask for. “That’s brilliant idea” the scarlet duchess beamed - for a fraction of a second Liam saw the innocence of the young Olivia on the duchesses’ face.

“ I am going to make the arrangements” she kissed Liam on his cheek and rushed out, Liam chuckled looking at her. He was really glad he could make her forget about whatever was bothering her, even if for just some time.

---

Now

“They will be here any minute” Hana told Riley.

“He should have been here an hour ago.” Riley said firmly. “Press is waiting. We need to make a statement.” she walked out of the parlor of the hotel where the press conference was organized. Hana had already received a call from Liam informing that they have landed in Valtoria about two hours ago. He should have reached the press conference an hour ago, but there was no sign of him. Riley had continued with her schedule as if not caring about his arrival. But Hana knew that every news of Drake had effected her deeply. The last month had not been easy for Riley and Hana was not sure if Drake’s presence would mean for Riley.

Hana looked at her pleadingly. “Please wait for five minutes?”

“Even if he reaches here in five minutes, do you think he will be able to solve all problems?” Riley asked, “He is not Drake anymore, accept that.” She said and strode towards the press conference room.

She opened the room and took her place on the dais on the stage. She felt her heart beating fast in her chest. You can do it - She reassured herself. It was not new for her to face press for some controversy. But this was the first time Drake was not by her side. A simple lip curl on Drake’s face when she would look at him for support used to increase her confidence ten fold.

As she had sensed, the press had noted Duke’s absence. A murmur was going around the room that was hard to miss. Cameras started flashing. Riley raised a hand to silence the reporters. “Thank you for coming” She smiled at them confidently.

“I am here to let the land owners know that we have heard their concerns ” She knew she needs to be on point, and not let media control the narrative.” I want them to know that we are with them. We value them. We will not do any injustice with them. We have made sure that all land owners gets same area of land that they are donating or ...”

“Would you say they are donating? land owners feel like you are snatching the lands from them” a reporter interrupted her.

Riley stammered for a moment, but took a deep breath and continued,”The Dam is being built for the betterment of entire duchy. In fact, it will also benefit neighboring duchy. We need some land to create reservoir. We have planned the location so that it benefits the most...”

“But it was Sir Drake’s plan. Where is he? Shouldn’t he be answering us?” Another reporter interrupted her. This was the first time reporters were interrupting her. She hadn't expected such hostile behavior.

Riley felt her throat choke up. She took a sip from the water from the glass placed in front of her, and said,” He is away for an important work...”

“Is it true that he is away since a month?” another reporter asked. “Are you pregnant?” a voice asked from another corner. “Are you two separated?” another question was fired at her from somewhere else.

Soon all the reporters started firing questions from all directions to her. She found her voice choked up in her throat. She raised her hand to ask them to stop , but the situation was already out of hand. Hana ran to front and took a mic to ask the reporters to calm down. Their questions had now been replaced by a strange murmur discussing the rumors they had heard.A wave of panic rushed over Riley. The media hadn't been her friend last month and she had realized it long before today. But today the reality was staring her in her face. And she was proving to be weak. Suddenly the room fell silent. Riley looked up to see all eyes fixed to the door behind her.

She turned to see Drake entering the room. He had dressed up in a suit. His long hair gelled and combed neatly. He walked confidently to the stage Her heart started beating hard in her chest. She felt an urge to run to him and wrap him in a hug, to kiss him, feel his warmth. But she sat froze looking at him, gripping the chair to prevent herself from acting on the urge. Their eyes met for a brief moment. As soon as their eyes meet, Drake looked down, hesitant to meet her gaze. Within a fraction of second, he caught himself and fixed his eyes on the swarm of reporters and photographers who all had stood up by now.

Cameras were flashing all around. Capturing each movement of Drake. He was prepared for this. He strode to the desk with confidence. He adjusted his suit before taking a seat next to Riley. He gestured to the reporters to settle down.

“I understand that there are many questions that you need answers for.” He began calmly. He was trying his best to stay stoic and confident, but Riley saw his feet shaking below the table. She knew how hard this could be for him. Instinctively she placed a hand on his knee. Drake turned to look at her. This small gesture was enough for him to boost his confidence. He smiled thankfully at her. She gave a reassuring smile in return before gently moving her hand back.

“However, today we dont want to answer any questions. There are few things that needs to be said.” Drake returned his focus back to the crowd in front of them. He made sure his voice is firm and calm. Liam had made him practice this a hundred times in the flight back. “First, Riley will complete what she has to say” He looked at his beautiful wife sitting next to him. Riley nodded to him and started addressing the crowd before her. She explained the reporters how they are going to address the issues before them. No one interrupted her now. They seemed least interested in the land owners protest. They were here to know about Drake. And now when he was here, they didn't had many questions left.

Riley completed her speech with confidence. Drake looked at her through the entire speech mesmerized by her. They way she spoke with confidence and compassion, addressing all concerns of land owners one by one, made Drake look at her with new found respect.

“I assure you that we are going to discuss the concerns with each individual landowner to make sure that none of them face any kind of injustice. “ She said concluding her speech.”We have always stood by our people and will continue to do so. Thank you. I believe that you will continue to put your trust in us.” Riley had decided that as soon as she delivered the speech, she would leave. As she didn't want to answer any further questions. Her eyes met with Drake’s before she stood up to leave. But Drake immediately stood up to stop her, wrapping an arm around her waist.”Just a min,” he smiled looking at the reporters. “We have an important announcement to make”.

This sudden gesture of Drake again caused a turmoil inside of Riley.

“We are so happy to announce this....” Drake smiled proudly,” we are expecting a baby.” He gently placed his hand on her belly. Riley felt her body tearing apart. Half of her body wanted to run away from him, but half of her wanted him to envelop in his arms. She realized her shocked face is being photographed from all angles. She forced a smile and posed for the cameras. She knew this was going on the covers of all news papers and magazines tomorrow and in an hour on all social media. By now, she had mastered the art of disguising all her emotions in front of media.

“Thank you everyone” Drake waved to everyone. And gently escorted Riley away. Riley walked beside him wordlessly to the car. As soon as they sat in car, Riley shifted to side , keeping a distance between her and Drake. Drake too couldn't muster the courage to talk to her in front of the driver or the security.

---

After a very silent drive, Drake and Riley reached their estate with Hana. As soon as the car stopped, Riley stepped out of the car and stormed inside. Drake and Hana ran after her.

“Riley, please wait” Hana called out to Riley. But she didn't stop.

“Riley, please listen to me.” Drake called out to her. Riley stopped and turned to look at him. Tears running down her face.

“Don’t you think it is a little too late to talk?” she said clenching her teeth.

“Riley , please calm down” Hana ran to her to place a hand on her shoulder.

“I understand your anger. I am sorry Riley. I really..” Drake took a tentative step towards her.

“Oh! so now you are sorry?” Riley’s could not control her anger any longer,”And what? You expect me to forgive you?.” She took two steps towards Drake as if challenging him.

“Drake, please. Lets talk later.” Hana pleaded. Drake read the fear in Hana’s eyes.

“Yes, I guess we should talk later.” he said.

“No,” Riley said, her body shaking in anger,”You said you wanted to talk. so talk. I am listening.” Tears kept streaming down her red eyes, but she didn’t bother wiping them away. “Tell me why did you left? Without a word.”

“Riley, I am really sorry, please calm down.” he tentatively took steps towards her. Riley raised her hand to stop him. “Don’t come near me.” Riley took a step away from him stumbling a little. “How dare you come back as if nothing happened? Announce my pregnancy? Without even consenting with me...”

Riley paused, as if to compose herself.

“Riley....” Drake started to say something, but realized that Riley was loosing her balance. “Riley!” he shouted before rushing to catch her just in time before she fell.

A panic washed over as he saw her lying unconscious in his arms. “Riley!”,

Hana rushed to kneel down beside Drake. “Hana, bring some water.” Hana nodded and rushed to get some water.

“Riley”, Drake patted her cheek repeatedly to wake her up. “Please wake up!” he pleaded.

---

Disclaimer: The characters belong to Pixelberry.

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ao719 · 4 years

Text

Split

Split (Prologue)

Characters belong to Pixelberry

Summary: A change in the King’s behavior becomes the catalyst to revealing secrets buried beneath the surface.

Warning: This series will contain sensitive and NSFW material. If you read, you acknowledge you are 18+.

A/N: Thanks to @dcbbw, @burnsoslow, and @sirbeepsalot for beta/prereading!

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The queen’s heels clicked on the marble floor as she made her way down the corridors. She passed by staff who bowed and smiled at her and she greeted them in return. When she made it to the door she rapped her knuckles against the wood, hearing his smooth voice carry through from the other side as he called for her to enter. She opened the door and stepped inside, quietly shutting it behind her. He looked up from his desk, his baby blues sparkling when he smiled and it met his eyes as he looked at her.

“Hello, my love.” Liam stood from his chair and walked around his desk to greet her. He leaned down pulling her into a soft kiss as her one arm went around his neck, her other hand pressed against his chest.

“Hello, my king,” she whispered against his lips.

“To what do I owe this pleasure,” his arms encircled her waist as he dipped his head down and his lips gently found her neck.

“Oh, I just had some free time. I was curious if you had any ideas of how I could pass it,” she spoke in a sultry tone as she ran a finger down his chest.

Liam mischievously chuckled against her skin, the scent of sandalwood and jasmine coming from her neck filling his senses as he kissed his way slowly along her jaw before finding her lips once more. “I think I have something to keep you...occupied.” He captured her lips again in a deep, passionate kiss, one which caused her to feel dizzy and her heart to flutter as he led her to the sofa and laid her down. Shortly, the room was filled with giggles, gasps, I love you’s, and moans.

Liam and Alexandria had been married for just a few short months. After clearing her name in the scandal caused by his father and stopping Anton’s attempted coup in the weeks leading up to the big day, they married in the royal wedding of the decade. The press and people adored her as their Queen and they loved the two of them together. Their King was happy and it showed; their country and their people, despite the turmoil caused by the attacks, were thriving due to the trust in their monarchs. The only thing they seemed to be questioned on was their lack of an heir, but Liam and Alexandria were trying and were having more than enough fun in the process.

Liam’s life was something he never thought it would be. He had dreamed of marrying for love, but he knew it was a far reach with his title and eventually he grew to accept that it was something he would never have. That was until he met Alexandria that night in New York and she changed everything. She came to Cordonia and took him and his country by storm. He couldn’t ask for a better partner, friend, wife, or Queen for his people. If ever there was a woman of his dreams, she was it. He found himself within her, because of her. She supported and challenged him, she made him smile and laugh like no one else could, and she loved him with everything she had and she made sure to show and tell him every day. It would seem to everyone that Liam and Alexandria had the perfect fairytale marriage with the storybook happy ending.

****

Alexandria looked up into Liam’s eyes as she straightened his tie, a warm, satisfied smile on both their lips. Liam leaned down kissing her softly before she fixed her hair. “What’s on the rest of your agenda for the day?” She asked as she followed him over to his desk.

He sat, pulling her to his lap, her arm going around his shoulders and his around her waist. “Conference call with the French ambassador, our council meeting later...some paperwork. What about you?”

“Finishing my speech for the opening of the new children’s wing at the hospital, our council meeting later...paperwork,” she chuckled. She kissed him again, “I’ll let you get to work, Your Majesty,” she smiled as she went to stand, but Liam pulled her back to him, his hand sliding up over the contours of her chest to her neck, kissing her slow and deep as his thumbs traced her jawline. “Mmm, we both have work to do, my King,” she whispered against his lips.

“Ever the good Queen.” He kissed her once more before she stood from his lap. “I’ll see you later, my love.”

“You bet your crown you will,” she shot him a wink as she smirked and he laughed as she exited his study.

****

Shortly after Alexandria had left and he finished his call with the French ambassador, there was a knock on Liam’s study door. He called for them to enter and Madeleine walked in, there to brief Liam before the council meeting. “Countess,” Liam smiled.

“Hello, Your Majesty.” She sat in the chair with her folder of paperwork on her lap.

“Would you like a drink?”

“Not right at the moment, thank you though.”

Liam nodded. “So, who is up in arms this week?”

“Much to my surprise, no one. Lord Neville has finally dropped the subject of funds for Cormery Isle’s golf course. But we do have something else we need to discuss.” Liam raised his brow in question. “Auvernal and Montissero.”

“Madeleine-”

“Auvernal seems very interested, more so than Montissero. You know how Queen Amalas shows up unexpectedly. She must have heard through the grapevine that Auvernal was approaching us regarding an alliance and she popped in at the last minute to throw her hat in the ring. But King Bradshaw...he’s making a point to show the strength of his military and the benefit they can bring to Cordonia...which, I can’t say I disagree. Especially in light of Anton’s coup not too long ago.”

“I’ve already told you, Madeleine, an alliance isn’t something Alexandria and I are interested in exploring at the moment. It’s much too soon. The country is still healing after the attacks from the Sons of Earth and our people’s trust in others, reasonably so, isn’t there. Both of our focus is getting our own back to where we need to be before we even think of making potential alliances with any neighboring Kingdoms.”

“But-”

“No buts. We have other issues to deal with and Alexandria and I both agree. When the time comes, we’ll discuss our options. But until then, no discussions will be had with or about Auvernal or Montiserro regarding an alliance.”

“Very well.” She stood from her chair and walked to Liam’s bar cart. “How about that drink?”

****

A while later after finishing her speech and going through what seemed to be a never-ending amount of paperwork, Alexandria made her way from her Queens study, heading to the council meeting. She was running through her head what to possibly expect at this meeting as she made her way there. Lord Neville and his endless pleas for funds for that ridiculous golf course. Upcoming events; the tea party being one. And Madeleine and her endless subtle remarks about alliance negotiations. Alexandria rolled her eyes thinking about it.

She and Liam were both onto Madeleine and the little hints that the royal communications director liked to throw into these meetings, making her opinion on Cordonia having an alliance very clear. But she and Liam had agreed to hold off on talks of an alliance until they were sure their people and country were back on their feet after the attacks. Plus, Liam had already informed her what type of alliance they would more than likely be seeking...a marriage alliance between one of their children and the currently non-existent heir to the Cordonian throne.

The pressure they were under to conceive their heir had been the bearer of Liam’s stress lately. That, along with other things; alliance talks, still picking up the pieces after Anton’s attacks, and other monarchy related issues in general. Liam, ever the stoic King, tried to hide his stress from Alexandria, but she knew him. But Liam was also one with the mindset that he should bear most things on his shoulders and keep her as stress-free as possible, more so now than ever since their last checkup with the OB doctor who told her that stress can affect fertility. She didn’t agree with it at all, but she couldn’t get him to change his mind either. I’ll always carry you, carry us. Those were his words to her. Liam felt as though she had gone through enough between the social season, the scandal, the engagement tour, and everything that happened before their wedding, so he was scraping as much of it onto his plate as he could. But she didn’t want him to do that. She didn’t want him to go back to being as stressed as he was just a few months prior.

As Alexandria rounded the corner towards the council room, Olivia was coming from the opposite hall rounding the corner at the same time. “Fancy meeting you here,” Alexandria smirked.

“Yes,” Olivia rolled her eyes with a subtle smirk. “So are we ready to see who’s going to be bitching today?”

“No. Yet, here we are.” They approached the door, both taking a breath. As Alexandria was about to step into the room she felt a hand on her arm, pulling her back. She turned to see Liam, this smirk on his lips as he pulled her to a darkened corner and kissed her fiercely, catching her off guard. “What’s gotten into you?” She asked as they parted, giving him a look. She could taste the faint hint of scotch on his lips.

“Can’t I kiss my wife?” He spoke as he pressed his body against hers.

She stared up at him for a moment, looking at him curiously. “Yes, you can, but-” she was cut off as he kissed her again, a slight growl emitting from his throat.

“But what?” He smirked as they parted once more.

“But I would have thought that earlier would have satisfied you enough until later...” she spoke in a hushed tone.

“Earlier?” He questioned, hesitating for a moment before he smiled. “Oh...yes, right. Well, I’m never quite satisfied when it comes to you, love. I’ll always want you. All the time.”

“Well, we have a meeting to start, my King,” she slightly smiled up at him, finding his behavior to be a little odd.

“I suppose.” He loosened his grip on her and she turned walking towards the door feeling Liam’s hand slap her backside. Alexandria turned giving him a look and he smirked while cocking his brow. She shook it off and turned back, walking into the room, the members of the council rising from their seats to greet the King and Queen.

Liam and Alexandria took their seats followed by the others. “Thank you,” Liam spoke. “Let’s go ahead and start.”

The meeting went on, Neville not bringing up anything about funds for the Cormery Isle golf course, the tea party and other events being discussed, and Alexandria spoke briefly about the opening that was happening for the new wing of the Children’s hospital and the Charity Gala that would follow a few days later to raise additional funds for them for extra equipment.

“I believe...” Alexandria trailed off looking over the notes in front of her, “that that is everything,” she smiled.

“Actually, it isn’t, my Queen,” Liam spoke up.

She glanced over at him. “Oh?” Her brow arched.

“I believe we need to discuss with the council our options for an alliance.”

Alexandria stared at him, confusion and question settling in her expression. “What?” She whispered. “We talked about this, Liam, I thought-”

“I thought that it was time we started looking into our neighboring Kingdom’s offers. Just looking, nothing else...not yet anyway. I was reminded earlier, after meeting with Madeleine, how pressing the matter is becoming.” He turned and looked at Madeleine who smiled before she began running through the pros and cons between Auvernal and Montissero and what each Kingdom was offering Cordonia.

Alexandria finally took her eyes off Liam, slowly turning her head to look at Olivia who was giving Liam the same questioning expression. What the hell just happened? And since when does he listen to Madeleine, she silently questioned as Olivia met her gaze. Liam had always kept her counsel on matters like this, they had agreed to always keep one another in the loop, to show the people, their fellow court members, and everyone else that the King and Queen of Cordonia were, and always would be, a united front. But Liam just springing this on her out of nowhere, when they had just recently discussed the possibility of an alliance again a couple of days prior and had both agreed that now was not the time, had caught her completely off guard.

After the meeting had ended Alexandria slowly gathered her things as she watched Liam talk to the other members on their way out. Something was off. She wasn’t sure how to pinpoint it, but he was just not his usual self. He seemed extra friendly with everyone, not that he usually wasn’t friendly, but there was a lot more going into his efforts it seemed. He seemed jittery and antsy. And she knew that he had been drinking, which wasn’t uncommon for him to have a drink before one of these meetings, but not so much so that she could taste it in his kiss.

She watched as Neville and Madeleine walked out and she stepped up to him. “Care to tell me what the hell that was?”

Liam turned with this grin. “What do you mean, love?”

“Are you seriously asking me that question right now? What is going on with you, Liam?”

He looked at her, completely unfazed, “There’s nothing going on.”

“Liam...you just brought up discussions of an alliance that we specifically agreed we weren’t ready for. And you said that Madeleine convinced you it’s a pressing matter?” He stared at her blankly, not seeing the issue. Alexandria let out a breath, “You’ve been drinking far more than normal for this time of day and-”

“Did anyone ever tell you how gorgeous you are?” He smirked before leaning down to kiss her, but she pushed him away.

“I don’t know what’s going on with you, but you need to pull yourself together. You need to talk to me, Liam.”

Liam’s phone pinged and without even looking at it he smiled at her. “Can’t right now, love. Last minute meeting came up. I’ll be home later.” He gave her a wink and with that, Liam turned and stumbled a little out of the room before straightening himself out and disappearing from view.

#trr #choices trr #the royal romance #choices the royal romance #trr liam #trr mc #trr fanfic #king liam #trr liam x mc #choices liam x mc #liam x mc #king liam x mc #trr king liam x mc #choices king liam x mc #choices trr fanfic #trr fan fic #trr fanfiction #Split

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oristromboli · 3 years

Text

If You Be Our Star, We’ll Be Your Sky | 4

Chapter 4: Behold, a Child(e)

Paimon can and will commit crimes to get what she wants. Xiao finds himself more curious about humans than he wants to admit.

Meanwhile, Liyue welcomes the Eleventh Harbinger back (home).

(Smut this chapter: none)

How many beats can a heart take before it breaks?

One, two, three, four, five…

Five. It takes five beats before Teucer starts to sniffle, fat lips wobbling and tears threatening to pour; five beats before Ajax’s heart aches. He kneels, frozen in place and arms open for an embrace, waiting for Teucer to come to him. Along the docks of Morepesok, his family accompanied his travels back to the ship that arrived oh-so-soon to whisk him away to lands far from Snezhnaya. Both his parents and each of his siblings gave their farewells, parting gifts and food, fussed over his hair (if only his poor mother knew how often it was stained red with dried blood), yet one stood apart from the others.

Teucer acted strong, Ajax will admit it with pride. Though he clutched Mr. Cyclops and Mr. Dirty with ardor, he managed to keep a calm countenance until the last moment when Ajax’s arms opened wide.

When his younger brother drops both dolls – thank the Archons Ajax thought to wrap Mr. Dirty – and barrels into him, he lets out a soft oof and holds his quivering brother close. “D-do you have to go so soon, Big Brother?”

Ajax hums softly, rubbing his brother’s back as the boy hiccups before responding, “Aw, you know I have to go back to selling toys. Our company’s leader was so thrilled with my success last time! Don’t you want Big Brother to succeed?”

Teucer leans back and rubs his eyes with his arm, a snot bubble barely forming in one of his nostrils. “I do… But you promised to teach me how to fight!”

“Ah, I am so glad you brought that up because I have a special gift for you!” Ajax smiles with a sparkle in his eyes as he turns to his knapsack to pull out a necklace. It's a glass claw, though not completely see-through with frosted textures; wrapped around its base is a leather knot. “I saw this at the market and thought about my budding little warrior!”

Ajax’s smile never falters, even as he hears the disapproving tch from his father at the prospect of another fighter. Still, seeing’s Teucer’s growing happiness quiets the rest of his disapproving family.

“An owl’s claw!” Gloved hands reach out to tie the necklace around Teucer’s neck protectively.

“Yep! This is my lucky charm for you.”

“Huh? Your lucky charm? Then why did you give it to me?” Teucer’s head tilts slightly, and oh man, Ajax’s heartbeats in fondness once more.

“Because, silly, you know the old legend about these things. Warriors use it to find their way home.” Tonia and Anton suddenly crowd on either side of Teucer, marveling openly at the gift. “It’s my promise to you that I will always find my way back to you all, I won’t let anything stop me.”

The three siblings suddenly look up and, in unison, chirp: “Pinkie promise?”

Mischievous little things, the lot of them. Ajax laughs heartily. “Of course! You make a pinkie promise, you keep it all your life. You break a pinkie promise, I throw you on the ice –“

“The cold will the kill the pinkie that once betrayed your friend, the frost will freeze your tongue off so you never lie again!” Three little voices finish before he can, but quickly drown the ending when they rush his chest again to bury their faces.

It’s not long before he’s climbing aboard the ship, waving his hand behind him to his family. As the ship’s anchor raises, Teucer’s little legs carry him to the very edge before he takes in a deep breath and cries out, “Big Brother! Sell lots of toys!”

Tartaglia whips around to glare down the snickering Fatui agents who quickly attempt to disguise their laughs as coughs.

“I will, Teucer! Your loyal knight guarantees it! Be good, okay?” He responds cheerfully, waving his arm once more. The boat is slowly making its way out of the harbor, but not before he hears one more prayer from his little owlet.

“I will! I’ll make people happy like you do, too!”

He keeps waving until the Teucer is just out of sight before he sighs and turns, making his way to his cabin. Thankfully, the trip will be swift due to the boat being one of Snezhnaya’s newest models, but he still plans to take the time to recollect himself.

People are happy when they’re dead, right? Yeah, they are, no more tiring shit to worry about, Childe thinks. He’s always been doing those idiots a favor whenever they borrowed what they couldn’t pay back; their lives were bound to become forfeit one way or another anyway. He flexes his hands, feeling life flow through them with the eagerness to rob it from another. The Fatui are happy with his work and his family is happy in their ignorance - that’s all that matters.

When he takes in a deep breath and the salty water tickles his senses, he grins, eyes dulling once more.

---

Two ravens watch as the boat departs. Their glassy eyes peer at Teucer’s little skips, the way his siblings crowd around and coo at the gift.

They take off, following the sweet family home.

---

Oh, oh stars, why do you feel like shit…

It takes a few seconds for you to summon the energy to even open your eyes, your whole body throbbing with pain. Wh… What… Why? Did you drink too much or…? You groan, thoughts fizzling before they can even come as you rise and rub your face. There’s a smell of something… Delicious coming from… Somewhere, but you’re confused. Aether didn’t come wake you up…? You did not hear Paimon’s squeaks either; your blonde companion always made sure you were up in time for breakfast in case she decided to consume your portion. Again.

(“Food shouldn’t go to waste!” she says, all-knowing and ‘innocent.’

“… You little shit – “)

The clattering of utensils would draw your attention, really, it would, but the throbbing in your head won’t stop and the trickle of light between your fingers hurts so much.

“Ah! You are awake,” comes a smooth voice, deep and cheerful. You freeze. That voice. That voice is so familiar…

You blink awake, looking up to spy Zhongli standing in the doorway with amused eyes and – oh. Memories of last night come flooding back and you quickly raise your hands to your cheeks, feeling heat bubbling to the surface.

Much to your disappointment, Zhongli is fully clothed. And you are…

Immediately, you clutch the blanket and pull it over yourself, suddenly all-too aware of how exposed you look; this only draws thick laughter from your companion. “My dear, I believe it is far too late for modesty, no?” His eyes twinkle, yours narrow. “I have taken the liberty of cleaning your clothes for you, they are lying on the chair.” He gestures to his left and you follow the gloved hand – that beautiful, skilled hand – and you find your clothes neatly folded, politely pretending that they weren’t just soiled the night before.

“Thank you,” you manage to croak out, sleep still thick and throat hoarse from your noises from last night. More heat rises to your cheeks as you slowly stretch, failing to catch the lustful gaze following your form. “Did you make breakfast?”

“I did. A slow-cooked bamboo shoot soup I am sure you will appreciate,” he responds. Why is his voice deeper…? Sleep still clouds your mind; you can feel it desperately banging trying to wake you up, but frankly, you could not care less. Only, when you catch his small smirk, you look down and abruptly notice the blanket pooling around your waist to expose your (delightfully marked) chest to the world.

Ah.

“I will be at the table. Intuition tells me you are too tired for a morning exercise?” You snort at the euphemism, but nod along.

“Mm, your intuition is correct. I’ll see you there.”

A handful of minutes later and you emerge from the bedroom, stretching again as you settle in your seat beside Zhongli. He has already started eating and flashes you a small smile in acknowledgement before resuming his careful consumption. Ever the gourmet, you think, before beginning yourself.

“No wonder you’re so particular about your food,” you mumble as another piece of meat slides down your throat, the warmth soothing the pains there. “This is fantastic. Time really lends itself to nuances, doesn’t it?”

Zhongli preens under your praise, chest puffing slightly like a peacock. “I am glad you appreciate the gastronomy of this dish. Several ingredients had to be carefully acquired, and I thought it a fitting offering for your body.”

You sputter around the food, managing to barely swallow it down before coughing out an indignant squawk. “My body? Oh jeez, thanks. Not all of us can change our forms so easily.” Ah, you can’t bring yourself to be disappointed the sarcasm flew over his head with that cute head tilt of his, you just can’t. A thought seems to strike Zhongli as he looks you up and down.

“Considering the unplanned nature of our rendezvous, I believe we may need to stop by Bubu Pharmacy as well. I do not wish for something unexpected to slow your journey.”

“Hm?” What was he talking about…? Except, when you follow his eyes very pointedly staring towards your core, you smile softly. “Oh. No, we don’t need to worry about that. My kind has a more intricate ritual for these sorts of things.”

He tilts his head and damn he’s cute. “A more intricate ritual,” he enunciates slowly. “How fascinating. Why?”

“Mm, life is very precious to us because of how rare it is for one of us to be born. After all, concentrations of energy to make, er, ‘not-mortals’ like us are hard to acquire, it’s not just about the fun part. Think of it like…” You twist your mouth as you try to come up with an appropriate analogy. “Like those elemental spirits in Teyvat, or even adepti children – I think. Anyway, even though they live a lot longer than humans and are uncommon, they’re still kind of easy to make because of the abundance of elemental energy here, right?”

“Yes.”

“So, it’s along those lines too. Just as you are a god of the earth, our people are of the stars, but it’s a lot harder to find the resources in the vastness between worlds.”

“How interesting,” he muses before closing his eyes. “Adepti have a similar ritual since one of our bodies holds much more energy than that of a mortal. It is an art called ‘dual cultivation of qi.’ Put simply, we contribute energy from our own souls to birth another, although that is not all the practice may be used for. Perhaps I can recommend some books to you on the subject?”

You manage to catch the laugh before it comes out because of how casually, yet earnestly, he offers adepti erotica for you to read. As research. Aether’s going to love this one. “Yeah, sure, why not. Actually, on that subject, how did this – “ You gesture vaguely up and down Zhongli’s form. “ – fit inside me towards the end last night? Adepti magic too?”

He smiles at that. “Something of the sort. I am surprised you did not notice the Geo sigil.”

“Huh. Well, thank you.”

“You are most welcome,” he replies, smiling wider. “I have found previous lovers’ bodies to be delicate as well, requiring the utmost diligence to detail for their fragility. It would not bode well should the shell become damaged beyond repair. No use for that, of course.”

Well, at least you aren’t taking a bite this time since you would’ve surely choked on it again. Zhongli is just throwing out innocuous statements left and right without realizing how much of a punch they really pack. You quickly reach for your tea and take a larger sip, swallowing back the creeping tendrils of bitterness at the word ‘use.’

He still doesn't care, does he?

To be fair, you aren’t surprised he took previous lovers (you have too), that’s not what catches your heart off guard. No, it’s how he so casually referred to your body as an –

“Object. You think of bodies as objects?” Points to you, your tone is steady and casual; however, Zhongli’s eyes narrow as he catches the shift in atmosphere regardless.

“Is there something wrong? They must be maintained and nurtured, no? I understand you are not as frail as mortals, but you fall under my care regardless.”

The teacup you hold, true to its design from the Lord of Geo, withstands the force with which you grip it. “Zhongli,” you begin, slowly meeting his eyes, “I am not under your care. Our contract from when we first met has expanded into more favors; you help us in Liyue, we do something in return, et cetera. But I am not under your care.”

There’s a tense silence stretching between you two as you mention the first contract that stood between the Travelers and Zhongli. Although at some point, the agreement has become all but forgotten in the progression of your friendship, you still cling to it as a reminder for him that this is all this is. Just a deal.

You ignore the heavy weight in your chest as you look at the God of Contracts himself.

A slow frown settles on his lips. “Contracts cannot be used to define friendship, nor measure sentiment. So just what can we use to measure the weight of our emotions? Do you know the answer, friend?”

The last word is spoken a beat after the sentence, word soaked with confusion as he tests the weight of it on his tongue. He frowns deeper, and you try to desperately bury the hope that he dislikes that word as much as you do. Friend.

Do you dare hope?

You look down at the teacup again and grind your teeth. “You’re right, what we did have isn’t… A contract. Let’s not call it that. I’m… I’m sorry. I appreciate your attention; I’m just not used to it coming from someone whose body is almost literally indestructible. Thank you.” You are being completely honest with him; you truly appreciate the concern and attempt to convey it through tone. The words come out more forceful than you intended regardless.

Honestly, the fact that he tended to you with such diligence made your heart flutter, but you could not tell him the truth, not when his emotions are so clearly separated from his actions. Something to be cared for. He doesn’t even understand the meaning of his words, how could he?

Zhongli’s eyes watch you carefully as the gears in his mind turn rapidly. Was it what he said? He reaches out for you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to nestle his head against yours as you bury your face into the crook of his neck. “No, not friend. Starlight. Trust in me, please, as I trust you.”

You huff a small laugh in return, barely managing to hide the fractured longing. “Okay.”

---

(Lover, his heart whispers in a language unknown to the waking.

Yes, yours whispers back, sheltered by the starry night.

They are silenced by the weight of day.)

---

Hours have passed. Zhongli is walking along Yujing Terrace, twirling a glaze lily in his hands. He cannot stop mulling over the words spoken during breakfast after you two parted ways with a lingering kiss. Your familiar and warm smile graced him when he suggested you two continue meeting when time and energy permits.

But still, your tight hug and resigned eyes plagued him when you left. Why? What did he do wrong?

He looks down at the flower in his hand; there is something buried in his memories, begging to be remembered.

Morax, you cannot hoard people.

Guizhong… What did she mean by that?

He recalls all those millennia ago how he wanted to understand what he was feeling. Warmth gathered in his chest whenever he spoke to her, heard her laugh, held her. So, when he kept a long watch over Guizhong’s favored mortals, he noticed how the mortals would court one another, offer each other tokens. Thereafter, in the millennia following, he would show his mortal lovers affection in the same way: through careful vigilance and gilded gifts.

Yet there was one who occupied his thoughts before this time ever came to pass.

Gods clashed more frequently in those days; his claws held onto her tighter and fury raged at any who threatened her. She would only smile and hold his head, pressing gentle butterfly kisses along his muzzle and stony scales, would run her hands through his long mane and sing soft lullabies when he rested his head in her lap.

No matter how load his roars, how deeply the earth shook at his battle cries, their power would cease in the presence of the one whose voice the flowers would wake for.

His hands grip the lily tighter, stem crackling in the force of it. The day he lost Guizhong, he realized how foolish he had been, how lax he grew in his watch. Never again would he allow his weak lovers to put themselves in danger.

But…

He closes his eyes, and… A soft hand caresses his cheek while the air around him turns foul with the stench of ancient blood, of battles long forgotten by time.

Morax, you cannot hoard people. A flower is precious, though not as strong nor cold as your gold. It is not lifeless. Promise me you will remember this.

I promise.

What did he fail to understand? Her message was so clear. He fulfilled his promise, did he not?

When he opens them again, he looks down at the glaze lily in hand once more. However, when he loosens his grasp on the frail thing, the wind suddenly picks up and carries it away from him. Zhongli sighs, though he supposes it is fitting, nonetheless. He never did understand how to handle anything gentler than with an iron grip.

As he follows the blossom's path, meandering in its fall towards the ocean, that is when he sees it.

A Fatui ship crests the horizon and flies the colors of the Harbingers.

---

(Useful (adj): Being of service, advantageous to some end. Morax did not stop howling with grief to Celestia that day, did not stop begging for answers as to why Guizhong had to be taken, why it had to be her.

Hail to the king, came a thousand dissonant, gossamered voices in his head. Long may you reign, Morax.

It is the last they ever spoke to him.)

---

Before the boat docks, Ajax is sitting on his bed and holding his hands as he stares blankly at the mahogany box adorned with the crest of the Tsaritsa lying in front of him.

Inside, there are two empty spaces.

---

You’re smug, oh you’re so smug as you walk along Chihu Rock because the walk of shame didn’t haunt your steps. Despite getting absolutely railed, you managed to keep a steady gait and avoided stumbling like a newborn fawn. No, no shame there, just absolute smugness because Liyue, your Archon begged me to make him cum.

Despite the breakfast ending on a bittersweet note, you can’t find it in yourself to dedicate too much energy to the negativity of it all, tempting as that may be.

Not right now, anyway; this is all something to mull over more seriously when you’re alone because this throws a wrench in your plans of finding Lumine. No, as much as you would love to wallow in self-pity, you must find her first.

So ultimately, you convince yourself, this wouldn’t – couldn’t – last because of the nature of your existence and of his. You settled instead on enjoying what happiness you could wring from this situation, because stars above know you need it.

When you looked at Zhongli as you pulled away, you felt weighed down by the fact that this might be all you get, but you can’t complain. He promised to look after you, didn’t he? No matter in what way he thinks that means, it’s more than what you thought you would receive barely two days prior.

You smile as a wave of contentment blankets your heart (and lovingly strangles the background anxiety for future you to deal with). In your many long years, you discovered happiness is not some condition to be had or trophy to be won. If you declared that happiness would come only in ifs and whens, then it would never come at all. There is always one more hidden condition, one more test.

So yes, you choose to be happy. Well, more specifically try to make that choice, but you’re working on muscling past your worries. Things worked out better than you expected considering all the other trouble you and Aether have been mired in since losing Lumine. Despite that, though, you’ve found new companions to adventure with. The memories made were unexpected, but… Warm. Good, even.

As you approach Wanmin Restaurant, you spot the familiar halo of gold and excited noises from Paimon. When your step picks up and you begin calling for them, they turn and smile bright as the sun as they wave for you.

No, actually, better than good. Good doesn’t even begin to describe it.

---

(Use (verb): To employ for some purpose. You want to scream. You want to scream at the heavens, you want to scream at the stars, you want to scream at the hands that haunt your dreams.

The stars taunt you endlessly with their silence. Find your purpose with the mortals, you were told in the beginning. Find it with the memories you keep.)

---

“You weren’t there when we woke up, and Aether almost always wakes up before you! Where did you go last night?” Paimon asks as she takes a bite out of a sauteed mushroom. Aether grunts in agreement, gold eyes meeting yours. When they make direct contact with yours, he begins snickering as realization dawns on him. Damn him, he’s known you too long for you to hide anything. “Hey! What’s so funny?” she pouts, placing her hands on her hips.

“Nothing you need to worry about, Paimon,” you supply, hoping to steer this conversation very far away from these rocky waters.

“Aw, but you didn’t answer her question. Where did you go, huh?” Aether says, leaning forward to perch his head on both of his fists. Well then, this is about to be a shipwreck, no thanks to your traitorous companion.

“I, uh, went for a walk because I couldn’t sleep,” you reply as you try (and fail) to casually pour yourself more chamomile instead. “Zhongli found me and invited me for some tea to try and help me.”

“Oh, so that’s what happened. Zhongli wasn’t being so stingy for once,” Paimon says with pride lacing her words. Does the gremlin even have the right to act like a parent watching their kid graduate ‘common sense’? “That’s nice of him! He took care of you and even let you sleep over!”

Aether’s laughter is drowned out as you bury your face in your hands, mortification seeping into your bones. “Come on, what are you, two hundred and fifty again? Be mature about this,” you grumble as you kick his shin.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m just glad that he took care of you,” he continues as he gasps between words. “I know I’m usually the direct one here, but you skipped a few steps even I would’ve taken. Good on you!”

Of course your companion doesn’t understand the gravity of what happened, doesn’t understand how bad it is to get tangled with an immortal as travelers. Sure, had it been a mortal, you two would’ve had no qualms with leaving, knowing they would move on and find someone else. You've done so before. Their lives are fleeting and do not linger in an everlasting existence. But now…

You sigh deeply as sheer force of will manages to curb your annoyance. He was always the carefree and wild one, oblivious to anything beyond the next task in his tunnel-visioned life. Even if he is the elder of the twins, he is a stark contrast to Lumine’s calculating and noble personality. She stood up for people because it was right and Aether made sure there was compensation involved.

Aether rolls his eyes as he watches you sink further into your head. You honestly think too much in his humble opinion; it’s better to take action and just let the thoughts flow that way. After all, that’s how he handles daily life in Teyvat with these endless(ly stupid) tasks and it’s working out just fine. “Hey, don’t be so serious about it. Just take it one day at a time.”

Paimon cocks her head as she takes more bites from her noodles, looking between you two with abject confusion. “Yeah well, it was a kind of ‘in the moment thing’ last night,” you respond, hoping to mollify your racing heart. “Don’t expect much more to happen.”

“Besides the regular sleepovers, of course?” he hums.

“Oh! Paimon wants to know what his apartment looks like, too!”

“NO!” you both cry, startling the people around you. You duck your head as you mouth a silent sorry before coughing awkwardly. “Uh, you wouldn’t like it. It, um, it smells like one of Lady Ying’er’s special perfumes.”

“Yuck,” she says as she scrunches her nose, “Paimon is okay with not seeing it then. It’s probably boring since Childe isn’t funding him anymore, too. Oh! Maybe Paimon can get Childe to pay for us in Snezhnaya.”

“Really, Paimon? Really?” Aether snorts. “Extorting Childe twice? That’s just cold.”

You’re grateful that the conversation soon resumes to the regular discussion and banter. When the time came to pay and wrap up it up, Aether slides a piece of paper with the list of quests on them towards you. Instead of grabbing the sheet, you take out your journal to quickly mark them down and push the list back towards him. “This one near Qingce Village looks like it’ll be a long one. I noticed there’s also three smaller ones nearby Wangshu Inn. Paimon and I can take on the northernmost job while you ask Xiao for help?”

Ha, got him. Aether blushes and looks away, rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s different,” he mumbles before taking the sheet back. “Besides, I’m only doing this because it’s your turn to have a day with just her.”

“Yeah, it’s been a while since we’ve travelled together, right?” Paimon says, floating up and around you to look at the map in your journal. You don’t notice her though as your eyes soften looking at Aether. The poor thing is wringing the paper a bit too tightly, betraying the anxiety underneath at talking to the stand-offish adeptus. Well, at least that’s one thing you two have in common.

“Ye-ap, let’s go Paimon. Remember this time, teleport outside the city please, I had to pay a kid to keep quiet about that.” Paimon laughs nervously as she taps her fingers together.

“Paimon kind of forgot that people don’t know you guys aren’t human, oops,” she says, but begins floating around carelessly regardless. At least nobody questions the fairy, that much is a blessing. Aether stretches and yawns before standing, nodding to you two.

“I’ll see you tonight back on Mt. Tianheng, right?”

“Same spot as usual,” you reply. “C’mon, we should buy some supplies before setting off.”

Paimon follows you as you walk towards the harbor, waving behind her to the blonde disappearing. “Finally. A slow and easy day to kick back to. Piece of cake,” you say as you match Paimon’s eager smile to buy some snacks.

The sweet sound of famous last words.

---

Xiao turns the bag of herbs in his hands over and over again. They're the same he offered all those weeks ago, yet this time, they are of finer quality. Rarer. It took him weeks to gather this.

A horribly strange bouquet, Verr Goldet had told him.

A... bouquet? He blinked. She blinked back.

He hears voices from below and his heart races as he looks behind. Strange. He isn't in battle. Aether's soft voice is echoed up the steps, exemplified by the circular design of the hotel. Xiao swallows and hides the bag.

Later, he thinks. Later.

---

“Paimon doesn’t get it,” she starts, floating steadily beside you after you walk away from one of the residents of Qingce Village. “How did she lose a bracelet that was around her wrist running from a Ruin Hunter?”

You shrug. “Beats me. You might want to stay towards the back on this one, though. Remember the last time we got close to that?” A visceral shudder rocks Paimon’s body as she groans.

“Yeah, too many arms to dodge! The stupid thing kept trying to squish Paimon!” As you both pass a group of children, you notice some young women gesturing and talking about the building behind her. Paimon, however, spots the free mushroom skewers being passed out and beelines over.

“Oh, hello there!” the closest woman greets, bowing politely as you two approach. “How can I help you?”

“Hi,” you smile, hoping to look as calming as Aether always seems to, but you wince as you hear the strained crack. Nope. “We were wondering what’s going on here?”

“This is a small school group! I am about to show them the wonderful mansion here that the owner kindly allowed us to walk through and look at the wonderful artifacts collected. Qingce Village is known for its particularly strange history, even for Liyue.”

You nod along, an idea slowly forming. When her attention is pulled towards a kid trying to hit his friend with a stick, you nudge Paimon in the leg. “Hey, you’re not going to like this but play along,” you mumble. As the school teacher looks back, you smile wide once again. “Any chance you take drop-ins?”

Her eyebrows furrow, bowing slightly in apology. “I am sorry, but this is for children only.”

“Behold,” you declare flatly, suddenly seizing Paimon and holding her in front of the woman as she sags like a wet cat in your hands. “A child.”

Her eyes slowly narrow as she seems to be flipping between confusion and irritation. Shit, shit, think of something – “Can I, ah, talk to you for a second away from the kids?” She nods and whispers something to her compatriots as you both walk away, leaving Paimon to float once again around the group. When you are sufficiently far away, you turn and put on the most pathetic look you can muster. Pride: officially gone. “Listen, it would really mean a lot to me if you can let her have this. See, my partner and I found her all alone along the river one day and she said she was waiting for her parents to come back, but…”

You sigh dramatically as the woman covers her open mouth, but you continue before she has a chance to realize the sob-story is complete crap. “We know she looks kind of funny, is loud, and even floats weirdly… We think that’s why her parents left, y’know? Too strange.”

She nods sagely along. “Yes, I can’t imagine the pain. Poor thing.”

Hook, line, and sinker.

“She always really liked these sorts of things, but most people are put off by her appearance. Just this once, can she see the inside of this beautiful house?”

“O-oh, but of course!” You smile widely, because fuck yes you managed to find a babysitter for Paimon, never mind the fact that you just lied through your teeth. “Anything I can do to help, I will. Towards the end, we plan on giving out little trinkets to the children. Will this make her happy?”

“Yes! Yes,” you say, a little too enthusiastic. “That would make her day, thank you!”

As you both walk back, the woman claps her hands and announces to the group that the tour will begin soon. You take this opportunity to pull Paimon by the cape back a little and lean forward to whisper, “Hey, I just managed to snag you a spot in the group. Play along and you get treasure in the end, they’re letting the kids have some.”

Her eyes go wide – definitely a magpie, you think – and performs what is probably the worst salute you’ve ever seen. “Don’t get caught!” she chirps merrily as she follows along the tour group who are now starting to enter the vast building.

You wave to her before turning away to look for the indicated point on your map. Total piece of cake.

---

“You… You want my help with these menial tasks?” Xiao scoffs, crossing his arms as he scans Aether’s stiff form. The blonde is nervously laughing while looking everywhere but at the adeptus, confusing him further. No matter how many centuries pass, he thinks he will never understand humans. “I am a Yaksha, this is not the purpose of my duty.”

Ha, oh shit, take a deep breath Aether, you probably insulted him. Why is this so hard? Aether sighs as he deflates. “Yeah, you’re right, this is a little stupid of me to ask for from you.”

“I never said no.” Aether whips his head up, but Xiao is the one looking away this time. “Besides, your companions are not here. You will need my protection regardless.”

“Y-yeah okay, cool cool cool,” Aether laughs, relief washing through him. He grips his pants tightly to still his trembling arms. “D’you… Um, do you want some almond tofu before we go?”

Xiao looks at him, and had Aether blinked, he is sure he would’ve missed the hint of a smile on the adeptus’ face. “Of course.”

---

You quickly duck behind a rock when missiles whistle past you, barely scraping your head. When you hear the warbled noises of an unusually large Ruin Hunter coming closer (did it just crack its knuckles?), you make a break for the open ground to get a better vantage point.

Paimon really owes you this time, on your life she owes you so fucking much -

---

“And here, children, we see the God of Duality!” Wondrous eyes look up at a towering gold statue of a figure with eight heads - each carved with a different expression - and four pairs of arms. “Supposedly, it hides the God’s most coveted secrets, but no mortal has ever been able to figure out the mystery within the statue. Now then!” The lead woman claps her hands together, drawing all attention back to her. “As we approach the end, it’s time for little treats.”

A round of cheers and whoops break out as the kids make a dash for the pile of goodies being offered. Paimon raises her hand, waving it around to catch someone’s attention. “Oh! Oh! Paimon wants to know if we can take anything there?”

The woman nods, cheerfully smiling. “Of course! Our generous host has allowed us these gifts.”

Paimon grins, waiting for the woman to walk away before floating off to the statue. Behind the towering heads, she spies a single scroll tucked in the center. Jackpot. “Well, she did say anything,” the fairy giggles to herself as she grabs it.

Maybe Zhongli can translate this? She kicks her legs in excitement at the thought of more treasure. Really, it was the lady’s fault for failed semantics. No harm, no foul, right Paimon?

---

“Xiao, c’mere! The water is nice!” Aether shouts. The adeptus is crossing his arms, unimpressed face watching Aether waddle around Luhua Pools. They’ve already completed their given tasks, so they decided to meander around the final location before continuing.

Or, rather, Aether insisted and completely ignored Xiao’s complaints.

While holding his pants, Aether slowly makes his way over, smiling brightly. “My boots don’t need guarding, you know.”

“I am not partaking in something so foolish, Aether.”

“Suit yourself. I can’t make you come into the pool…” He suddenly smiles, slowly leaning down. Xiao’s eyes follow his movements, eyebrow arching with creeping suspicion. “… But I can bring it to you!” Aether swipes his hand and summons a gust of wind to blow water onto Xiao. He begins sputtering and opens his arms, soaked through and petulant. If looks could kill, he sure as shit would’ve been dead by now. Wait. Can Yaksha looks really kill…?

Before he has a chance to think much more about it, a retaliatory gust of wind knocks him off his feet and into the pool, water rushing into his nose. Xiao smirks, willing his spear away again as he watches for Aether. The other must be mad now, too. But…

But of course not. Aether only stands up, coughing up water and fish flopping in hand. Does nothing irk him? How stupid. The other is completely oblivious to Xiao’s bewilderment, saying, “Look! I caught our lunch!”

How can someone so old still be so young at heart? Xiao chuckles slightly, utterly disbelieving in the concept that someone can still be so good inside. Aether’s face heats at the sound and he turns, grabbing his scarf to hide the flush.

Very soon after, though, he yelps when he feels a sharp tug of the scarf down to reveal golden eyes staring back at him and suddenly very close. And… Is he…? “You came into the water!”

“Yes…” Xiao pauses. Why did he come here? He only registers the lingering irritation at Aether’s attempts to hide his face. “I did.”

The blonde starts smiling, pink never leaving his cheeks. Xiao joins him.

Ridiculous.

---

“Well, Paimon thinks it was worth it!”

You snort. “Great. At least one of us does.”

The two of you are walk-floating along, idly passing through the afternoon as you make your way back to Liyue Harbor. With reward in hand, you’ve retrieved Paimon with a thousand thank yous slipping past your lips in gratitude as you pointedly ignored their confused looks over the dirt staining everything. Even Paimon made a comment on your disheveled appearance, twigs in your hair and light scrapes on your skin.

“Hey, speaking of, what was in those little goodie bags? I saw some kids walk away with one.”

“Oh yeah! The lady said we could take anything, but Paimon didn’t grab a bag. The scroll behind the statue’s heads, on the other hand…” She giggles and pulls out the scroll from somewhere and floats to a nearby rock.

She completely misses the appalled expression you shoot her as you follow. “You… You stole from them? When they said anything, I really do think they meant the bags, Paimon.”

“They said that nobody could figure out the secret, anyway. We’re actually doing them a favor,” she protests while rolling out the scroll.

“You committed petty theft!”

“And you lied to her, so Paimon says we’re even.” The gremlin even has the gall to stick her tongue out as you struggle to keep yourself from face-palming. Instead, you do a double-take at the scrawled marks along the paper.

Inside is a map that is very clearly Liyue, but it’s also very clearly not. The geography has changed, though you can likely point out certain monuments if you took the time to compare it to your modern map. No, the drawings inside say there were more mountains, larger rivers, and… You pause. This map is very old because according to this, there is no Dihua Marsh; instead, there are rolling and fertile plains marking its location.

It’s no wonder that no mortal was able to figure this out, you would need an immortal’s help. You should definitely ask Zhongli, there are very few left in the world who can make heads or tails of this. When you rub your hands along your head, you sigh and throw your head back. “Give me… Give me a few hours to copy this down, then I’m going back to try and return it. Hopefully, I won’t get caught.”

“Paimon is guessing that you’re going to go alone?”

“Yes, I am. You, on the other hand,” you say as you summon a bag of Mora. Her eyes immediately widen as she swoops down to yank the bag from your grip. “You are going to take this Mora and go to Liyue Harbor. Try not to get into too much trouble.”

She smiles as she hugs the bag closer. “Paimon likes this, we should do these ‘us’ days more often.”

“No, we should not.”

“Aw, you’re no fun!”

---

It’s… It’s cute, Aether thinks. Xiao is trying so hard to eat the grilled fish, but he is clearly struggling to stomach the dish. Didn’t he say once that the only food he can handle is almond tofu? “You know, you don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to.”

Xiao grunts stubbornly and doubles his efforts, chewing very methodically on the flesh. “It’s passable. Much better than those other sacrilegious dishes.”

“Thanks, I think,” Aether laughs, but doesn’t take the negative sentiment to heart. If anything, he knows this is probably the nicest thing Xiao has said about anyone’s cooking. Ever. “You still don’t have to eat it. It’s okay.”

“I want to,” Xiao huffs.

“Why?”

“Because you made it.” Xiao blinks and pins Aether with an incredulous stare, as if that fact were the most obvious thing in the world. He sighs as he shakes his head and resumes picking at his meal. “Fool.”

Well, maybe he is a fool. Aether’s lopsided grin grows as he scoots closer to Xiao, bumping shoulders with the adeptus and relishing in the fact that the other doesn’t pull away. “Come to Liyue with me. Please. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Xiao looks at him again. Stubborn troublemaker. He’s stunned, though, because Aether’s adoring eyes are so radiant and they look at him softly. Kindly. Sweet, like honey. “I do not need your protection,” he growls, growing frustrated at his own saccharine thoughts.

“I know. Let me give it anyway. Just don’t go.”

He only huffs in response and Aether hums. Hums turn into soft tunes, soft tunes turn into gentle singing, and his voice is carried along the wind to the forest around them. Slowly, Xiao leans closer to Aether, and the latter leans back into him without skipping a beat in his music.

Damn humans.

---

(Used (adj): To be previously owned, to have worn out its purpose. Ajax knocks his Vision, his Delusion, and the Tsaritsa's box off of his nightstand. The clattering on the ground is deafening.

He falls to his knees, holding the chopsticks close to his chest. When he looks to the ring on his fingers, he sees his own reflection: soft, young, pitiful. Is this how you felt?)

---

Not once throughout their stroll from the harbor to the Northland Bank for Childe to drop off necessary items did Zhongli stray from the Harbinger’s side. He pays no mind to the way Ekaterina shifts her gaze occasionally to him as he inspects the bank’s interior, waiting for Childe to settle his things.

They’re walking the edges of Yujing Terrace, chatting idly as the sun sets. As nice as the conversation is, though, Childe notices something very off. “Hey, you didn’t ask why I came back this time around.”

Zhongli hums and smiles at him brilliantly, and he feels the wind leave him at the force of it. Gods. This is just embarrassing at this point, why does Childe feel like a teenager around the older man? “I did not ask because it did not matter. You are here, are you not?” Zhongli steps forward and suddenly wraps his arms around Childe’s hips, burying his face against the other’s neck. “If you desire it, you will tell me. I trust you.”

Childe swallows because fuck, that something in his chest is back with a fury. His heart is hammering and banging against his ribs, begging to be released. Zhongli trusts him? “That’s a stupid choice,” he mutters as he wraps his own arms around Zhongli’s back.

“Perhaps. It is mine to make.”

He holds Zhongli tighter. Idiot, fucking idiot, strolling back into this god's arms, unable to resist the warmth offered.

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice -

“I’m here for the Travelers,” he suddenly blurts, but Childe finds no hatred in himself for his guard being shattered. That’s because… Oh. Of course. He throws his head back, infamous laugh bubbling up. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

“I had my suspicions,” Zhongli admits as he pulls away, reaching his hand up to thumb Childe’s chin. Only, this time, Childe finds no scrutiny coming from the other, but simply… Something. “There is no other reason for a Harbinger’s presence. The Tsaritsa wants to keep one eye on me, and now, the other is laid upon the Travelers. I am sure she is afraid of how close I am getting to them while I guide them through this nation and onto Inazuma.”

Ah. He doesn’t know. Not really. Childe swallows back the acidic bile, his heart now a lump in his throat. Though, he naturally must give credit to Zhongli, he is exceptionally close to the truth. Not quite, but close enough.

This is good. This is better. Zhongli can’t know. He’ll never forgive him if he did. It'll be cold again, it'll be dark, it'll be lonely.

He ignores how, when the day comes, he'll lose you both.

“Yes.” A half-truth. Childe was sent here to feed the Tsaritsa as much information on the Travelers as he can, and anybody with some semblance of wit would have figured that out. It is enough, though, because Zhongli smiles and leans forward, pressing the softest kiss to his lips that he has ever been gifted.

Ajax wants to weep.

---

(Knight and champion, croons Morax’s heart, reaching forth across the realm of mortals. He who won my heart, won my favor, won my protection.

King of kings, Ajax’s whispers back to that divine voice from the mountains. He who I will kneel before forevermore.)

---

To say that Aether was confused is an understatement.

Because confused doesn’t even begin to fucking cover it.

Both he and Xiao watch silently, arms crossed in a mirror of one another – cute, Paimon thinks – as the fairy devours her tenth helping of sweet madame. The three of them are sitting atop Mt. Tianheng after Aether stumbled across a very companionless Paimon carrying a bag of Mora. She gave half an explanation, saying it was for food and promising that she’ll give a proper story when she was fed.

(“I can’t think on an empty stomach!” she pouts.

“I didn’t know you could think,” comes the droll reply from Xiao.)

He knows she has five stomachs, he knows it, but where did it all go? Apparently, Xiao is just as confused, because throughout the meal, the adeptus has leaned closer to Paimon with open fascination.

“So, what you’re saying is you were bribed into coming here while you left her to fend for herself?” Aether is just… He’s stupefied, really. Xiao hasn’t spoken once in the entire interaction. “Start talking, Paimon. You just ate through three days’ worth of commissions.”

She nods and, with all the delicate grace of a queen, picks up a napkin to wipe her mouth. But, before she can even begin, Xiao suddenly stands and summons his spear while he crouches into a battle stance. Aether scrambles as well while he grapples wildly his own sword.

Wait, who is that coming up the steps…?

“The nerve of you humans will never cease to amaze me. What makes you think you are welcome here?” Xiao spits venomously.

“Well, hello to you too comrade!”

---

You slowly creep along the rooftop of the mansion, scroll in hand. Unfortunately, you had to wait for a shift in the guards before you could make your move since they were stationed on each floor’s balcony, meaning you were stuck out there far long than you initially planned for.

As you slowly open one of the sky windows, you wince as you hear a slow creaking. Okay, okay, you’re close, you’re almost there. When you drop from the roof, you cushion the landing with a soft roll before shuffling forward, crouching against the wooden beams. Now then, where did Paimon say the statue was again?

It takes some time, but you eventually find the golden statue and wow, okay. You really can’t blame Paimon, you’re pretty sure you would’ve committed crime for just one of those glittering eyes. The statue is adorned with some of the most intricate designs you’ve ever seen, and the many jewels bedazzled along its heads are foreign to you. Focus.

You leap onto one of the arms and begin climbing, only to double your efforts when you hear footsteps down the hall. Right as you scramble into the circular space between all the heads, not unlike the inside of a pagoda, you hear the guards take their place at each exit. Unfortunately, you can't put the scroll back without making too much noise lifting the seal inside. The change forces you to stay hidden until the next shift, lest you get caught and betray the trust the people of Qingce Village placed in you three to not be petty criminals.

Well. This is just spectacular. Piece of cake.

---

“Let us all settle down now,” Zhongli rumbles, placing a gloved hand on Childe’s summoned hydro blades. Across from them, Aether’s own body is protectively standing in front of Xiao, willing himself to be a shield against the possible brawl. Childe notes that his mask has not been summoned, which is a good sign. “Xiao, you have seen Childe accompany me several times since Osial. Why do you insist on such aggression upon each meeting? You know how I feel about it.”

“What? Several times?” Paimon squeaks, looking between the two groups standing off. Childe waves innocently, crinkling his nose in a shit-eating grin. “Just what have you guys been doing?”

“I like trying to get Zhongli’s pesky guard dog to fight me,” Childe shrugs. He lowers his hands and wills his blades away. When everyone gives him a stunned look, he only says, “What? Just because I’m a warrior, you all think I can’t play nice for my first visit back with Zhongli and friends? Ouch, tough crowd.”

“That’s because you’re a Harbinger,” Paimon grumbles, crossing her own arms. “You can’t be trusted.”

“And you,” he hisses, pointing an accusatory finger at her. “Blackmailed me for Mora.”

"Wait, wait, wait," Aether suddenly cries, silencing everyone with his raised voice. He rarely, if ever, spoke with anything other than jovial remarks or soft contemplations. "Why the fuck are you here, Childe? What happened to Snezhnaya? What are you even doing here?"

Did... Did Aether imagine that shadow flash across Childe's eyes? Just as quickly, Childe smiles and crosses his arms. "Why? Are ya mad I ruined your little date?"

Aether crosses his own arms and begs all that is holy that the night is dark enough to hide his flush as he smirks, trying to focus on the fact that Childe is here, in front of him, right now. "No, just trying to figure out if it's going to be a knife or your excitement stabbing us in the back this time around."

"Fuck around and find out bud."

"Enough," Zhongli announces, sighing deeply. "I apologize for disrupting your gathering. We were not aware of your presence here, so we will take our leave."

To everyone’s surprise (again), Xiao retracts his spear, but remains on guard, nonetheless. No, what’s shocking everyone is the fact that he’s staying. Why is he staying? Aether slowly breaks into a wide smile as he realizes that, with each passing second, Xiao is less and less likely to scurry off to Wangshu Inn again. “You are permitted to stay, but only because of Zhongli. He's right, we are acting dishonorably in front of our companions. However, should I see you again and we are alone, I will not hesitate to strike you down, you dog.”

The Harbinger barely restrains his snarl at the word. Instead, he smiles at the other, challenging eyes mirroring Xiao’s. “Looking forward to it.”

Aether thinks he sees mutual satisfaction in both of their faces. Was this some sort of... bizarre... murderous camaraderie-building exercise?

“Besides, I promised to accompany Aether. I will not betray his trust.”

Xiao did not, in fact, make an explicit promise, but Aether does not comment. No, he’s directing all his energy on slowing his heart rate at the confession. Huh. Is it bad of him that he’s more focused on Xiao’s little speech rather than the very real threat he just made to Childe?

Childe snorts and walks forward with Zhongli following. “Thanks for your permission, asshole. Could’ve left the last part out.” The two take a seat on the other side of the grand banquet set out for Paimon. Slowly, Xiao follows Aether’s lead and takes a seat as well. Childe frowns as he looks around. “Hey, is pretty bird down at the harbor getting more food or something? Where is she?”

“Paimon will explain everything when the food is all gone!” She smiles around another dumpling sinking into her mouth. How the fuck did she manage that? The thing was as big as her head! Childe leans forward, suddenly as invested in whatever was going on in front of him as Xiao was. "Besides," she mumbles, "You still have to explain why you're even here."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, I'll get to that when she comes back. The real question is, how are you managing to eat that...?" Childe replies, narrowing his eyes.

Aether leans closer to Xiao to whisper, “Hey, protected you, didn’t I?”

“You are a fool.”

“Yeah, I know,” comes the cheeky reply.

Some time passes as the five of them interact quietly amongst themselves. Zhongli and Childe take their turn watching Paimon’s appetite with a combination of curiosity and disgust, respectively, while Aether and Xiao took to talking about everything and nothing as a distraction from Xiao’s bubbling irritation.

“I am most grateful that you have not left us,” Zhongli says eventually, eyeing the other adeptus present. Xiao scoffs and looks away. “I am serious. This means a great deal to me.”

Xiao has heard those words extraordinarily little across the many millennia serving Rex Lapis. The god never wants, never acts in his own interests because he always had others to care for. So, to hear those words… The faintest blush colors his cheeks. “You know I do not care for the company you keep, so make no mistake, I still distrust him. Do not expect me to linger. When the criminal is done explaining, I shall go.”

“Criminal?” Childe bursts out suddenly before laughing and clutching his sides. Not for the first time, Aether wonders how many loose marbles are in the Harbinger’s head. “What’d she do now?”

“Yeah, Paimon,” Aether says, almost too sweetly. “What did you do?”

“Well, Paimon didn’t do anything.” She tilts her head as she puts her finger on her chin, deep in thought. Hm… “Besides, she’s okay. Everything should be fine, right? Yeah, everything’s fine. She can handle herself! So, here’s what happened…”

---

Everything was not, in fact, fine. Curses from Teyvat and beyond are all you chant as you feel guard dogs nipping at your heels, furiously chasing you down after you accidentally ran past their miniature houses in the fields surrounding the house.

---

Wow. Paimon doesn’t think she’s ever had that many accusations laid at her feet like that before.

Childe is laughing harder, genuine tears streaming down his face this time. “Oh Archons, I cannot believe you! And I thought the cocogoat story was good...” Zhongli is pinching the bridge of his nose while Aether’s hands are pressed together in a prayer position as he takes in deep breaths.

“So, wait wait, let me get this straight,” Childe coughs, voice cracking with amusement. He lifts one hand up and begins lowering fingers with the other as he counts off the list of crimes Paimon has apparently committed. “You've done identity fraud, petty theft, blackmail, extortion, accepted a bribe… Am I missing anything here?”

“Hey! You make it sound like Paimon is a bad person!” She tries pouting, but only sputters as Childe flashes a knowing grin. Well then, that can’t be good.

“Coming from a verifiable ‘bad guy,’ let me give you some advice – ��

“Nobody asked, Fatui scum.” Xiao narrows his eyes as Childe stares back, clearly trying to settle his own temper.

“I’m just offering free help to dear Paimon.”

“You know what they say about anything that’s free: it’s worthless.”

“Listen here, you jackass – “

Zhongli suddenly growls, silencing everyone around him. Aether jumps at the sound (and at how Xiao’s hand shoots out to settle on Aether’s leg in an attempt to calm him) while Paimon squeaks and hides behind the duo. “I will not have such disgraceful and raucous behavior. I have permitted enough of it earlier. Now, behave.” Childe nods, though as Zhongli closes his eyes, he very quickly makes a rude gesture to the other. Aether snorts, but before Xiao can respond, Zhongli has them open again. Ha.

However, it isn’t long after the outburst do all parties present hear it: a soft shuffling sound up stone stairs following by quiet grunts. When you emerge from behind some bushes, everyone sees how you’ve taken the liberty of buying not one, not two, but three bottles of the strongest alcohol Liyue has to offer and cradled it close to your chest.

Vague confusion clouds your exhausted mind as you spy the scene. Huh. Why isn’t Xiao attacking Childe -

Wait. No. That can’t be right. This isn’t…

All fatigue is struck down, leaving you wide awake as you whisper, “Childe?”

He smiles softly. “Hey there, pretty bird. Missed me?”

---

(Dear star, Ajax’s heart murmurs in the rare dream granted to him from beyond the abyss, why do you stay hidden in the heavens so? I wish to have you.

Dear ocean, comes the soft reply, why do you ask for that which you already hold each night? Silence your weeping, for I have never left.

But it is only a reflection I embrace.

Then, will you follow the constellations I draw for you? Come home and you shall not be alone.

… Can you promise this?

Yes.)

notes:

alt chapter title: the return of the KING

1) In some Russian myths (as far as I could find), owls have two meanings: the first is that when a soldier falls on the battlefield, they will use their claws to fight their way into Heaven. The other traditional symbolism is that owls actually represent absent-mindedness/folly because even though they can see and thrive in the dark, they are blinded and cannot see anything that is as plain as day to everyone else. Poor Teucer.

2) I know Snezhnaya is Russia, but in the spirit of general Viking symbolism and northern folktales, I wanted to reference the two ravens as being similar to Odin's spy ravens. These birds basically watch over the realm and report all their findings back to their master.

3) Zhongli's line about contracts is a direct word-for-word pull from one of his voicelines. Also, for more of Aether's personality, I found that the MC voicelines typically make them out to be somewhat of a "shoot first ask questions later" type person since they always seem to react more philosophically after taking major action. That, combined with the fact that most of our dialogue options are choosing between making fun of Paimon or asking what's in it for them, and you get Aether!

4) I imagine that though the two of them clash kind of more violently after Osial, Childe and Xiao begrudgingly tolerate each other because of their mutual respect/love for Zhongli. Immediately after the incident, Xiao probably attacked/followed Childe to protect Zhongli, much to the latter's embarrassment. I don't know about the other East Asian languages too much, but in Korean, calling someone a dog is among the worst insults you can throw at them.

5) We're entering the next arc with the scroll I cannot wait

<3 love love love you all

(Paimon is a canonically a criminal change my mind)

#zhongli #zhongli x reader #zhongli fanfic #childe #childe x reader #childe fanfic #genshin fanfic #genshin impact #aether #xiao #aether x xiao #genshin childe #genshin zhongli #genshin aether #genshin xiao

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dcbbw · 4 years

Text

Six Sentence Sunday (Late Night Edition)

Thank you for the tags @ao719, @bebepac, @bbrandy2002, and @burnsoslow.

I am working on a lot of stuff, but not much to share at the moment, but I do have some things in my goody bag.

Everything is still in draft mode and subject to change.

Complete list under the cut.

Dress Up (Kinktober | Day 17 for SGL x Riley B.) :

“You wanted our first time to be special,” he said with a trace of wonderment.

Riley nodded vigorously.

Liam leaned in, his lips brushing hers softly. His mouth drifted to her cheek, then her jawline. He pressed kisses against her skin, going lower until his face was nuzzled into the crook of her neck. Riley let out a shaky moan feeling the tip of his tongue lick her skin.

“Try it on for me,” he urged.

“But the surprise …”

Liam pulled back, shaking his head with a slight chuckle. “You will never cease to surprise me, Riley B.,” he whispered. “And I’ve already seen it, might as well see it on you,” he reasoned.

Riley and Liam stared at each other. Finally, Riley nodded. “Okay. But STAY OUT HERE!”

Liam nodded in agreement and watched Riley’s hips undulate against the soft knit of her olive colored dress as she disappeared into her bedroom, shutting the door behind her. He flopped into a wingback chair as his eyes crossed and his hand covered his growing erection.

She’s going to be the death of me.

Inside the bedroom, Riley had pulled off her dress, bra, and pantyhose. She sat on the edge of her bed as she held the black overbust corset in her hands, working the ribboned fastenings loose. She wrapped it around her, hooking the front eyelets closed.

The bodice of the corset was black leather; the remaining material was a gorgeous black lace. She rose, standing in front of her full-length mirror, marveling at how her breasts were pushed together and up; her cleavage was magnificent. Her head turned at the sound of the bedroom door being pushed open.

“LIAM!” she yelled. “You said you would stay in the living room!”

Liam’s shirt was untucked from is jeans and fully unbuttoned; glimpses of a broad, well-defined chest caught Riley’s eye. He stood behind Riley, his lips kissing the nape of her neck.

“I thought you might need some help,” he murmured in a husky tone as his fingers drifted down her back, caressing black satin ribbons.

To Form a More Perfect Union:

Olivia smiled as she patted the guard’s arm. “Well, don’t let me keep you. I simply came down to check in with your men that their accommodations have been satisfactory and to inform them that breakfast will be available at 8am in the Main Hall dining room.”

“Very thoughtful and generous of you, Duchess. Check in with Severus; he’s my second-in-command and will be sure to relay any and all communications to the officers.”

The thud of the Armory door thudded as it swung shut; Bastien turned as Oliva looked up. Anton Severus was striding down the hall towards us.

“Anton, is anything wrong?”

Anton shook his head. “No, sir. Just stretching my legs.”

Bastien glanced at his watch. “I have to go. Duchess, you can tell Agent Severus about breakfast.”

Olivia smiled thinly at Anton before shifting her gaze to Bastien. “I shall. And I will have staff prepare an early luncheon given that plans have changed.”

Bastien nodded before leaving Olivia and Anton alone in the hallway. Olivia gazed at Anton with a raised brow.

“You’re not going to bow to nobility?”

With a sardonic smirk, the guard gave a stiff bow. “Your Grace.”

Olivia bridged the distance between them, pressing her hands against his uniform. “You were correct. The itinerary has changed.”

“We need to have a solid plan in place, my pet. So, which will it be? Accident or robbery?”

“Accident. We can’t risk any witnesses until after he’s dead. You’ll arrange for the rental car?”

DC AU, Chapter 6 (Untitled):

Drake pulled into the gas station next to Riley’s apartment building; he wanted a Pepsi. Riley only had diet and sugar free sodas at her place. Drake needed the sugar. He frowned at the flashing multicolored lights that surrounded the doors and windows of the building. It looked like Christmas on crack.

He stepped inside, wrinkling his nose at the pungent odor of the oversized incense sticks on display just to the left of the door. In the short time he and Brooks had been broken up, it was evident the gas station was under new management. The establishment was now brightly lit and sold everything under the sun. Windex, motor oil, dishwashing liquid, toothpaste, feminine products, and toilet tissue were crowded on a top shelf.

His eyes glanced downward, and he saw gallons of water, paper towels, shampoo, bottles of bleach, and cans of wet pet food on another shelf. Multitudes of snacks, candies, chips of all types and sizes, nuts, and food products including instant ramen, canned soups, canned tuna fish, and sardines were scattered throughout the store.

Drake felt almost embarrassed to have only two bottles of soda in his hand as he stepped up to the cashier.

The man scowled at Drake through thick plexiglass. “Is that all?”

Drake was scanning what was behind the counter: tobacco products of every type, bongs, ashtrays, false eyelashes, TOPS wrapping paper, cigarettes by the pack or carton, doo rags, hair gel, lighters, sexual enhancement pills, and was that…..weed? In a jar?

Drake pointed to the jar. “Is that weed?”

The cashier looked affronted. “It’s hemp!” he said contemptuously.

Drake looked at the jar again, then back at the cashier, clearly puzzled.

“What’s the difference?”

The cashier looked furtively around the shop, making sure he and Drake were alone. “The po-po.”

Future Riam (Untilted)

Riley smiled down at her son, making wide eyes and funny faces at him. She pulled the infant closer to her bosom as she inhaled the baby smell coming from him. Suddenly, a look of panic crossed her features. She had two arms around one baby.

Where was the other baby?

“LIAM!” she shrieked anxiously. The baby in her arms began to wail, frightened by the volume of his mother’s voice.

Liam was running to her side. “What’s wrong, love?” His eyes darted over her body, worry in his eyes and tone.

“Where’s my baby?? I have TWO babies!” Riley rocked her arms to soothe her now quieting son.

A relieved smile split Liam’s lips. “He’s in the bassinet, where I laid him when you screamed like a banshee.”

Riley exhaled a loud breath. “Oh, thank God! I need to do better at keeping track of these guys.” She smiled again at her son. “You know, Dr. Felger gave me these babies.”

“I may have had something to do with that.”

“You are not their real father, Liam. You know that.”

“Oh, yes. Their resemblance to Mark Sloan is uncanny.” Liam chuckled as he kissed his wife’s cheek. “I love you, Riley Brooks.”

Riley scrunched her nose but couldn’t stop the smile from forming as her husband’s breath caressed her skin.

“Okay, I think we’re ready for this interview.” She looked between her son and her husband. “Which one do you have? Fric or Frac?”

Liam gently lifted the sleeping infant from his bed. “I have no idea.”

Autumn In New York, Chapter 2:

“I don’t even know why you’re here, or what you’re hoping to accomplish Liam,” Riley huffed as she tossed clothes into her suitcase. “I have someone.”

Liam looked at Riley, eyes wide with surprise. “Already?”

Riley turned to him, her eyes narrowed, and lips pressed into a thin line. “What in the hell is are you implying?”

“You just left Cordonia love. You seemed to return my affections. You never mentioned having anyone before.” Liam rocked on the balls of his feet, hands in his pockets.

“Well, I do. When I chased behind you, I left a boyfriend behind. A good boyfriend, a decent boyfriend. Who still loves me and wants me to live with him.”

“And I am chasing behind you. I am working to clear your name. I have broken off the engagement to Madeleine.”

Riley’s head lifted quickly, an expression disbelief on her face.

Liam walked over to Riley. His head bent so his mouth was next to her ear. “I just don’t want you to live with me. I have come to take you home, in whatever capacity you wish. My girlfriend, my fiancée, even as my wife.”

Not tagging anyone (I think everyone I know has been tagged), but if anyone sees this and wants to play/share, feel free!

#six sentence sunday #wips #dcbbw writes #stories are coming #eventually

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chalantness · 4 years

Text

fic: Here, On the Edge of Hell (2/6)

Rating: M Word Count: ~10,400 (part two) Characters: Steve/Natasha Summary: mafia au. She knows her father hadn’t been lying when he said that Uncle Howard wanted her to keep an eye on Steve, but if this was simply about protection, he wouldn’t have put her on the line at all. Especially not with all of the heat Steve Rogers is getting from the other Families, which means that her uncle has another reason for Natasha to be involved.

He just won’t tell her what it is.

Read On: [ ao3 ]

A/N: I'm really, really hoping it won't take 2.5 weeks for me to get every single chapter done, so keep your fingers crossed for me because my inspiration and I will need as much luck as we can get!

“So how come I’m the only one that hasn’t met your new boyfriend?”

Peter peels a pepperoni slice off of his pizza and pops it into his mouth, grinning, and Natasha feels the corners of her lips twitching into a smirk as she shakes her head at him. Somehow, she’s not surprised. It’s hardly the first time that her cousin has dragged her to this particular little pizzeria in the city, and it’s been a bit longer than she realized since they’ve hung out as just the two of them, so getting his text about wanting to have dinner with her wasn’t something in itself that was particularly suspicious.

The cheeky grin that’s been on his face all night, however, definitely is. He may be a sweet kid – sweeter than any of them – but he’s still very much a Stark.

“Is that why you’ve been showing up even later than usual for Sunday dinner?” Peter goes on, his grin getting wider as his eyes glint, and Natasha can’t help but smirk.

“Since when were you such a gossip?” she asks, crumpling her napkin and tossing it at his face.

Peter wrinkles his nose at her for a second and then laughs, reaching across their small table to poke at her shoulder. “Come on, Nat,” he says, and honestly, she’s not quite sure if he’ll appreciate her calling him cute now that he’s sixteen, so she presses her lips together to keep from doing so. “How come I have to hear about this from Tony?”

She breathes out a laugh. Well, that certainly explains it. Peter is always curious about what’s going on in her life, and, as with everyone else in the Families, he usually knows who she spends her days with because she rarely wants to see anyone else. It’s far too complicated to get involved with someone who’s not part of this life somehow, whether it’s a simple friendship or something romantic—so, other than a few casual nights with a perfect stranger every so often, she tries not to mingle all that much. But it was never something she gave a second thought about until Steve Rogers came into the picture and she’d begun to see how much of an adjustment he has to make in his mind to things she’d simply grown up knowing. Still, he’s pretty damn good at adapting. It’s easy to see that he’s someone that’s meant to lead and he really doesn’t need her advice to do it.

He doesn’t really need to see her almost every other day, either, but she’s not exactly complaining.

“If a boyfriend existed, there’s no way the family would’ve kept quiet about it for long,” she points out, one eyebrow arched.

“Yeah, that’s true. Guess that’s why you and Steve Rogers were all anyone could talk about before dinner the other night.” His grin widens. “Which you would’ve known if you showed up on time, but I can see you were busy making friends, right?”

She can’t help it; she laughs. “Clearly you’ve been spending too much time with Tony.”

Peter shrugs, picking his pizza up and taking another bite. “To be fair, I think they’d be talking about Steve Rogers even if you weren’t suddenly spending all this time with him,” he says, and Natasha nods at this. That’s certainly true. It seems that Steve is all anyone in the underworld can talk about, and she knows it’s not simply because he’s a new face. They have dozens of men doing their dirty work, dozens of associates passing in and out of their world. Some of them end up being trouble, but most of them slip under the radar, carry out their orders and take their cuts, not drawing any attention—and in this lifestyle, that’s definitely preferable to drawing the wrong kind of attention.

It’s different with Steve, though, because he’s not some soldier that made his way in. He’s a variable none of them could have ever predicted, and, maybe for the first time ever, the Families have to play it safe. At least for now.

“That may be true, but I’m still trying to figure out why you want to talk about him, too, considering you’re barely involved in the Family business.”

Peter glances down with a chuckle. “What, that means I can’t be curious about my cousin’s life?”

“Curious, or worried?” Natasha asks, and he meets her gaze, his smile fading a little at the edges as he shrugs his shoulders again, almost sheepish now. “Peter.”

“Well, yeah,” he admits. “I mean, I’m always worried about everyone, even just a little bit. And maybe a little bit more now that—”

“I have a new friend?” Natasha guesses. He stays quiet, simply blinking back at her. “You shouldn’t believe everything you hear about him.”

“I know,” Peter promises, and she can tell that he means it. “It’s not what they’re saying. It’s just that there’s all this talk, and then there’s you, and no one’s worried, really, but they’re—they don’t want you to get caught up in anything for no reason. And Tony’s… not exactly understanding why Uncle Howard wants you so involved.”

Natasha doesn’t quite understand it, either, but it’s not something she’s about to get into right now, and especially not with Peter. He may not be all that involved in this life like the rest of them are, but he’s not oblivious, and she’s not going to give him another reason to worry by telling him that she’s there to keep an eye out on Steve. Between people like Hela and Anton running their mouths, and all of the busted deliveries starting to become a pattern, it’s clear that something is stirring up between the Families—but after her talk with Steve that first night they’d met, Natasha is starting to think that maybe all of this tension would’ve built even if Joseph Rogers had never gone missing.

Because Steve had made a good point. Hela has always been outspoken, has always found a reason to argue about something, which meant no one really dwelled on the fact that her attitude toward Joseph Rogers in particular had gotten more aggressive recently. It’s how she’s always been, so why would anyone think twice about it?

It’s a rather clever cover, and one that Hela could make good use of if she ever needs to.

Maybe she does.

“Uncle Howard has a reason, and a good one,” Natasha tells Peter, reaching over to ruffle his hair, and he bats her hand away with a laugh just as her phone vibrates on the table. She picks it up, swiping to open the text—and, not for the first time, she’s glad she’s got one hell of a poker face as she feels Peter’s curious gaze on her.

“Is that Aunt May?” Peter asks, and Natasha glances up to find him checking his own phone, muttering something under his breath. “Have we really been here that long?”

Thank fuck. Natasha hardly believes in miracles, but this is as good of one as any. “You’re with me, kid. I hardly think Aunt May will be that upset,” Natasha points out, typing a reply to Steve—On my way—before slipping her phone into her purse. “But it’s probably time I get you home, anyway.”

... ...

Something happened with Wanda. Meet at your place.

He’s picking up dinner when he gets the text, and he doesn’t really know what the hell to focus on first—why Bucky is texting him about his sister, or what the hell happened to Wanda in the first place—but it’s almost instinctive, the way he texts Natasha right after telling Bucky that he’ll be right there. He thinks about sending Clint a text, too, but thinks better of it. Clint will want to know if something’s wrong, especially if it’s about Wanda, but Steve wants to know what the hell is even happening before interrupting the guy’s night with his wife and kids. Natasha is already on her way; if things aren’t serious enough to need Clint right away, too, then filling him in can wait until the morning.

And, fuck, it better not be anything serious. He thinks he’s done a pretty damn good job of being strategic, toeing the line to keep the peace.

It’d be a damn shame for all of that to go waste because some idiot decided to come after Wanda and Pietro.

“Buck?” Steve asks, all but slamming the door behind him as soon as he’s inside and tossing the takeout onto the table. “Wanda?”

“I’m alright, Steve.” His sister’s voice is as soft and soothing as always, and Steve feels a little bit of the tightness in his chest ease just at the sound of it as he rounds the corner into the living room. She’s offers a small smile from where she’s sitting on the couch, but beside her, Bucky stands with his arms crossed and his jaw tight. Rarely does the guy ever let something get to him, so the dark look in his eyes puts Steve back on edge, especially when he catches sight of the bandage wrapped around Wanda’s arm.

“Drive-by,” Bucky answers before Steve can even get the question out, and Steve feels his entire body go cold.

“What?”

“I was near it,” Wanda insists, starting to stand, but Steve gently nudges her back down as he sits in front of her on the coffee table. He takes her hands in his, eyes passing over her to check for anything out of place, but other than the bandaging, she’s untouched. Steve swallows, reaching up to touch the edge of it on her arm, and she gently cups her hand over his and gives it a little squeeze. “I got pushed up against a building when everyone scattered,” she explains, “but I didn’t get hit. It wasn’t meant for me.”

“You don’t know that.” Bucky’s voice is firm and clearly pissed, though Steve can tell that the harsh edge of it isn’t directed at his sister.

“Did you catch them?”

Bucky shakes his head once, exhaling a sharp breath. “We were tailing a suspect nearby and my partner went after them but they got away. And I jumped out of my car when I recognized your sister, so I didn’t get a good look at it myself.”

“I got a glimpse,” Wanda says softly, her voice almost as hesitant as her expression. “It looked like an Asgard driver.”

Steve jerks back a little, turning to Bucky. “That’s what the other detective said,” his best friend confirms with a nod. “It looked pretty damn close to one of the ones we have under their file, but no one caught the license plate. We’re going to look into security cameras to see if we can verify that way, but for now, we can’t say for sure.” His eyes flick back to Wanda’s, and Steve watches his sister lift her chin stubbornly, something passing between them before Bucky adds, “We should take her to the hospital, Steve.”

Steve’s gaze snaps back onto Wanda’s, but her eyes are still locked on Bucky’s, flaring with annoyance. “It’s not necessary,” she insists.

“I cleaned your scrape but you still hit your pretty hard when you got shoved aside,” Bucky fires back.

“You said it yourself, you didn’t think I had a concussion,” Wanda argues, though her voice is a little bit softer now as she glances at Steve. He rubs his lips together, bringing a hand up gently to her head, and both she and Bucky stay quiet as he feels around for any kind of bump or bruise. She seems fine, but it’s not as if Steve’s a doctor.

“You checked her yourself?” he asks Bucky.

“I did, but that doesn’t change the fact that she should get looked at, just to be safe.”

A few months ago, that would’ve been Steve’s first instinct, too. It still is, if he’s being honest; he’d been pretty damn tempted to tell Bucky to take Wanda to the hospital himself if he thought it was necessary, but the fact that they were waiting for him in his brownstone instead meant that Wanda must have insisted on it herself, and Bucky must have deemed her well enough to actually comply with it, even if he was obviously against the choice. As much as the bandage wrapped around Wanda’s arm makes Steve want to put a hole through the wall, he trusts Bucky’s assessment that she wasn’t concussed just as much as he trusts Wanda’s judgment to avoid going to the ER.

Because hospitals will mean questions, and questions will mean unnecessary attention. The less people involved, the better.

“It won’t be safe if you take her in, I can promise you that.”

Steve twists around in time to see Pietro practically bolt into the room, tossing his keys onto the coffee table Steve is still sitting on. As he fusses over their sister, Steve stands, meeting Natasha’s gaze as she follows Pietro’s frantic path into the living room. Steve is a hell of a lot calmer now than he was just a few minutes ago, bursting into the brownstone in almost the exact same manner as his brother, but there’s something about Natasha’s presence that eases even more of the tightness in his chest. The fact that she voiced the same conclusion that he’d come to in his head reassures him in the same way Wanda’s insistence of not needing a hospital had, despite his own doubts.

“How is a hospital not safe?” Bucky asks, the edge back in his voice as he glances from Natasha to Steve and back down to Wanda.

Pietro is sitting beside her on the couch now, between her and Bucky as he casts a narrowed gaze up at him. “The less attention on us, the better.”

There’s an edge to Pietro’s voice, too, and it makes Steve let out a sharp exhale as he crosses his arms over his chest.

Natasha comes up beside him, meeting his gaze as she sets her purse down on the coffee table. She arches an eyebrow, her question as clear as day in her eyes, and he shakes his head; he’s not going to pretend that Bucky and Pietro aren’t something to be worried about, too, but they’re rather low on the list, all things considered. They’re far from done with tonight’s incident, but he’s just really fucking glad that Wanda is okay, and it’ll be a hell of a lot easier to think now that he’s seen it for himself that she’s fine.

Natasha gives him a small, knowing sort of smile, nodding as if she’d heard his thoughts. He wouldn’t be surprised if she did, somehow.

“Easy, Pietro,” Natasha says, her voice light, almost teasing, as she glances at the twins for a moment before shifting her gaze to Bucky. “He did just help your sister out.”

Pietro’s jaw ticks as he turns away, but then he catches Wanda watching him, a soft smile touching her lips, and he exhales a breath, some of the tension easing from his shoulders as he does so. He smooths a hand over her hair, drawing her close to brush a kiss to her forehead.

Steve knows his brother well enough to not expect much else than this, at least for the moment. But, as he catches Bucky staring down at the twins, some of his own apprehension ebbing as Wanda leans into Pietro’s shoulder, Steve thinks that this might just be good enough for his best friend, too.

Fuck. Steve wipes a hand down his face. He’s not quite sure if he’s exhausted or if he’s more awake than before, but he sure as hell doesn’t have much of an appetite anymore. He glances back at where he’d practically thrown down his takeout order in his rush inside and exhales a breath, walking over to check inside. At least he’d gone with noodles and vegetables instead of soup, or else it’d be all over the bag by now. He picks it up and heads back over to the others, and Pietro pops up from the couch to take the bag from him before Steve has to ask. “Try to eat something, alright?” he tells Wanda, and she nods, letting him pull her up. “I want you two to stay the night.”

Wanda gives him a soft smile, not even a little bit surprised by the request. “Okay,” she replies, leaning in as he kisses her forehead, too. “I’ll make you a cup of tea?” He nods, and then she turns to Natasha, her smile brightening a little. “Should I make you a cup, too?”

“I’d love one.” Natasha reaches over, tucking some of Wanda’s hair behind her ear, and the gesture makes Steve smile, too.

Wanda turns toward Bucky. “Would you like one as well?”

Steve watches his best friend as his expression shifts into something gentle, gentler than Steve has seen him in a while. “Sounds good,” he tells her, cracking a soft grin. “Thank you.”

“Thank you,” she replies quietly, and the tone of her voice makes something heavy settle in Steve’s stomach once more as he watches her and Pietro head into the kitchen.

She could’ve been hurt tonight, seriously fucking hurt, and there’s a pretty decent chance that it would’ve have even been an accident.

“So, I’m assuming we’ve entertained the thought that tonight wasn’t a coincidence?” Natasha asks, seeming to pull the words from Steve’s mind once again as he turns to meet her gaze. He’s a little too pissed by the idea to actually answer, so he simply nods, clenching his jaw. She hums softly. “What did happen, exactly?”

Right. He hadn’t even known what to tell her when he asked her to come, but she must have gotten some of it from Pietro when they bumped into each other on their way in. And no, Steve doesn’t have to ask to know that Wanda had told their brother herself. Chances are, Pietro felt off the moment it all went down, and Wanda probably called him while Bucky was driving them over here. The two of them have always been attuned to each other like that, and Steve doesn’t even think it’s a twin thing; it’s just their thing.

“There was a drive-by and Wanda was close when shots were fired,” Steve tells her, gaze shifting to Bucky, and Natasha’s eyes follow, too. “Really fucking close, apparently.”

Bucky nods, glancing between the two of them. His eyes linger longer on Natasha, though, and Steve remembers belatedly that this is technically their first meeting, even though every cop in the city already knows who she is already. In fact, they all probably know about him now, too.

“Wanda says she wasn’t the target, but I’ve got a pretty damn good gut feeling that’s not the case,” he tells Natasha. “She also thinks the car was from the Asgards.”

Natasha turns to Steve, not an ounce of surprise in her expression. Steve doesn’t doubt that they’re thinking of the same person, but she still says, “Hela,” as she gives Bucky another glance, and he nods. Bucky knows who Hela is for the same reasons he knew who Natasha was before she’d walked into the room, and he and Sam were the reasons Steve already had an idea of who the Families were before he’d been dragged in with them himself. “Did you find anything out?” Natasha asks quietly, turning back to Steve.

He casts a glance toward the kitchen. He doubts they can hear the three of them from so far away, but Steve keeps his voice low just in case.

“Not a damn thing,” he mutters. “Other than the reports and files he keeps on hand for all of the businesses, Dad doesn’t even have something I can look through.”

Which had been pretty fucking suspicious, if Steve is being honest. He never noticed how very little things had been in his dad’s place and in all of his offices until Steve had a reason to go looking. There are photos everywhere, dictionaries and historical books and trinkets that Steve doubts his father had even picked out for himself; but not a single document of importance, nothing outside of business reports and financial statements for all of the legitimate businesses under their name. His laptops were no different, but Steve was less surprised by this. Clint is big on not leaving a digital trail because computer forensics can recover just about anything, so his dad likely had the same attitude.

He realizes his father was a cautious guy and for a lot of good reasons, but the fact that he has nothing personal to be found other than a few framed photographs is a red flag if Steve’s ever saw one.

Even Natasha looks a little alarmed by this, and he has yet to see her genuinely confused until this moment. “Nothing?”

Steve shakes his head, and Bucky chimes in with, “Sam’s still going through the last hard drive, but it’s been nothing but programs for payroll and schedules and shit.”

Natasha rubs her lips together, gaze flitting to the kitchen before catching Steve’s stare again. “Maybe the twins might know where to look?”

Steve nods, considering this. He practically tore up the floorboards in every building his dad owned, but Wanda and Pietro could still know of a place to look that he doesn’t. He also hasn’t had a chance to check either of their apartments, and even though he doubts it, there could be something there they don’t even know of.

The high whistle of the tea kettle on the stove starts to fill the air, and with it, Steve lets out an exhale, feeling far more tired than he realized. Natasha seems to share the sentiment, too, because she cracks a wry smile. “To be continued,” she says, heading for the kitchen, and Steve shares a weary glance with Bucky before they both follow.

... ...

The only other ones in the family that have a habit of running later than Natasha are Tony and Uncle Howard, so she isn’t surprised that she gets a text from her uncle to just let herself into his office to wait for him. These meetings are never all that consistent, but they happen often enough that Natasha can usually expect a text every other week. Her uncle has a rule of not talking about work at their Sunday dinners, so the two of them meet up over lunch instead so she can catch him up on anything he wants to know about. But mostly it’s just an excuse for her Uncle Howard to pull her away to catch up (with my favorite niece, he’ll say, and she’ll roll her eyes because she’s his only niece).

They’re having lunch at one of their bars this time, so she has the bartender make her a martini before she lets herself into the office.

Most of her Uncle Howard’s offices look exactly like this one, all dark wood and leather and low lighting, and it almost always makes her smirk because it really does look like something straight out of The Godfather. Instead of oil painting, though, the wall behind his desk is covered with photographs of their family in mismatched frames, artfully arranged and almost taking up almost every space from the floor to the ceiling. As much of a hard ass that her uncle can be, he’s always been pretty damn sentimental, too.

Natasha perches herself on the desk, sipping on her martini as she takes in a shot of their family at a park. Peter is barely even one in the photo, and it must’ve been sometime before his parents’ accidents, because her Uncle Richard and Aunt Mary are there, beaming at the camera with Baby Peter cuddled between them.

God, Peter looks so much like them. He’s one of those kids that’s such a good mix of their parents that he looks like the spitting image of whichever parent he happens to be with at the time. Aunt Maria said that Tony had been the same way until he’d grown up to look exactly like Uncle Howard. The Stark brothers just have strong genes in general because Natasha has always looked a lot more like her father and even her uncle than her own mother, and Morgan already looks more like Tony than she looks like Pepper.

She turns to the photo beside it of her Uncle Howard and Joseph Rogers, feeling something tug at her chest as she stares back at Joseph’s laughing face.

Natasha had been genuinely surprised when Steve said that he couldn’t find anything personal that belonged to his father, other than the photos he keeps in his home and in his offices. As much of a hard ass Joseph Rogers tended to be when it came to the Family business, he’d always struck her as the sentimental type, just like her Uncle Howard.

She’d known it wouldn’t be as simple as stumbling upon a journal entry or an email of something incriminating about Hela, but she didn’t think Steve would turn up entirely empty, either. She knows that he wouldn’t have half-heartedly rummaged through a few drawers, either; that he probably stopped short of pulling up the bricks and the floors to find something, anything, to work with. Because Natasha knows, as meticulous and wary as her uncle is, if she’d torn apart his offices and dismantled all of his bookshelves and his desks, she’d find something. Her uncle doesn’t like to throw anything away, but he knows not leave just anything lying around, either, and she’s willing to bet that Joseph Rogers had been the same way—which could mean that maybe Joseph did have something hidden once upon a time, but maybe he’d had the forethought to rid of it.

Maybe he thought it would be necessary.

... ...

“How’s she doing now?” Sam asks, passing over one of the coffees he’s just paid for from the cart parked near the entrance of the park.

Steve shrugs as they fall into step on the path. There’re already a few dozen early morning joggers, but other than that, the place is pretty much empty. “She’s fine,” Steve answers, because that’s definitely the truth. Wanda doesn’t seem all that shaken up from the drive-by the other night, and though part of him hadn’t expected her to be too freaked out—she’s likely seen a hell of a lot more shit than he has—he’s also a little worried that she’s not. Even Pietro still hasn’t seemed to shake it off, though that may be for the same reason that Steve hasn’t shaken it off, either. He hates that Wanda had been hurt at all, even if it’s literally just a scrape, because it could’ve been a lot worse.

And it could’ve been intentional, too. Just the thought alone has his chest tightening, just a little.

“Hasn’t been left alone ever since, huh?” Sam asks, his lips quirking at the corners, and Steve breathes out a laugh.

“Not a damn chance.” If she’s annoyed that she’s practically under his or Pietro or Clint’s thumb, she’s graciously pretending not to be.

“Buck thinks it wasn’t a coincidence,” Sam says, and Steve just nods, because yeah, he remembers Bucky saying as much that night, too. They haven’t had a chance to talk about it since then, though, because they haven’t seen each other in person, and it’s definitely not something to risk alluding to in a text. “Any truth to that?”

“Probably more than I can get my hands on.” Steve takes a gulp of the coffee, relishing in its almost scalding temperature. “What about you? You think it could be true?”

Sam tilts his head, blows out slow a breath as he glances around, though no one is even close to being within earshot. “Let’s just say, if it’d been me at the scene instead of Bucky, I’d probably still have the same hunch.” Steve hums, not at all surprised. That’d been his initial thoughts, too, even before Wanda said that she thought she recognized the car. “I doubt it was random, but it’ll take a while to figure out everyone that was at the scene, let alone which ones could have a reason for someone to shoot them up.”

“Other than my sister?”

Sam lets out a humorless chuckle. “Yeah, pretty much.” He glances at Steve. “Not to be an ass, but if it was meant for her, would we have a motive to work on?”

It’s not a question. Not really, anyway, because Steve knows by the tone in his voice that his best friend already knows his answer.

Steve just nods, taking another gulp of coffee, and Sam nods, too, seeming to know to leave it at that. If the drive-by was meant for Wanda, there’s a slim chance that it could be personal, because of something she’d done or maybe failed to do. Steve really fucking doubts that possibility, though.

The theory that it was meant to put pressure on Steve is a better one to work with, but even then, there’s still one big hole to it: Wanda is part of the Family and has been since birth. Even if someone was pissed off and impulsive enough to try and squeeze Steve out, why would they use Wanda to do it when that would mean everyone else in the Family would want their body at the bottom of the Hudson for it? It’s a shitty plan at best, but if someone was pretty damn confident that they wouldn’t get caught, it doesn’t rule out the chance of it being true, either. Then of course, there’s still a decent possibility that this isn’t about hurting Wanda or even trying to get to Steve, either.

Just because Joseph Rogers is missing doesn’t mean the drive-by couldn’t have anything to do with him. Their father is pretty well-respected—or, at the very least, well-feared—by almost everyone in the underworld, but for those that hate him?

His disappearance is a great opportunity for them to make their move, and chances are they’d settle with taking their grudge out on his kids instead.

“You’ve got to be shitting me.”

Sam mutters the words under his breath, but Steve still catches them, pulling him from his thoughts as he looks at his friend and then follows his gaze down the path onto—

Natasha.

She’s still pretty far down the path from them, but he recognizes her in an instant, even though he’s never seen her in something so casual before. She’s dressed to run in leggings and a windbreaker, her hair twisted into a braid and off to one side, and technically, he shouldn’t be surprised; he remembers her mentioning that she went for a jog most mornings, but considering they’re a decent ways away from her part of the city, he wouldn’t have anticipated bumping into her here. When he spots Maria Hill next to her, though, it makes more sense. Most of his meetings with Nick Fury are over on this side of Manhattan, so it’s not a stretch to think that Maria would live over here, too.

Despite his thoughts just a moment ago, a smirk tugs at his lips. Well, that certainly explains Sam’s reaction.

He’s been playing cat and mouse with Maria Hill for as long as Steve can remember him being a cop. Even if they didn’t know a thing about any of the Families, he would’ve heard of Maria considering how often her work as a private investigator causes her to cross paths with Sam’s investigations.

(And, yeah, Steve gets that it’s pretty damn ironic that a mafia princess works as private investigator; that’s always been part of the reason she and Sam butt heads.)

Natasha glances up just as she and Maria turn onto the same stretch of path, heading toward him and Sam, and if Steve was closer, he knows he’d see her eyelashes flutter as she takes him in; her only tell when she’s surprised, and he’s sure as hell a little proud of himself for being able to pick that up considering she’s got a damn good poker face.

The corner of her lip quirks in a smile just as Maria looks up, too, her eyes narrowing onto Sam, and both Steve and Natasha chuckle at their friends in the same second. He doesn’t doubt that Natasha’s gotten a play-by-play on their run-ins from Maria the same way he and Bucky have gotten them from Sam.

“Hey,” Natasha greets, her voice slightly breathless as she and Maria come to a stop in front of them, and Steve feels his smile widen at the glint of amusement in her eyes.

“Hey.” His gaze shifts onto Maria, not all that surprised to find her expression nonchalant. They’ve only met once before this, but he’s met with Nick several times by now and it’s easy to see where she’d get her straight expressions from. “Good run?”

“Nothing special,” she replies, turning to Sam and holding his stare even as she adds, “Who’s this guy?”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Not a morning person, I take it, Hill?”

“That’s a rather personal question to ask, don’t you think, stranger?” she retorts dryly, not waiting for a response as she twists open her water bottle to take a gulp.

Natasha shakes her head, turning back to Steve as her amusement shifts into a thoughtful expression. “I’m glad we bumped into you,” she tells her, her voice softer now, and when she asks, “any news?” he already knows exactly what she’s referring to, so he shakes his head. “I’m not surprised,” she admits, frustration flitting across her expression as if on his behalf. She seems genuinely annoyed by this and it almost makes him smile. “Is there really no other place worth looking? Maybe one he hasn’t been to in years?”

This makes Steve pause, turning to Sam, and the guy’s face shifts in understanding. “Your mom’s place?” Sam guesses, and Steve nods, turning back to Natasha.

“I was barely seven or eight when we moved out of there,” he explains to her and Maria. “The whole apartment complex has been abandoned for a few years now, but I don’t know if it’s been torn down or bought out by now. Plus, I know for a fact I’ve never seen him there since we didn’t even meet until I was in high school.”

“It still could be worth a look,” Natasha points out, and Maria nods in agreement when Natasha looks over at her. Even Sam seems to tilt his head, considering this.

“I’ll head over there tomorrow, then.”

Natasha hums. “Sounds like a plan. I’ll meet you at your restaurant at noon and then we’ll drive over.”

The tone of her voice makes it sound like an offer, though Steve can tell by the quirk of her lips that it’s not exactly up for negotiation. Out of the corner of his eyes, he catches Maria and Sam smirking, but he ignores them as Natasha blinks up at him, her green eyes glinting again as she holds his gaze from under her long eyelashes.

And really, what can he do other than nod? They both know he was just going to ask her to come along, anyway.

... ...

“So, a little bird told me that you have a date tomorrow.”

Natasha smirks as she steps out of the hallway to find Tony in her kitchen, his back to her as he leans in to rummage in her fridge. He doesn’t have a copy of her key, but considering he was the one to program the Stark Industries security system that her building uses, she’s never surprised when he lets himself in, nor is she surprised when he helps himself to her food. She doesn’t have much of it, anyway. She usually dines out or orders in, so chances are that anything he finds was put there by him to begin with.

“Well,” he adds, a container of blueberries in hand as he shuts the fridge and spins around to face her. “Those exact words weren’t used, but I read between the lines.”

“I think that’s considered rewriting the lines,” she retorts, wrinkling her nose as he pops the lid open and tosses a blueberry into his mouth. “You’re supposed to rinse first.”

He gives her a look. “Hardly the most dangerous thing I’ve done, dear cousin.” Natasha shrugs a shoulder. Fair enough. “I see you didn’t deny my statement.”

“If you’re asking if I’m seeing Steve tomorrow, then your answer is yes,” she replies, sitting down on the stool opposite of where he’s leaning against the kitchen island. “And if you’re going to play twenty questions with me for Uncle Howard’s benefit, or more so for your own amusement, you’re buying dinner this time.”

He rolls his eyes as she opens a drawer by her hip and grabs the stack of takeout menus inside, tossing them onto the counter. “I’m always the one buying dinner,” he argues.

“That’s because you’re always the one being nosy.”

He cracks a grin, popping another blueberry into his mouth. “How else am I supposed to figure out what’s going on in your life?” He glances back down at the menus for a moment before sliding one for one of their favorite sushi places back over to her. “I know my dad asked you to keep an eye on him, be his friend all that,” he goes on, and Natasha glances up to meet his gaze as she gathers the menus into a stack once more. “But just because he wants to dig up skeletons doesn’t mean you have to join him.”

She pauses, tilting her head at her cousin. “You’re worried.” It’s a question and an observation at the same time, and she knows she’s right when Tony glances away. Her thoughts flit back to her conversation with Peter just a few nights ago, about Tony not seeing eye to eye with his father on Natasha’s role in all of this.

It’s not as if she hadn’t taken Peter’s words to heart, but maybe it still wasn’t enough. Maybe she should’ve read between the lines, too.

“Joseph Rogers went missing,” Tony says slowly, his voice softer now, and he sets the blueberries down as he leans in a little closer. “So, yeah, I’m going to worry, especially if you start pulling on all of these threads with Steve. Sometimes—” He stops himself suddenly, something flickering in his eyes too quickly for her to catch before he’s glancing away again. “Sometimes it’s okay to let things play out on their own. I mean, the truth comes out sooner or later, doesn’t it?” He meets her eyes. “Is it really worth the risk?”

Natasha simply blinks back at him. For the first time in what feels like forever, she doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know what to think.

Tony stands a moment later, though, and waves a hand vaguely at the takeout menu. “Let’s skip on the spicy tuna tonight, alright? I don’t think my stomach can handle the drama,” he tells her, and then turns and walks toward the hallway bathroom without giving her a chance to respond.

Which means that, at least for tonight, this conversation is over.

... ...

He can’t remember the last time he was in his old neighborhood, but it had to have been almost a decade ago, if not more. He doesn’t remember much from when he and his mom lived here, but he doesn’t think it’s a stretch to assume the place didn’t look that much better back then than it does now. It’s not falling apart, exactly, but it definitely feels as if no one’s been in the building for a few years. Still, it’s not in a completely shitty area, and the entire plot of land that building takes up is a decent size, especially for New York. Steve doesn’t know a damn thing when it comes to buying and owning properties, but it’s hard to believe that people have let this place just sit here all these years.

Today, though, he hopes this works in his favor. If there is anything in their old apartment, he might actually have a chance at finding it.

“Does it bring back memories?”

Steve turns to Natasha beside him in his passenger seat, a small smile playing at her lips, her eyes bright with curiosity, and he breathes out a chuckle. “Not really,” he admits. He wonders if he should feel some kind of guilt, knowing his mother must’ve worked her ass off when they lived here and yet, he doesn’t really remember any of it.

What he remembers is the nicer, newer apartment right next to the Manhattan Bridge that they’d moved into when they’d left this place. He remembers the private school he’d attended and the five-star restaurant his mother managed, and he remembers having his pick at colleges because tuition wasn’t something to worry about. He may not have been at the very top of the social class, but he sure as hell wouldn’t have been able to relate to what his life would’ve been like if they stayed here, either. Back then, he hadn’t known his father owned the building they moved into and owned the entire chain of restaurants his mother worked for. He hadn’t known his mother had refused to take money tied to the Families until his father convinced her to do it—not for herself, but for Steve. His mother wanted to give him the world, and she could do that with his father’s help.

“I doubt we would’ve even ended up in a place like this if Mom had let my father help from the start,” he adds after a moment, his voice quiet and a little rough.

Natasha nods, her gaze shifting back onto the old apartment complex. “When we found out about you, I wondered how anyone could’ve ever convinced Joseph to cut ties with his son, especially one that was also his firstborn. He adored Wanda and Pietro, so why keep you hidden?”

He breathes out a chuckle. “I wondered that, too. There’s a decent age gap between me and the twins, which meant that, for almost a decade, I would’ve been his only heir. So why let my mother take me away in the first place? And why insist on getting involved after Wanda and Pietro were born, when he had a reason to cut ties completely?” He shakes his head, and he knows Natasha catches the gesture, even though her stare is still trained forward. “All I could come up with is that my mother asked, so he listened.”

Steve turns toward Natasha in the same moment she looks at him. “Who would’ve thought that Joseph Rogers was such an old romantic?”

“He had to have been to win my mother over in the first place,” Steve says, and Natasha hums softly, her eyes twinkling. “Do you really think we’ll find something here?”

She rubs her lips together and he tries not to get distracted by the motion. “Yeah, I do,” she admits. For a moment, he’s almost certain that she’s going to say more. He can see it in her eyes that she’s thinking more, but then she blinks and whatever the thought is, it’s gone. “Are you ready?”

He chuckles again. “Not a chance in hell, but let’s go,” he says, relishing in the soft laugh that follows as they open their doors.

He locks the car once they’re both out, and then Natasha falls into step behind him as he makes his way up one of the outer staircases and onto the third floor, following the rusted numbers nailed to the doors until he finds the one Clint had dug up under Sarah Rogers. It’s not locked when he goes to turn the knob, but considering how long this place has just been sitting here, Steve isn’t all that surprised. It may be quiet right now, but he doesn’t doubt that people come in and out of the building for shelter at night.

And honestly, he thought maybe being inside would jog something in his head. He was young when they left, but not so young to not remember anything at all, even vaguely.

But as he steps into the small living room and even smaller kitchen, all he sees is an old, empty apartment. He can’t imagine his mother even having to see this place, let alone live in it for eight years. It’s not as if she’d been extravagant with the money his father gave them when they moved out of here, either, but still.

He doesn’t really know what he feels about it, about being here—but Natasha seems to sense what little unease it’s stirring up, because she places a hand on his arm, just above his elbow, and he turns to find her peering up at him. But there isn’t pity in her eyes; just that same, simple curiosity.

He gives her a small smile, nodding once, and she pulls her hand away as she walks further into the kitchen and starts pulling open the cabinets.

Steve follows her lead, stepping into the tiny bathroom and yanking the shower curtain back, pulling open the cabinets under the sink and even lifting the lid to the tank of the toilet. But he’s not surprised to come up empty.

Natasha doesn’t seem to have had any luck in the kitchen, either, because she’s pushing open the door to the bedroom when he walks out of the bathroom. For a fleeting second, he almost has the urge to tug her back; just because the place seems empty doesn’t mean someone might not be squatting in here, even this high up.

But he doesn’t doubt that she can handle damn near anything thrown at her, and also, he’s right behind her if anything happens.

The bedroom is just about as small and empty as the rest of the apartment, and there’s nothing in the closet when Natasha opens it, but she steps inside, anyway, running her hand against the wall as she does a small spin around the tiny space. The top half of the drywall is plain and exposed, the paint chipped and faded, but the bottom half is lined with wood panels. It seems like it was just meant for some attempt at adding a bit of contrast to the simple apartment—he’d seen the same wood paneling on an accent wall in the bathroom—but, as she runs her hands over it, applying a gentle pressure every few inches, she hits a spot that makes her pause. She glances over her shoulder at him.

Then she pushes harder and the panel shifts, then slides out of place, and Natasha gently pulls it back.

Vaguely, he’s aware of chiming filling the air—a call, he realizes a second later, when Natasha pulls her phone out of her pocket—but he’s too focused on the locked metal box that’d been hidden behind the panel to even flinch at the sudden noise.

Son of a bitch. There was something here this whole time.

“Tony?” Natasha says into her phone as Steve gently picks up the box. He crouches down, peering into the tiny cove to see if something else could’ve been hidden behind the box in there, but it’s empty. He straightens back up, giving the box a gentle shake, and he hears something shift inside. “Okay, okay. I’ll be right there.”

Steve turns to Natasha as she hangs up, alarm tugging at his chest when he sees her expression.

“Someone put a car through the front of the club,” she says, and Steve jerks back in surprise. “We’ve got to go.”

... ...

She’s not surprised that she’s the last of the family to make it to Uncle Howard’s place in Manhattan since she and Steve were coming from pretty deep into Brooklyn, and, despite the obvious tension in the room, the fact that everyone eyes her and Steve almost makes her want to laugh. Almost. She thinks there are more pressing things to be concerned with than the fact that she’d been with Steve, something that everyone had to have already known about considering Tony had brought it up, but whatever. She contemplated asking Steve simply to drop her off, and if he’d had somewhere to be, she wouldn’t have minded. But, for some reason, she feels better knowing he’s with her.

Even though he likely knows even less of what’s happening than she does, there’s something about his presence that’s comforting.

The closest to the foyer are her parents, and something odd tugs at Natasha’s chest when her mother comes over to touch her hair gently, eyes sweeping over Natasha as if assessing that she’s okay. Even if they didn’t know she’d been with Steve, they would’ve at least known by her location on her phone that she hadn’t been near the club when the crash happened. Incidents like this have definitely happened before, even if they hadn’t been quite as aggressive, yet Natasha has never seen her mother look so worried.

“Thank you for bringing my daughter here.” Natasha’s father holds a hand out to Steve, which Steve shakes firmly as he nods. “Pardon our interruption.”

Steve glances at Natasha as he shakes his head, then meets her father’s eyes again. “Family is always worth an interruption,” he replies, and Natasha swears she sees her father’s expression cracks with a smirk. Then Steve turns to Natasha, touching her back gently. “I should get going.”

“No, stay,” Natasha’s mother tells him, and Natasha raises her eyebrows a little, surprised. Her mother smiles. “You’re Family now.”

“I agree,” Uncle Howard chimes in, offering Steve a smile as he walks up to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Considering your establishments have been hit, too, we should try comparing notes.”

Natasha watches as some look of understanding passes between them, and then Uncle Howard drops his hand as Steve nods.

“Or maybe we should just ask his cop friends,” a voice chimes, and, for a fleeting moment, Natasha’s entire body tenses the way it always does whenever Anton speaks. She smooths her expression out before she turns to where Anton is leaning back in one of the leather armchairs in the living room, Ivan hovering over his shoulder and not at all attempting to be subtle about his clear contempt of Steve being invited. His father, however, almost seems pleased. “They’d probably know all about this, wouldn’t they?”

Natasha feels Steve’s fingers flex where they’re still placed against her back, but, out of the corner of her eye, his expression doesn’t even shift.

Before Steve can respond, though, her Uncle Howard does it for him. “I’m sure they’d love to hear from you, too, considering you and Ivan were the ones at the scene.”

Anton flinches ever so slightly as Ivan sits up straighter, his jaw clenching. Natasha has to press her lips together to fight off a smirk.

She turns to look at Steve as they follow her parents and Uncle Howard into the living room, and she feels his thumb against her back, moving in a small, almost soothing sort of stroke, and her lips tug into a smile as she turns away.

... ...

He doesn’t realize how late it’s gotten until the door to his office opens and Pietro sticks his head through, smirking when he sees Steve. “Why am I not surprised?” his brother asks, stepping all the way inside and kicking the door shut behind him, and Steve breathes out a chuckle as Pietro sets two pizza boxes down on top of all the paper Steve has scattered across the desk. Pietro flashes his teeth in a grin. “Our sister is having dinner with Clint and Laura and the kids, so it looks like it’s my turn to make sure you’re fed.”

Steve offers a wry smile. “Tell me that you at least used one of my accounts to pay for these.”

“Always,” Pietro replies, and Steve laughs, setting his laptop aside as Pietro drags a chair closer to the desk. Rather than sitting down, though, he walks over to the mini bar in the corner, grabbing two bottles of wine and two glasses before walking back over. “A glass of prosecco for your pesto pie,” he says, handing over one of the bottles and one of the glasses, “and a nice merlot for my pepperoni.” Steve laughs, pours his drink as Pietro does, too, and then flips one of the boxes open. “We don’t leave until you finish.”

Steve arches an eyebrow. “Finish the pizza or finish the wine?”

“Whichever comes first, which most likely be the wine, considering the look on your face before I got here,” Pietro says, waving a hand vaguely at his own face as if in emphasis before taking a gulp of his own wine. “This doesn’t have anything to do with your little field trip with Nat today, does it?”

Steve exhales a breath as he leans back in his chair. “Honestly, I haven’t had a chance to think about it after what happened at their club,” he admits, which seems like it should be ridiculous, all things considered, but his thoughts had been elsewhere by the time he left Howard’s. He offered to drop Natasha back at her place, but her parents wanted to do take her themselves and Steve wasn’t about to argue. Someone had driven a car into the establishment that their daughter manages, and whoever had done it had done so in broad daylight, too. This fact clearly bothered them, and as reluctant as he’d been to leave Nat, he could only imagine what Edward and Melina must’ve felt.

Because it’s clear that this wasn’t just some drunken accident. It felt intentional, but whether it was intended for all of the Starks or for Natasha, specifically, was unclear.

“They have any ideas who it could’ve been?” Pietro asks. Steve shakes his head, and his brother doesn’t look surprised.

There are a lot of people in this city that could have it out for the Starks, just like there are a hell of a lot of people that could have it out for their family, too. That’s why it’s been so damn hard to figure out if all the busted operations are as random as they seem.

Steve has a hard time believing that they are, but honestly, he doesn’t want to get into that again. He does have something else he thinks they should talk about, though.

“We found something, by the way,” Steve says, and Pietro pauses as he’s pulling off a slice of pizza, eyebrows raised. “There was a box hidden in the drywall.”

“Well, shit,” Pietro says, more to himself than to Steve, and his eyebrows furrow. “I’m guessing you haven’t opened it yet?”

Steve’s mouth hitches in another wry smirk. “Not yet. Natasha got the call from Tony right after, so I’ve been a little distracted ever since.”

“Makes sense,” Pietro says with a nod, picking up his slice of pizza and taking a bite. Despite everything, Steve smiles; for as nosy as Pietro can sometimes be, his brother doesn’t ever ask more than he thinks Steve is willing to tell, or maybe he just trusts that Steve will fill him in on his own, whenever he’s ready. And even when Pietro does prod for answers, it never feels like he’s backing you into a corner. It’s comforting, honestly, and maybe that’s why he’s pretty damn good at getting someone to open up.

Steve takes a gulp of his wine, considering his words before asking, “Do you think Dad had something worth hiding in a condemned building?”

Pietro grins, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he did,” he admits. “I can’t think of anything off the top of my head, but…”

He trails off with a shrug, and Steve exhales a laugh, because, yeah.

Joseph Rogers has been running the streets of New York for decades. He likely has more than just one or two secrets worth locking in a box.

“You want me and Wanda there when you open it?”

Steve takes another gulp of wine, finally pulling out a slice of his own pizza. “It’s your choice. I’d never keep you away if you want to be involved, but since you asked, I think you should let me take care of it for now,” he admits. “It could be nothing, but if it is something, I’d rather my ass be the only one on the line if I could help it.”

This time, Pietro’s eyes are glinting when his grin widens. “It’s fucking scary how much you sound like our old man,” he says, and Steve lets out a laugh, clinking his wine against his brother’s when Pietro lifts up his glass.

... ...

Natasha is always aware of her surroundings (she has to be, considering she’s got a rather infamous face) but maybe even more so ever since the incident at the club. From her table in the corner, she has a perfect view of the doors of the coffeehouse, so she spots Wanda the moment the girl walks in. It doesn’t take her long to see Natasha, too, as her gaze instinctively sweeps across the room, and Natasha finds herself letting out a soft laugh when Wanda’s smile brightens, wiggling her fingers at Natasha in a wave. She places her order at the counter, dropping her change in the tip jar, and Natasha pulls her purse off of the other chair and onto her lap so Wanda can join her at the table.

“I was hoping I’d get to see you today,” Wanda tells her, and Natasha simply smiles because, honestly, she’s not surprised.

Word has always travelled around fast among the Families, but especially when incidents like yesterday occur. Though, considering the mess of cop cars and police tape that must’ve been posted around the club, it’d be hard not to know about it right away. She and Steve were still at her Uncle Howard’s when Wanda texted to check on her.

“Well, here I am,” Natasha quips, and though Wanda lets out a giggle, the concern is still clear as day in her eyes. Natasha reaches over, tucks some of the girl’s long hair behind her ear. “I’m alright,” she says simply, and, after a moment of holding her stare, Wanda’s body eases with a nod. “What about you?”

It's been a few days since the drive-by, but still. It happened just earlier this week, and the fact that two accidents occurred so close together is just…

It hardly seems like a coincidence, but for now, all she can justify her thought with is intuition, and she knows she’s going to need something more concrete to convince the rest of the Family that this may not be as simple as they want it to be.

“I feel like you do, I would think,” Wanda admits, giving her a small, knowing sort of smile and a shrug.

Natasha exhales a laugh; yeah, that sounds about right. “I’d imagine that you have more eyes on you, though,” she points out, because she knows Steve, and she knows Pietro and Clint, too. “In fact, I’m surprised you don’t have someone hovering over your shoulder right now.”

Wanda’s eyes twinkle, her smile widening. “Oh, I do,” she says, and Natasha follows the girl’s gaze out the glass and onto the car across the street.

A cop car, to be specific. It’s one of the newer ones that almost seem like it’s meant to be undercover—the ones that are all black, with sleek lights and far subtler decals that blend into the color pretty damn well— but it is a cop car, nonetheless. Natasha feels confused (and maybe a little bit wary, too) for a moment, but her gaze shifts back onto Wanda’s face before the girl has turned away, catching her calm, bright expression—and then Natasha feels her lips tug into a smirk as she realizes who must be in that car.

Bucky.

“Well, isn’t this a rather ironic development?” Natasha muses, and Wanda turns to look at her. “Quite an unusual choice in bodyguard for a mafia princess, don’t you think?”

Her cheeks brighten in a light blush even as she shakes her head. “It was probably just Steve’s doing,” she tells Natasha. “I think Steve could tell that all of their hovering was getting to be a little much. At least this way, I’d have a little more breathing room.”

“I doubt anyone would set up their little sister with a handsome man ready to be her knight in shining armor,” Natasha counters.

“Nat,” Wanda laughs.

“Don’t worry, you know I’m good at keeping secrets.” Natasha stands, setting her purse down on her chair. “I’ll even give you some private time to ogle him while I run to the restroom,” she adds with a wink, and Wanda laughs again with another shake of her head as Natasha walks over to the bathroom on the opposite side of the café.

There’s another small table in the corner by the bathrooms, one that Natasha had noticed a blonde woman sitting at when she first walked in, so she’s not surprised to see an emptied mug of coffee still on the table with a receipt half-tucked under it.

What does surprise her, though, is the signature swirled at the bottom of the receipt:

Sarah Rogers.

#romanogers #steve rogers #natasha romanoff #chanty writes #mafia 'verse

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theoriginalladya · 4 years

Text

Whump Prompt fill

@mallaidhsomo‘s third whump prompt fill: #7 - Where does all the blood come from? (under cut for length)

from this list

On AO3 here

Michael Shepard and Kaidan Alenko with a bit of James Vega. For those of you who remember, this dates back to this prompt. There’s another one that will (eventually) take place in between, or will get filled in when I write the story.

~~~

Chaos. Confusion. Might as well be his middle name. From the day he was born, Michael Shepard has known nothing but.

Zipping across The Pit, taking out one of the most notorious Reds commander the gang has ever known? If that isn’t the epitome of chaos these days, especially with the Reapers and Cerberus breathing down his neck, he doesn’t know what is.

Once Anton is down, Michael spins around, eyes constantly moving, searching for his next target. After a heartbeat or two he realizes there are none left. All are down, secured; in Anton’s case, dead. Good riddance.

Vega starts checking the bodies on the far side of the room. Michael’s gaze drops to Anton lying motionless at his feet. Blood leaks from the corner of his lips, but it’s the only sign of any physical damage. He turns to walk away, but then stops. Turning back, he takes a knee and runs his hands over the man’s body, checks his pockets. The Reds are up to something – were up to something – something that runs far deeper than his connection to the bastard, and he wants to know what it is. All his check results in is an OSD in one pocket and a couple of secured datapads in another. These he shoves in his own pocket to deal with later. Now, he walks and pushes his past away for the time being.

Across the room, Kaidan lies still and motionless. Michael runs over and drops to his knees about five feet from him, sliding the rest of the way. His hands move quickly, checking for signs of life. Outwardly, he’s calm, focused, every inch the professional soldier; inwardly he cannot stifle the panic. C’mon, Kaidan, work with me here! Don’t do this to me!

His fingers land on his neck, as gently as he can, and press close … and find warmth and the soft somewhat slow thread of a heartbeat that pulses back. Relief washes through him. “Kaidan!” he hisses, assured he still lives, but now desperate for more. His hand slides up to pat at his cheek while the other cautiously repositions behind his neck. “C’mon, Kaidan, need a bit of help here!” He runs his hands down, over Kaidan’s arms and chest, past his hips and down to his feet. He finds no obvious sign of broken bones, which is a greater relief to him than anything. “Kaidan!”

A soft groan slips past Kaidan’s lips and it is the sweetest sound Michael has heard from him in a very long time. Quick tears form in his eyes as his hands return to Kaidan’s face. Again, he pats gently. Behind him, Vega grunts and he hears something clatter to the ground. “Major, open your eyes for me,” he orders. He reaches for one of Kaidan’s hands and holds it while rubbing the other up and down the forearm, as if warming him. “That’s an order, mister!”

Lids half-flutter, and for just a moment, Michael’s breath catches, but they don’t fully open. Kaidan does, however, convulse; bending slightly at the waist, a much louder, pain-filled groan escaping this time. Michael holds him, guides him, wishes there was more he could do for him. Leaning over he breathes near his ear, “C’mon, Kaidan, work with me here!”

Kaidan’s eyes flutter again and finally open into thin slits. It’s enough. “Hey,” Michael greets him, soft yet worried smile curving at his lips.

Kaidan winces and tries to pull away but only manages to roll his head partway to one side. “Wh – what took you so long?” he rasps.

“Missed the train,” he quips. “Come on, let’s sit you up. Gently.” Michael eases himself behind him to offer physical support, keeping his arms around Kaidan in support the entire time.

Kaidan’s head settles at his shoulder. He blinks a few times, eyes opening further, and then frowns. “Where …?”

��Still Reds territory,” Michael explains. “We need to get out of her ASAP, but we’ve got to get you into stable condition first.” He glances over at Vega. “Got the kit?”

Vega tosses over the bundle he’s been carrying throughout this journey. Michael pulls it over in front of Kaidan so he can use both hands as well as have Kaidan guide him. “It’s not much, but your students said it would have what you need.”

Kaidan huff softly and grimaces, eyes lifting to look up at him. “You’re biotic too.” You should know.

“Yeah, well … when you’re a biotic pinball, you have different needs,” he counters. Some things will always be basic, others he just ignores. Why waste medigel when he’ll heal up faster because of what Cerberus did to him? “Here – it’s warm, probably not the best tasting right now, but some juice to jumpstart you. Yeah?” He shoves a straw into the drink container and holds it to Kaidan’s lips. Kaidan takes half a sip, makes a face and starts to turn away, but Michael is prepared. “Nope, not gonna get away with that.”

“Why … not?” Kaidan manages a couple of swallows. “You always … do.”

Michael chuckles. If Kaidan is protesting, arguing, he’ll mend. He has to think of it that way, otherwise he’ll lose his mind. “I need my medic back,” he insists. “No one’s as good as you.” He shifts a little bit, adjusts Kaidan into a slightly more upright position and tries to ignore his groaned response. “Christ, you had me afraid there for a minute, major.”

Kaidan releases the straw, head lolling toward Michael’s chest … and frowns. “What the …?” This time, he’s the one who tries to shift. Michael assists him as best he can. “What the hell happened to you?” He drags a hand to his chest and lies it flat over the dark red stained center. “Where does – did – all the… blood come from?”

Michael glances down at the front of his shirt. In all honesty, he hasn’t noticed. “Not mine, I swear,” he replies. When Kaidan doesn’t stop, he grasps his hand, squeezes gently, then pulls the hem up so the skin beneath is exposed. There are some smears of red that bled through the material, but no sign of injury or worse. “See? Not mine. Trust me, the owner has no more use for it.”

Their eyes meet and he sees Kaidan flinch. “Anton?”

Michael nods. “He won’t be a problem anymore. Promise. Now, how’re you feeling? Ready to stand yet?” He knows that one container of juice won’t have helped much, but they need to get moving. “Vega?”

“Ready when you are, Loco.” He joins them in the middle of the room and helps Michael assist Kaidan to his feet. “Hey, there, major.”

“Vega.” Kaidan groans again and leans heavily against the both of them. No way he’ll be walking. “Got … a plan for this?”

“You bet,” Michael replies, mentally shifting to plan B. He bends over slightly and repositions himself. Vega assists and after a moment, Kaidan lies across his shoulders in a fireman’s carry. “Think you can hold still long enough?”

“I’ll just … enjoy the view …”

Vega’s knowing chuckle is all the indicator Michael needs. Kaidan making sassy, flirty comments, is all the proof he needs that he’s going to be alright …

#whump prompt #ladya writes #Michael Shepard #mshenko #Kaidan Alenko #James Vega #Biotic Pinball Wizard

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badchoicesposts · 4 years

Text

Loyalty Or Royalty

Chapter 12

Summary: Mia Bhatt spent years trying to escape her past, trying to escape the feeling of betrayal that was left in her heart after the fire, and she finally had. She was marrying the King of Cordonia and was finally going to get her happily ever after. But, after a momentary lapse in judgement caused her to send a wedding invitation to someone she was sure had forgotten about her, she realizes that sometimes the past has a way of crawling back to you.

Author’s Note: In this fic Anton and The Sons of Earth were caught before the wedding. Also this story will contain flashbacks that will be in italics.

Pairing: Liam x MC (Mia Bhatt), Platonic!Colt x MC, Past!Logan x MC

Word Count: 3,246

Song: Shoot Your Gun by 22-20s

TRIGGER WARNING: VERY BRIEF IMPLICATION OF SELF HARM AND PARENTAL ABUSE

Taglist: @flowerpowell, @dcbbw, @texaskitten30, @kingliam2019, @hopefulmoonobject, @lovehugsandcandy, @los-cafeteros, @desireepow-1986 @lovemychoices, @kimmiedoo5

Catch Up: Masterlist

Mia slipped out of Logan’s arms slowly, pulling the bed sheet up against her bare chest. He continued to sleep soundly on the bed, and she slipped into the loft’s bathroom and slid down to the floor, letting out a soft sigh. Logan was nice and he made her feel safe and comfortable. She had never entertained the idea of feeling secure in a relationship, but with Logan it was different. She wasn’t afraid of him, and she wasn’t on edge around him. Or at least she wasn’t on edge anymore.

She had been at first, but that was her natural reaction around anyone she first met. She had begun to feel even more apprehensive when he had asked to take her on a date. She had seen examples of how relationships could go wrong all around her. But, Logan was different. He was a good person. He had a hard life and had suffered through more than his fair share of difficulties, but he still somehow managed to have a good heart.

A soft knock on the door pulled her out of her thoughts.

“Hey, what are you doing in here?” Logan asked, smiling down at her softly.

“I, uh, I just needed a minute,” she sputtered out pathetically.

“Wow, was I that bad?” Logan teased, holding his hands out to pull her to her feet.

“It’s not like I would know. I don’t have any prior experiences to draw from,” she shot back, shivering slightly when he pulled the sheet away from her body and the cold air touched her bare skin.

Logan pulled her into a soft kiss, and she sighed in contentment at the feeling.

“I really like you, Logan,” she said softly, pulling away from the kiss and hiding her face in the crook of his neck.

“I really like you too,” he replied, leading her back to the bed.

~~~

Liam liked to think that he knew his wife very well. Maybe not as well as he originally thought since learning about her crime lord father, but still fairly well. He knew that her favorite Harry Potter movie was the second one, although her favorite book was the third. He knew that she loved sleeping on clean sheets, but hated having to do laundry. He knew that she claimed to be a dog person but secretly loved cats and that as much as she made fun of the social season for being a royal knock off of The Bachelor, the show was one of her guilty pleasures, and she watched it when he was working late. He knew that she had insecurities about her body and mental state in general and that deep down she felt that she didn’t deserve to be with him, something that he thought was crazy because he thought she was the most amazing woman in the world, and he knew that she had a fear of abandonment even if she didn’t call it that herself. He also knew the telltale signs of her anxiety.

The glaring and more obvious one was her nausea. When she was nervous or stressed she almost always threw up. She also scratched incessantly when she was nervous. He had watched her scratch until she made herself bleed before, a habit she had been trying to combat by having shorter nails. However, the more subtle tell, one that he wasn’t even sure she herself knew that she did, was the musical numbers. She always sang showtunes when she was upset.

Since Colt showed up he had been hearing a lot of “Defying Gravity” and “Popular” from Wicked, “Marry The Man Today” from Guys and Dolls, and “We Both Reached For The Gun” from Chicago. Her renditions from Chicago sometimes made him a bit nervous. He loved Mia more than anything in the world. She was kind, caring, and compassionate, but she was also a force to be reckoned with, and she was definitely someone he didn’t want to be on the wrong side of.

As she walked around their bedroom getting ready for the day she was belting out the words to “Run and Tell That” from Hairspray. The two of them were getting ready to meet up with the rest of The MPC and Kaneko, and the nervous energy was practically radiating off her in waves. Liam walked up to where she was putting on the bracelet he had made for her with the blue grotto pearl at her vanity and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her back into his chest. She looked up at him in the mirror in surprise before smiling softly.

“You have a wonderful voice, my love,” he mumbled, brushing her curls to the side and pressing a gentle kiss to the side of her neck.

“Really? I’m pretty sure I’ve disgraced singers everywhere trying to hit high notes before,” she chuckled relaxing back into his arms.

“Trust me, you’re much better than I am,” Liam said, smiling at their reflections in the mirror.

“That’s funny coming from a member of the infamous Cordonian Quartet,” she teased, turning in his arms and resting her hands on his chest.

Liam smiled down at her and brushed one of her curls behind her ear.

“I know you’re nervous, but I’m here with you. You don’t have to deal with this alone. I’ll always be here with you,” he said.

He could still see the troubled look behind her eyes, but he was there with her and that was what mattered.

“I love you,” she said, pushing herself up to her toes and pulling him into a gentle kiss. “Thank you for being the kindest and most understanding man in the world.”

“You make it easy to be,” he said, pressing another kiss to her forehead.

~~~

Mia sat down on the couch next to Liam, their fingers entwined as they looked over to where Kaneko was sitting in an armchair across from them. The rest of The MPC, Drake, Leo, and Bastien were with them as well, and Mia could tell that the rest of the crew was still in shock at seeing Kaneko right in front of them. Kaneko was watching Liam and Mia critically and his gaze was making her nervous.

“What happened that night?” Colt finally asked, causing Teppei to turn away from the couple and face him head on.

He let out a breath and Mia could see that they were settling in for a long afternoon, but she was ready to hear the whole story.

“There’s not much to tell. After I drove into the barricade I was badly burned but not completely incapacitated. While law enforcement was busy trying to get the fire extinguished, I managed to escape,” he said simply.

Mia wanted to be surprised at the way he spoke about it all as if it were not a big deal, but deep down she knew that if anyone was capable of making the process of faking their own death seem simple then it was Teppei Kaneko.

“And after that? Why didn’t you just tell us that you were alive?” Colt asked, the hurt evident in his eyes.

“It was better that way. Easier. You had all already moved on and with me dead The Brotherhood had less reason to follow after us,” Kaneko said.

“Was it easier for us or for you?” Mia asked, posing the same question she had asked Colt when he had claimed it was easier for him to leave without saying goodbye.

Kaneko turned to look at her, her hurt and anguish clear on her face, before turning to look at Colt who was wearing a very similar expression.

“I can’t speak for everyone else, but I mourned your death for months, and I’m pretty sure Colt did too. Maybe not together, but we still did,” she said.

“I’m sorry if any of my actions have caused you pain. It was never my intention,” he said, his voice softer.

Mia could see true regret in his eyes, and she wanted that to be enough. But, one half-assed apology wasn’t enough.

“Did you really think we just wouldn’t care that you were gone?” she asked incredulously. “That we would just move on like it was no big deal?”

Liam wrapped his arm around her as a stray tear slid down her cheek. Kaneko made to reach out for her but immediately drew himself back. Mia was shocked at the action. He wasn’t the type to show physical affection, but the fact that he almost did made her seem special. It made her feel like she actually mattered to him, and she wasn’t entirely sure if that was a good thing or not.

“Amelia, I truly am sorry. I’ve always tried my best to keep you and Colt out of harm’s way, and although my actions may have been misguided, I simply wanted the best for the two of you,” Kaneko said, his own regret clearly evident.

“Is that why you never claimed me as your child?” she asked sarcastically.

“Yes, it is actually,” he said. “I didn’t want to paint a target on your back.”

“There was a target on my back anyway,” she said harshly, referring to the years of abuse she faced from the man she grew up believing to be her father. “All you had to do was say something, anything, to make it stop.”

Kaneko looked pained now and some sick part of her felt happy about it. She was glad to know that he at least felt guilty about it.

“He wouldn’t have given you up easily. You know how he was. He liked to be in control of everyone and everything. Even if I had said something all it would have done was make things worse for you and your mother,” Kaneko tried to reason with her.

She could see the point he was trying to make. However, she still felt the need to be unreasonably mad.

“You mean the mother you had killed?” she asked, her voice dripping with hostility.

“I promise you, I had no idea that she would be there with him that night. I would never have done anything to hurt her,” he said.

There was a look of tenderness in his eyes that Mia didn’t think she had ever seen there before. She and Colt shared a look of understanding. He was in love with her.

“How did you end up in Cordonia?” she asked instead of addressing it.

“I had been laying low for a while, but I had always kept up with you. I was there when you graduated high school, and when you decided to leave to travel to Cordonia. I kept up with you through tabloids and I decided to come to Cordonia myself after your scandal,” he said, a somber expression on his face.

“And how did you get involved with Anton and Claudius?” she asked, noticing the shift from sadness to burning anger when she mentioned them,

Mia sunk deeper into Liam’s side, the anticipation causing her body to practically vibrate. He squeezed her closer and although she felt like she needed a break to catch her breath, she couldn’t seem to pull herself away from the conversation.

“I had heard rumors about a group that had plans to rise up against the monarchy and I knew that you could potentially end up in danger if their plans were to come to fruition so after a few months of slowly integrating myself into their system I managed to work my way to the top,” Kaneko began. “At first Anton didn’t trust me for obvious reasons.”

“And then you burnt down the Applewood Orchard?” she said.

“It was a necessary sacrifice,” Kaneko said, angering both her and Liam.

Mia could see that Liam was now upset as well. She had seen first hand the toll the assassins had taken on him and how troubled he was about Applewood in general.

“That wasn’t your sacrifice to make,” Liam growled out.

Kaneko tensed and relaxed his jaw. This was a habit of his that Mia had noticed growing up. He would always do it when he was trying to control his irritation.

“Anton wanted to attack at your wedding. His plan was to kidnap you, Amelia, and your friend Olivia, and lure Liam to location so he could kill you all. I convinced him to attack the rehearsal dinner instead, and while they were attacking I contacted Mona to let her know their exact location in the palace,” he said, causing everyone to look at the woman in shock. “I was supposed to be their getaway driver in case things went wrong, but instead of waiting for them I left once the coast was clear to make sure that you would catch them before they had a chance to escape.”

“You knew?” Colt asked Mona, his voice raising about three octaves.

“The boss needed someone on the inside he could trust not to tell anyone that he was alive,” she shrugged it off like it was no big deal.

Mia took a deep breath to center herself. She remembered the rehearsal dinner clearly. The bomb had gone off, shaking the castle and causing everyone to panic. In the midst of all the chaos Mona had told her she knew where the assassins were because she had seen someone suspicious before the dinner started and in the heat of the moments she had just gone along with it. Now looking back at it, she realized how flimsy the excuse really was.

“So what now?” Mia asked.

“Now we stop The Brotherhood,” Kaneko said, his voice determined.

Mia scoffed.

“And there it is. You’re only now telling everyone you’re alive because you need help,” Mia said.

“Why is that a bad thing? We all want to get even with The Brotherhood,” Colt defended, causing Mia to roll her eyes.

“It’s a bad thing because last time we tried to take down The Brotherhood, he didn’t give us all the information and look where that got us. He didn’t trust us enough to tell us the whole truth but still expected us to follow his instructions without question,” Logan said, looking over at Kaneko hesitantly.

Colt and Teppei both seemed to be annoyed that Logan had pointed this out.

“If you don’t want to be here then you can go,” Colt told him harshly.

“You may all leave if you don’t want to be a part of this. It’s been seven years, and I know you’ve all moved on with your lives. However, when we proceed with our plans this time, I promise to be completely transparent with you,” Kaneko said.

Logan, Ximena, and Toby shared a nervous look. Mona, however, looked completely satisfied with the way things turned out.

“I’m in,” she said without thinking, causing Colt to smile happily.

“Are you guys seriously plotting revenge right now?” Mia asked, actually surprised by how ridiculous this whole situation seemed.

“Yes, and I’ll give you the same choice I’ve given the rest of them. We can leave Cordonia and you can have nothing to do with any of this, or you can choose to join us,” Kaneko said, a look of almost hopefulness behind his eyes.

“You mean you want me to choose between helping my criminal father, who has done nothing but hurt me by the way, with his plot for revenge or my husband who has done nothing but love me and take care of me? I think the choice is pretty easy,” she said sarcastically.

Kaneko clenched and unclenched his jaw. He was angry now. He was angry with her.

“Amelia, I may have done some terrible things in my time, but you shouldn’t fool yourself into thinking your husband is innocent,” he said, his voice filled with controlled anger. “Your husband was perfectly content with standing idly by while the press slandered your name. He was content with standing idly by while you spent countless days looking for Tariq and countless nights crying yourself to sleep. He would have been fine with making you his whore and marrying another woman if it meant he could protect his image. Even your friend, Drake, spent more time with you and offered you more assistance. You can hate me for the things that I’ve done to hurt you, but maybe you should look closer at your marriage before you go defending all of Liam’s decisions.”

Mia was seething. Her whole body was practically vibrating with anger.

“Bas, arrest him,” she growled out through gritted teeth.

“What! Mellie, what the hell are you doing?” Colt yelled, rising to his feet.

“You burnt down the Applewood orchard and consorted with The Sons of Earth. That’s treason. Bas, arrest him,” she said, rising to her own feet. “Colt, you‘ll always have a home wherever I am, but I’m not going to sit by and watch you ruin yourself.”

Mia walked up to her and Liam’s bedroom without looking back. Her heart was beating rapidly, and she had no idea what to do to calm herself down. Kaneko had gotten completely under her skin. She grabbed her phone and connected it to the bedroom’s speakers, blaring her music as loud as she could in attempts to make her thoughts stop racing.

Spin me some sad story

Sell me some excuse

To help me understand the things you do

She hated that he knew how to do that, and she hated that she had just told Bastien to arrest him.

‘Cause the way you treat your lovers

Well I just can’t relate

Well, where’d you learn to shoot your gun so straight?

She hated herself for everything that had just happened. She hated herself because she was now beginning to question her entire relationship with Liam. She may have been completely pissed off at Kaneko, but she still knew that a part of what he said was right. Nothing he said was anything she hadn’t thought herself before. She had just never allowed herself to address those negative emotions.

Oh baby won’t you cry?

Show me there are some tears behind your eyes

Oh baby won’t you cry?

Show me there’s a hurt behind your eyes

Anyone who knew Mia knew that it was easy to make her cry. She had always been that way. She used to be embarrassed about it as a child because she would cry at the drop of a hat. She would cry if someone raised their voice, even if it wasn’t directed at her. She would cry if she thought someone was angry with her. She would cry if she was angry, herself. She would cry if she was stressed. She would cry if she was happy. But, now she didn’t even want to cry. She was so upset she wasn’t sure how to make herself calm down.

She turned off the music and walked back down to the living room of the royal apartment. Everyone was still there except for Bastien and Teppei and they all looked up at her. Liam was trying to get her attention, and Colt was shooting questions in her direction, but Mia ignored all of them.

“Can you take me to the cabin?” she asked, her eyes filled with tears as she only addressed Drake.

He gave her a look of grim understanding and rose to his feet, the two of them leaving the palace without a second thought.

#the royal romance #the royal heir #liam x mc #liam #king liam #colt kaneko #colt x mc #logan x mc #rod logan #ride or die #rod #ride or die: a bad boy romance #rod:abbr #teppei kaneko #my fics #playchoices #choices fic #choices

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notveryglittery · 5 years

Text

@sleepless-in-starbucks: Me: Damn I wish I had an excuse to write creativisleepality :/ Me: Sees your post Me: Forget excuse I have an OBLIGATION to write qpr creativisleepality with insecure!Roman because like. I’m a predictable shit. Also just a heads up my wifi’s been crap all evening so like. If this arrives late. Blame my damn connection for being sunshine-phobic

(Warnings for aphobia, insecurity, all that fun stuff. happy ending tho because y'all know me)

dani: Y’ALL I’M GONNA NEED YOU TO PAUSE WHATEVER YOU’RE DOING AND READ THIS RIGHT NOW. lia is a blessing, an absolute delight and joy and i love her with my whole entire heart!!!! this made me very happy and relieved and yeah it’s just really really good

Roman was finding the urge to slam his head into the wall a very difficult one to resist. It had been what felt like the longest day of his life, brimming with an overly critical director, some sneering possible cast members who had mocked his make-up, and particular idiot who Roman had thought was going to be the one spot of light in his day until… that happened.

Roman gave up and let his head hit the wall once, leaving it to lay there when the thought of Patton seeing him like this managed to stop him from continuing the process until the wall had a good hole in it. Remy would probably be upset, too, of course, but Patton would most likely cry, and Roman would sooner fall into an ocean of fire than hurt either of his loves.

“I mean… can you even call them loves?”

Roman curled one of his hands into a fist at the fragment of a memory. He could, damnit, screw Anton and his stupid face and his stupid words and his stupid, stupid reasoning…

“…Babe?”

Roman jerked out of his thoughts, realizing that Remy had come up to him, his Starbucks-barista-turned-partner frowning at him in worry.

“Yes, my darling?” Roman asked, pushing himself off the wall, trying to maintain his image.

“Are you alright?” Remy said, a perfectly reasonable question given Roman had been lying against the wall for five minutes, seemingly completely unaware of Remy’s presence next to him for a good minute of that time.

Roman plastered on a smile, hoping it looked even semi-convincing. “Of course! Why ever would you even have to ask?”

Remy reached forward, still frowning as he pushed Roman’s bangs behind his ear. Roman instinctively leaned into the touch, trying to not look pitiful while he did so.

“Honey,” Remy said, softly, and Roman really must be failing at this whole acting thing if Remy’s sounding that worried, “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Roman assured. “I’m fine.”

Remy didn’t respond for a moment, continuing to frown at Roman until he wanted to squirm away. Finally, after what felt like an eternity to Roman, Remy moved forward, his free arm wrapping around Roman’s waist, the hand he had on Roman’s cheek slipping behind his head and tangling itself in Roman’s hair. Roman froze for a second, the surprise hug startling him, especially from Remy. He was generally pulled into hugs and cuddle piles by excessive grabby hands and whined complainants from Roman and Patton.

Recovering from the surprise, Roman couldn’t be bothered to resist the embrace, wrapping his arms around Remy’s waist as he slumped into Remy, burying his head in the crook of Remy’s neck. He took a deep breath. Remy smelled like coffee beans and warm leather and sage and comfort and home.

Remy scratched the back of Roman’s head comfortingly. “Tired?”

“Mmmhmm.”

“Long day?”

“Mmmmm.”

“Long day that did not go fine despite all your lies?”

Roman started to hum in agreement again before he realized his mistake, immediately trying to pull away from what he now recognized as a trap hug. Remy’s grip only tightened, however, still too comforting for Roman to truly want to fight it.

“You’re really out of it if you fell for that, sugar.” Remy cooed before yelling over his shoulder, “Patton! Roman had a sucky day and he tried to lie about it!”

Roman didn’t know if he closed his eyes for a moment and missed him, or if his marshmallow boyfriend had simply forgotten to mention that he had teleportation abilities, but one minute Patton wasn’t there and the next he was pressed against Roman’s back, hugging Roman tightly enough he was surprised Remy still had a hold on him, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck.

“Baby, we talked about this.” Patton scolded, though his tone was so light Roman was fairly certain he was saying it more because he felt he had to say it than anything.

“I know, I know.” Roman said. “But it’s really nothing, the halves of my heart. Just something stupid someone said-”

“If it’s upsetting you, it’s not nothing.” Patton interrupted him, softly speaking, moving one hand to Roman’s hip so that he could rub circles into the skin. “What did they say?”

Roman opened his mouth to respond, to pass it off as simply as he could, to prove to them it was just some pointless comment he should have disregarded immediately anyways, and heard a sob come out instead, which was doing WONDERS for his image of ‘still wonderfully put together.’ The hand in his hair stilled in surprise, and Patton made a sound of hurt. Their worry only made Roman feel worse, and he couldn’t stop himself before the next words were spilling out, “I’m sorry I don’t love you enough.”

More sounds of pain, this time not just from behind him, but Roman ignored them, pressing his head further into Remy’s shoulder as if that would block out the entire world. He felt more than truly knew they were moving, though he didn’t focus on where or how. At some point his legs got tucked up so that they were resting on something, the warmth around him shifted but never enough so that it was truly gone, somehow ending up so that almost nothing had changed aside from the fact that the amount of effort he had to put into existing was substantially lessened.

That made it a lot easier to cry, hating that he was staining Remy’s shirt but knowing he couldn’t stop even if he tried. The warmth of his boyfriends’ around him didn’t seem to mind, hands gently running across his skin, a mix of soft pet names and quiet shushing sounding around him. Eventually his tears stopped falling, his sobs turning into hiccups that turned into nothing, until all he was doing was holding onto Remy and trying to sink into him and escape the world.

“Sweetie? Sweetheart?” Roman hummed in response to the names that were clearly being directed at him, still refusing to remove his head from the dark, warm safety of his boyfriend’s shoulder. There was a sigh that sounded caught between amused and concerned. “Please, love, we need to talk.”

Roman groaned and tilted his head, still resting on Remy as he looked over at Patton. They were all cuddled together on the couch, Roman securely held in Remy’s lap and against his chest while Patton remained wrapped around his back, better positioned to look at Roman, his sweet honey eyes laced with worry. Knowing he was the cause of it, Roman almost started crying again, not sure how he could vanquish it but knowing he would do anything to replace it with happiness.

“Hey, shh, it’s alright, you’re not in trouble.” Patton said immediately, cupping Roman’s cheek with one hand, brushing away the beginnings of new tears. “I just- We just want to know- Ro, starlight, why don’t you think you love us enough?”

Roman would have shoved his head back into the crook of Remy’s neck if Patton’s gentle but firm grasp wasn’t stopping him, forcing him to hold eye contact with his partner, half of his entire life, one of two people he’d willingly die for in a heartbeat as he said, as unashamedly as he could, “We’re just partners.” Patton’s brow furrowed even more, and Remy once more tightened his grip around Roman, and it took all his willpower to choke out, “We’re just partners, and not dating, and that’s it, that’s all we are, and you’re both just so wonderful you deserve more, and it’s not fair to you that you’re stuck with me and that, and-”

“Roman, please, please baby, stop!” Patton said, distressed, and Roman shut up. Patton was cupping both his cheeks now, running his thumbs over them repeatedly, as if he wasn’t just trying to comfort Roman but himself as well.

“I’m going to kill 'em. You said someone said this to you?” Remy asked, aggressively, nearly growling when Roman nodded. “Bullshit. It’s bullshit.”

“Language.” Patton said automatically, snapping Remy out of his mood.

Remy sighed, going back to running his fingers through Roman’s hair. “They’re wrong, sweetheart, completely wrong.” He reassured Roman, voice much softer now. “You love us more than enough, whatever they said was just stupid.”

“I- I know you say that, but-” Roman paused, searching for the words. “Kisses, and holding hands in public, and all of that… I can’t- I don’t offer you any of those things, and you deserve them so much, and that’s not fair to either of you.”

Remy chuckled, and the sound echoed through Roman’s chest. “Gurl, I feel like you’re forgetting I’m aro too. I don’t care about any of those things- I just care about you.”

“And we love you.” Patton added. “We love you because you’re an amazing cuddler and you love to sweep us off our feet and you have the most beautiful singing voice in the entire world and because we know you love us so, so much, and the fact that you don’t love us romantically isn’t even close to important.”

“And you love us too, right?” Remy asked.

Roman almost tripped over his words rushing to answer, unwilling to leave a single second empty without his promise, “Of course I do! I just-”

“Than that’s enough.” Remy cut him off, and it was so simple yet so adoring, coupled with the look Patton was giving Roman, like he’d hang the moon for him while Remy pinned up the stars, that every word that jerk had said melted away in an instant, like a million pounds right off his shoulders, leaving him so free and alive that Roman couldn’t help but lunge forwards a bit, twisting himself so that he could wrap his arms around Patton, pulling him backwards so they more or less landed on Remy, all pressed against each other and warm and real and solid beneath his fingers.

“I’m sorry.” He said, and continued on swiftly, before Patton or Remy even had a chance to speak, “I’m so sorry I listened to that bastard. He was an idiot, you’re so right. I’m so sorry. I love you, I love you so much, you mean more to me than any part in any play, than any gem or jewel, my dearhearts, my treasures, my loves.”

Patton giggled, and Roman couldn’t help the smile that suddenly blossomed on his face as Patton pressed a quick kiss to his forehead before just resting his own on Roman’s, whispering happily, “It’s alright, my prince, we know.”

“We know, but I still want to hear it more.” Remy protested, and Roman laughed as he turned his head back towards him, Remy’s dark eyes alive with amusement and glittering with love purer than freshly fallen snow.

“I love you.” Roman obliged him, hugging Patton closer to him even as he still watched Remy, “I love you more than summer sunsets and spring dew and winter frost and autumn colours. I love you more than sugar cookies and hot chocolate and crackling fires and-”

“-and more than the smell of coffee and crisp apples and fuzzy socks and soft pajamas and late night movie marathons and early morning grumbles and a thousand other musings.” Remy took over for him, smiling both smugly and softly as he brushed through Roman’s hair. “I love you all that and a million times more.”

“Cheater.” Roman accused heatlessly. “That’s my move.”

“It’s what you get for loving a dirty thief.”

“Pretty thief.” Patton corrected with his own smile, blindly reaching a hand back that Remy took immediately. “Pretty thief of our hearts.”

“Only after you got mine, cocoa bean.” Remy matched, lazily intertwining his fingers with Patton’s.

Roman reached a hand over as well, grasping around theirs. “You never stole my heart.” He said teasingly. “Considering you are my heart.”

“Your two perfect halves- yes, we are aware.” Remy said exasperatedly, but there was a fondness in his tone Roman knew he couldn’t shake. “You’ve got to come up with some better lines, doll.”

“Says Mr. Twenty-One-Nicknames.” Roman replied.

“You know you love them.”

“Do I know that?” Roman asked, laughing as Remy gasped in faux hurt. Patton laughed, too, shaking their held hands.

“You two are impossible.” He said, cheerily despite the chiding words. “I’m never going to get dinner made at this rate.”

“You’re welcome to go make it now.” Remy invited, though they all knew he wasn’t serious.

That didn’t stop Roman from tangling his legs up in Patton’s, whining, “Noooooooo, you have to stayyyyy.”

“But dinner… if I don’t go make it now I’ll never make it…” Patton trailed off, sounding more interested in staying.

“Then don’t go.” Roman offered, pushing his head up enough to nestle it against Patton’s shoulder, trying to sweeten the pot. “Stay and cuddle me.”

“And why should I prioritize that over dinner?”

“Because I’m still a little sad and I don’t want to let you go.” Roman said, blinking his eyes as sadly as he could for extra effect.

“Plus cuddling tops, like, all things.” Remy pointed out. “And I the remote’s in reach, and I think the Little Mermaid’s still in the player-”

“Cuddling on the couch it is!” Patton decided suddenly, finally releasing his boyfriends’ hands so that he could turn over and burrow into Roman’s chest, loosely hugging Roman as he settled in. Remy laughed as he snagged the remote, flicking on the tv and the corresponding underwater scene.

“And all it took was Disney.” Remy commented in amusement, dropping the remote as he shifted and wrapped his arms around both Roman and Patton. “We are going to get hungry eventually, though.”

“That’s a problem for later.” Patton said, and Roman was quick to agree with him, his arms still holding Patton against him even as he moved his hands to lay over Remy’s. Squished between his boyfriends now, tropical tunes starting up in the background, he couldn’t believe he had given Anton’s words a single moment of his time.

He didn’t need romance to love Patton and Remy- all he needed were eyes and half a brain.

Roman sighed, feeling more content then he ever had before. “I love you guys.” He said, softly, sweetly, simply.

“Love you too.” They both chorused at once, their care as tangible as their arms around him, and that was all Roman needed to know they loved him just as much as he loved them.

And that would always be enough.

(No editing we die like men- aka sorry if this is bad but like. I tried. Hope it makes you feel even a little bit better :) <3)

#creativisleepality #lia #fan fics #submission

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stardancerluv · 4 years

Text

Tease

Part 7

Summary: You and Roman Sionis have started a relationship. There is a certain level of cat and mouse between the two of you, even if you are turning more into a cat these days.

Warning: Torture, daddy kink, stripping, blowjob, some fluff.

Roman Sionis x Reader

“Are we having fun tonight?” Roman hollered, as he walked back to the other two that still hung from the ceiling. His arms were out spread, only grunts escaped from around the tape gags.

“Let’s see. “ He went and looked at each one. Then he grabbed the one on the left. “Jared, why the fuck did you not let us combine forces?” The man grunted. “What? I can’t hear you?” He chuckled.

Roman just shook his head. He made a fast slash across the man’s face from one side to another. “How dare you think you can send a man to blow up my girl and I? Did you really think you could fill my shoes?” The man wriggled in pain.

As you watched him, knots of excitement continued in your stomach now. Part of you was still trembling inside from what you did but somehow you felt like you could take on anything.

“You don’t have the stomach for any of this.” He paused, as you drew closer.

“Slash him again, Roman.” You whisper.

He smirked as you encouraged him. “Alright.” This time when he reared back he slashed at the man’s stomach.

You watched as the red, blood welled up and began dripping down. As the pain intensified he wriggled and the blood began to fly. You stepped back.

“Ew. Now you are just making a mess of things.” He stepped back with you. “Victor, end him.”

The other one just shook and at this time was weeping. Going over to him, Roman saw the tears. “You are their bag man, you do their dirty jobs. You are fucking crying.” He shook his head. “Did ever care when others cried when they were within your grasp? Victor take care of this asshole.”

He wiped his knife on the weeping man’s shirt, closed it then tucked it back into his own pocket. He went over you. “Kitten let’s get the fuck out of here. I’m bored.

You happily, went to his side. Once outside he pulled you close. “Do you have any idea how good you looked?”

You giggled. “No.”

“Very.” Then he kissed you.

*****

“Roman?” You brushed his wet strands out of his hair. Loving the sight of him looking ruffled.

Hmmm? He slid you a look, as he made a questioning face.

You enjoyed just being cuddled up to him in the back as the lights of Gotham passed the two of you.

“Can we go up to the roof?” You gave him a mischievous look.

“Sure. We may just have to make a quick stop at my office or just merely get into the penthouse.” He winked at you.

You took Roman’s hand and placed it over your racing heart. “Who do I belong to?”

He smirked. “You are mine.” He growled.

You gently dragged his hand across and down your body. Opening yourself, you moved his hand so he could cup you. “Then hold what you own and feel what you do to me.” He squeezed you hard making you wince with pleasure. “Please, indulge me and go up to the roof.”

“Open a little further.” He moved his hand just so it hold you all the better. “Relax your legs till I say stop.”

“Stop.” You did, it added just the right amount of pressure, his thumb grazed you. It pulled a soft sound from you.

“Y/N, since you are mine, if I wanted to I could demand that you get me off right here and now.” He hissed.

You quivered, biting your bottom your lip you felt yourself grow wetter. “I know.”

“I don’t want my queen to feel cheap. So I will wait despite aching for you.”

You reached between his legs as exhilaration shot through you as you felt how hard he was.

“Oh, you are quite hard.” You whispered. He squeezed you again.

“Kitten, it is not a good time to tease me.”

You smiled and went back to being cuddled up to him. He felt him reach around and grab his phone.

“Is Anton, Roman here. I want you to bring one of the bottles of champagne up to the roof, along with say two of mine and two of Y/N’s drinks.”

“Yes! I know its raining.” Exasperation filled his voice but as it did he slid a finger into you. “Just put them on one of the tables that are under the gazebo.”

He met your eyes, loving how you squirmed under his touch. “Also bring up a fruit tray.”

“Thank you!” You shouted out.

“Hear that, Y/N is saying thank you! We’re about ten minutes out. Get to it.” Then he stuffed the phone back into his pocket. He saw your expression. “What?” The look of innocence washing over his face.

“Fuck you, Roman Sionis!” You practically growl but it sounds like a whimper before kissing him.

He kissed you back, he always enjoyed the taste of you. He chuckled. “I can tease just as hard.”

*****

Your heals clicked as the two of you ran from the car, to the club “Roman, I feel so silly.”

He hushed you. “I don’t want see anyone, I can’t be bothered with pleasing everyone tonight. I just want time for the two of us. You felt as if the two of you were sneaking in after curfew, as the two of you looked before making a run for the elevator. Tonight, the dynamic between you two had changed, you could feel it. It iswxcited you to your core.

It dinged and you two hurried in, Roman immediately hit the button to close the doors. Looking through your wet strands you, saw Roman’s now ruffled hair, strands sticking each way from the rain and running the two of you did. You itched to touch it. He caught you looking at him and smirked.

“You better get over here baby.” He gestured you with both hands as he leaned against the far corner of the elevator. You could taste your desire for him as he looked at you like that.

“So can you finally tell me now what you have planned?”

“You will have to wait and see.” You gave him a half smile.

You rested both hands your head against his chest as the two of you let the elevator climb its way to the roof.

*****

“That’s my chef.” Roman smiled as I looked be saw tbe spread that Anton had put out with his assistants. Everything was as it should, the cocktails were there along with the champagne and the fruit platter. He even had lit the fire pit since it was on fact raining along with some candles, that bad been nice touch.

“Roman, daddy go...sit enjoy one of your drinks ,” you urged.

“Alright.” Going over he lounged, like a lazy powerful cat legs And crossed casually sipping at his drink. He unbuttoned his suit jacket to be even more comfortable. He had put some fruit on plate, he grabbed a strawberry and nibbled at it. A sigh came from his lips, you did love these quiet moments just between the two of you without curious or judging eyes.

You went over and leaned against the far wall, of the gazebo he had especially built so they could have shelter from sun or in this case the rain. He saw you giving you a smile. “You dressed me today.”

“I did.” He smirked.

“I liked it.” You paused as you ran your hands from the collar to eventually smoothening the skirt.

“Now allow me to show you what I wore underneath it all for you.”

He watched as you untied the belt, slipping from the jacket. “You had discovered these much too soon.” You demurely, showed him where the garters held your stockings in place on your thigh before pushing down the skirt till it felt beside the suit jacket.

“Damn baby.” He said as he watched you, he finished the last of his first cocktail. “You chose very well for daddy.”

Languidly, you reached skyward as you stretched going on your tip toes still in your heals. Your blouse rode up a little. Reaching behind you, you easily unhooked your bra. Your breasts were still full and tight against the silky blouse you had worn. All of your wonderful womanly curves were there for Roman. Lastly, reaching back, you took off your heals.

You went over to him every part of you was attuned to him, you wanted him more then ever. All that had happened tonight made you exhilarated in ways you could not explain. You felt incredibly alive.

Reaching and gently you urged him to uncross his legs. Easily you went between his legs. With how he sat there, he looked like the king that he was.

“My pretty girl. Look at you.” Reaching over, he let his hand drift down and caress you over you shirt. More of it stuck to you due to the rain. You made a soft sound, loving his touch moving along with his touches.

With his other hand, he reached and grabbed He one of your cocktails. “Do you want some?” You nodded.

“Open your mouth, baby.”

Leaning against him, you did and gently he pour some into your mouth. He made sure you were able to swallow it all.

“Are you hungry baby?” You nodded.

He gave you a smile, first he offered you a strawberry then a few blueberries, “There’s my baby.” Holding a small stem of the grapes he let you bite those off.

“That is good for now,” You told h you know I would im demurely as you grabbed his second drink. “Here you go.” You gave it to him with a smile.

As he took a sip you gently took the hem of your blouse and slipped it over your head.

Not wanting to break the kiss, but you gave him a demure look as you reached over, then handed him his other martini. As he drank it you let your hands caress your way up his legs. Though you waited in touching him where you were sure he wanted you to touch him as much as you wanted to.

Letting, your hands continued to move over him. He finished his drink. Sitting closer, you let yourself brush against his, as your hand found his knife nestled there. Reaching in, you wrapped your fingers around his knife and took it out. “I loved using this today. But I need it for a moment longer.” Shifting you stood, opening his knife so it was fully open, you let the rain wash it clean.*

“Oh? And what could you possibly need it for?”

You then very barely let it graze your skin, you were very aware of how sharp it was. Easily you traced the edge of where the panties sat, you pulled it away from you, then you let the blade slice. The panties fell to the ground by your feet.

Walking over you closed his knife with a metallic click, then you handed it back to him. In a move that took your breath he took it and managed to pull you to him and onto his lap with a gasp.

“This where you fucking belong.” He wrapping and his arms around you, he kissed you hard on the lips. He reinforced who was in control with that kiss that made your melt.

His hands wandered, making you breathless as wandered where they would come to rest. You gasped and called out as he snapped one of the garters. “That hurts.” You whimpered at how it smarted but it also excited you, he knew this.

“You have been so bad, teasing daddy.” He snapped another garter. “Daddy practically cam in his pants watching you. Would you have wanted that?”

“No.”

“Daddy is only suppose to cum in or on you, whether its here.” He said, idly as his thumb caressed your lower lip and you jumped as he cupped you. “Oh in here.”

You licking your lip, you took his thumb into your mouth. You nibbled and sucked on it alittle. You looked at him coyly, you pulled a loud moan from him, it pull a moan from him as he ground you against his hard on that you had felt growing under his

@darling-i-read-it @spn-obession @vintagemichelle91 @xxxeatyourh3artoutxxx @ewanfuckingmcgregor @zodiyack @angel98624 @starwarsprequelfangirl @nebulastarr @emyliabernstein @rosionis @johallzy

#roman sionis pov #roman sionis smut #roman sionis x reader #roman sionis fanfiction #tease #part 7 #bop #birds of prey #roman sionis #black mask #black mask x reader #black mask x you #black mask x y/n

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woodelf68 · 4 years

Text

Turn On, Tune In, Drop Out

My long-promised homage to @worryinglyinnocent‘s Playtime ‘verse, because she managed to write fifty installments without doing hippies, and I had to rectify that. Also my contribution to @rumbelleishope. Rated E.

***

The large cardboard box bearing items from the estate sale was like a time capsule from the late 1960s. Gold sorts through the items, fond memories of his early childhood stirred by such things as the beaded curtain and concert posters and the heavy stack of albums, their cardboard covers worn along the edges but still bright with the distinctive graphics of the era. The Who, Jefferson Airplane, Country Joe and the Fish, Iron Butterfly. Donovan, too, Glasgow-born like himself. He can hear them in his head, like a soundtrack to the Summer of Love, and he wonders if Belle will like any of them. He’s fairly certain that she’ll like the clothes, and holds up a loose, flowing smock with wide sleeves and delicate flowers embroidered around the neckline and hem. It’s a pretty thing, and he can easily see Belle wearing it, hopes that she’ll want to.

Methodically he sorts through the contents of the box, dividing everything into three piles. One to be priced and sold – the two posters were what had drawn him to bid on this lot in the first place, and he knows that he can sell them for a pretty penny – one of things he thinks Belle might be interested in, and one of a few items of clothing that he looks at doubtfully, unsure if he wants them to fit or not. But he thinks of Belle in the short dress, thinks of surprising her with a scenario they haven’t played out yet, knows he won’t regret any temporary feelings of silliness at wearing what are, after all, fairly normal clothes compared to some of the things he’s put on for her. Making up his mind, he goes into the shop’s small bathroom and locks the door.

Several minutes later he’s studying his reflection, and surprisingly not feeling too ridiculous. although he would die of embarrassment if anyone other than Belle were to see him wearing a suede leather vest adorned with long fringes. But the undyed linen shirt with the open neck and band collar is soft and comfortable, and if it’s a little too big, it’s not overly so, and he can roll up the sleeves. Same with the trousers, he’s sure that the flare-legged rust denim was originally meant to fit a bit more tightly than they do on his frame, but although he knows that Belle would no doubt appreciate that, he’s gotten used to more freedom of movement. With a belt and the cuffs turned up if he doesn’t want them to drag on the ground, the jeans fit well enough. The clothes remind him of his childhood, those years after he had been taken in by his aunts, where he had learned the feeling of security, and being wanted, and what it was like to be praised and encouraged instead of constantly belittled. Whether it’s the warm memories associated with the era, or simply the fact that he knows his ten year old self would have loved to have had a fringed leather vest, he’s satisfied with his image. Now all he has to do is suggest a scene. He thinks about it as he changes back into his suit and tucks the vintage garments into a bag. The shop is small, and would be easily decorated, but far too public for more than a quickie. The large Victorian house filled with fine antiques is not right at all. That leaves the cabin, he decides.

Saturday morning, he drops Belle off at the library and hands her a box tied with string that he’d stashed in the back seat of the Cadillac. “Don’t open it until lunchtime,” he says, knowing the pleasure of an anticipated surprise. “I won’t be in the shop today; I’ve got some other business to take care of.”

“All right; see you later.” Belle watches him drive off, mystified by the package in her hands. By the time lunchtime rolls around, she’s more than ready to tear off the box lid and find out what’s in it. A piece of paper sits on top of some tissue paper-covered contents, with the heading “Playtime?” She forces herself to read the rest before folding back the tissue paper and seeing what awaits her. “It’s 1968. Fibre artist and co-founder of Storybrooke’s new “Enchanted Forest” commune “Rumpelstiltskin” Gold has agreed to an interview with the hip young reporter from the local newspaper. Please confirm interview at 6 pm Saturday.” Intrigued, she folds back the tissue paper and nearly squeals with delight, instantly picking up the beaded, white leather headband that lays on top of the other items and tying it around her head. She gets out her compact mirror to admire how it looks for a moment before texting Rum back.

“Interview confirmed. Looking forward to it.”

He must have been waiting for her reply; his return message is swift. “Dove will have the car there for you at five; I’ll see you later.”

Dove arrives with the keys to the Cadillac before she closes the library at five, and as soon as she locks the front door, she retires to the restroom to change into her outfit. It’s a beautiful day, warm and sunny, and she drives out to the cabin as instructed, deciding what she’s going to say when she gets there. Parking, she starts to head for the door of the cabin when she hears music coming from around the side of it and alters her course. Gold is there, sitting on top of the picnic table, his spindle hanging down and twirling as he spins a smooth yarn from the basket of wool roving in the basket beside him. He is dressed – well, he is dressed to match her, obviously, and it suits him. It suits him incredibly well. He looks softer, younger, his dark hair set off by the off-white linen shirt, feathering out over the band collar, the open neckline displaying the line of this throat and a string of love beads, mostly black with a few white and sky blue ones mixed in at regular intervals. The rust-coloured denim of his jeans sits low on his hips and flares out below the knees and the fringed vest…she’d like to see him move with it on, see the fringes flare out. She kind of wants to borrow it herself, and thinks about what it would feel like to wear it with nothing on underneath. Preferably while she was riding him in bed, rocking back and forth, the open edges of the leather rubbing back and forth against her bare skin… She swallows hard, and pushes that image back to take out and play with again later. Gold looks both snuggly, and sexy, and she wants nothing more than to go over to him and slide her fingers into his hair to hold him still while she kisses him breathless, but she has a part to play first.

”Mr. Gold?” she asks, approaching. “I’m Belle French, with the Storybrooke Mirror. You agreed to an interview.” She holds out her hand and he lets go of the dangling yarn forming between his fingers to reach out and shake it.

“Call me Rum, please.” He goes back to smoothing the spinning fiber into a smooth, even yarn, and Belle can’t help but watch his hands.

“That’s a nickname, right?” She takes out a pen and notebook from her purse, ostensibly jotting it down. “For Rumpelstiltskin, because of the spinning.”

“It is. I quite like it.”

“How did you get into spinning?”

“My aunts taught me. We had a wee croft, a few sheep, chickens, that sort of thing. Turned out that I was quite good at it. I like the rhythm of it, and there’s a lot of satisfaction in taking a bit of dirty, rough wool and combing it clean and spinning it into a strong, even twist of yarn that can be made into things.”

“Do you use the yarn yourself? Make it into things?”

“Aye, we do a fair bit of that here, at the commune. Granny’s our champion knitter, ponchos and scarves and mittens, they always sell really well at the Miner’s Day Festival. And my son and his girlfriend like to make dreamcatchers with the wool; they’re another popular item. And of course we make things for ourselves as well.”

“So is that part of your goal here? To be as self-sufficient as possible?” Belle drops her bag on the grass and sits down beside it, cross-legged, resting her notebook on her thigh and glancing back up after scribbling a few things down in it. It’s a lazy sort of day, and for once she isn’t in a hurry to rush to the sex, instead interested in the unusually detailed background story he’s made up about himself, and hinted at in the letter he’d written. She wouldn’t mind being a journalist if she wasn’t a librarian, she thinks, and wonders if the Mirror might be interested in her starting a weekly column about books.

“Aye, I suppose. It’s cheaper to make your own bread than to buy it, for example, and better for you. You’ll have to talk to Anton, our crops expert, if you want to know more about that side of thing. He’ll talk your ear off about beans if you show even the slightest bit of interest.”

Belle grins, thinking of the gentle giant who ran the local health food store, and knowing it was actually true. “You mentioned your son; tell me about him.”

Gold smiles fondly. “He’s an artist. Does portraits when he can get a commission, freelance political cartoons, sign painting, anything really.”

Neal is indeed a good artist, she knows, even if he has chosen the steady paycheck that came with a job at the hardware store over any artistic dreams, preferring to keep it a hobby. “You sound very proud of him .”

“I am.”

“What about those other people you mentioned? His girlfriend, and Granny. Do they live here, too?”

“Aye, Emma and her parents are fairly new here. Her mother’s our respectable member of society – she’s a teacher at the school – and her father can do just about everything around here. Good with the animals, construction work, anything that needs doing. And I can’t even be jealous of him because he’s so nice, too.”

Belle laughs; it really is a good summation of David.

“And Granny, well, she’s been here since the beginning.”

Belle makes a note, and looks back up to watch the whirling spindle, his fingers never still as he forms the yarn between his fingers. “Tell me about the beginning. What made you decide to start a commune?”

“Well, we didn’t, not really, certainly not at first. When my son was young – “ he hesitates, and then continues. “His mother left us, and there I was, needing to go to work and having a wee boy to take care of at the same time. We didn’t have any family, or friends. But I knew the woman in the flat across from ours had taken in her granddaughter recently and was raising her on her own – there’d been some scandal with the mother, from what Milah had gathered. But the lass looked hearty enough, so I figured that the woman knew how to take care of a bairn and I was desperate. I went knocking on her door, thinking she might be willing to look after Neal for what little money I could offer her, since it would be in the convenience of her own home. And he was a sweet, well-behaved boy, no trouble at all.”

Belle looks up at him uncertainly, knowing that he was talking about his own real life here; at least as far as Neal’s mother leaving them went, and wonders about it. He normally never talks about that period of his life, maybe this was one way he could do so? She isn’t sure about the Granny part; they don’t seem to have that sort of relationship. She stops herself from asking if Granny had really watched Neal, though, not wanting to break character yet. Rum has gone through a lot of trouble putting together a backstory for this particular scenario, and she doesn’t want to break the mood. She realises that she knows even less about Granny’s past, or Ruby’s parents, and makes a note on her pad to ask later. She squints against the sun, positioned behind his head and outlining the locks of hair falling forward into his face, and tries to think what would be the next question that a journalist would ask.

“Were you working as a spinner then?”

“Lord, no, an accountant. It’s only been in the last few years that people have begun appreciating handcrafted items again, enough to pay a little more for them than mass-produced factory goods. It was when the last of my aunts died that I took it up again. They’d left me their cottage, and everything in it, including their wheels and a good stash of both raw wool and spun yarn. I would have moved back to Scotland and lived there, but Neal had his friends and his life here, and wanted to stay, so I sold the place and brought as many of their things home with us as possible, things that I remembered from my childhood, even though I had to place most of it in storage. But I made Neal a scarf for Christmas from the yarn, and his friend Emma then asked if I could make her a hat, and paid for it with her allowance money, and then Granny’s Ruby wanted one, and pretty soon the boutique in town contacted me about selling some of my stuff there. I took a leap of faith and quit my job, but if I was going to spend all day at home spinning and weaving, then I wasn’t going to do it in my tiny apartment. This cabin was for sale, needed a lot of fixing up, but Neal was old enough to help by then and enlisted a bunch of his friends from woodshop at school as well. We had it fixed up and livable in quite a short amount of time, and well, that was the start of things.”

Belle mentally sorts out the facts from fabrication. His aunts had been real, she knows, but the cabin has never been more than a weekend getaway place. She is saved having to think of another question by the music in the background coming to a stop and Gold putting aside his spindle and going over to the record player to flip over the disc. A new song begins playing, with what she thinks is a bass line, a deep, thumping riff that gets under her skin and makes her want to move. She stands up, leaving her notepad and pen lying on her bag in the grass, and goes to meet Gold. “I like this song,” she says, beginning to sway in place as he turns back around to face her.

“Do you?”

“Mm-hm.” She takes his hands, trying to get him to dance with her. “In-a-gadda-da-vida, honey, don’t you know that I love you,” she sings, and nearly laughs at the way his eyebrows go up in surprise, biting back the remark that Storybrooke does have an oldies radio station, and it’s kind of hard to forget a song that seems to go on forever. “In-a-gadda-da-vida, baby, don’t you know that I’ll always be true?” She lifts his arms up, spinning beneath him, and smiling; he helps twirl her, her lightweight skirt flaring out around her.

“Oh, won’t you come with me,” she sings, and her mind completely derails in a sexual direction. “Won’t you take my hand?” With a filthy smirk on her face she tugs at his hands, backing away, and he follows, entranced, helpless to do otherwise. “Oh, won’t you come with me and walk this land? Please, take my hand.” She stops as they reach the picnic table, putting her hands on his shoulders, swaying to the music, forcing him to move as well, his feet staying planted but hips and shoulders moving to the beat.

“That’s it,” she encourages, and he smiles, drawing her close with his hands on her hips, pulling her flush against his body. She loops her arms around his neck, playing with his hair, her gaze drawn to the open collar of his shirt. “You look good,” she says.

“Do I?’ He tilts his head, grazes his lips against hers.

“Mm-hm. You should wear light colours more often.” She dips her head, pressing a kiss against his collarbone, mouthing against the warm skin.

“Have we moved into the second portion of the programming?” he asks, amused, leaning in to run his tongue around her earlobe.

“New questions. Like, do you believe in free love?” She runs her hand up his back, feeling each bump in his spine through the soft shirt, and then back down again, slipping up underneath the sun-warmed fabric.

“Oh, most definitely,” he assures her, his breath ghosting over hers as the music throbs in the background, a primal beat that makes him want to move against her, inside her. He debates the practicalities of just lifting her up onto the top of the picnic table and taking her right there.

“And is there a reason for that picnic blanket that you spread out so thoughtfully in the shade of the tree over there?”

“There are twigs and bugs in the grass,” he says, and Belle snorts. “And I thought, if any visitors should wish to recline in comfort…”

“Well, then,” she says, and takes his hand, leading him behind her towards the blanket. She sinks down upon it and he sits down beside her, facing her, and she can’t think of anything else to say, because all she wants to do is touch him. She slides her hand beneath his hair at the nape of his neck and draws him closer and he tilts his head and then they’re kissing languorously, need slowly building between them. Belle slips her hands up under the hem of his shirt, then back out again, tugging at the hem. “Off,” she instructs.

Gold breaks away from the path he’d been nuzzling along her neck to grin at her. “Run out of questions, have you?”

“The only thing I want to know is what you’re going to look like spread out naked before me,” she says, her voice gone a bit husky.

Gold sheds his vest first and then reaches back and yanks his shirt off over his head, his eyes darkening. The light breeze rustling the leaves above them feels good on his heated skin as he shakes his hair out of his eyes, reaching out to splay his hands over Belle’s ribs before she can touch him herself, very much aware that she isn’t wearing a bra and grazing his thumbs over her nipples. Her breathing quickens and her head falls back as he rubs them, back and forth and back and forth, feeling them tighten and swell until she moans and reaches down to grab the hem of her own shirt. Gold obligingly drops his arms so that she can pull it off and cast it aside, the motion lifting her breasts and stretching out her taut belly. She kicks off her sandals and Gold takes the opportunity to remove his own low cut boots and socks, shifting more comfortably now onto his knees, and drawing Belle forward to straddle one of his thighs before kissing her again, more urgently than before.

Belle begins moving, riding his hard thigh, rubbing herself against him. His belt buckle digs into her stomach, and she reaches down, tugging it open and free impatiently, and then going for the snap and zipper of his jeans, wanting only warm skin against her, feeling Gold slide his hands up under her skirt, his palms smoothing along her legs. She slips her hand inside his jeans, palms his growing hardness, and Gold makes a desperate sort of noise, pressing up against her and then pulling back, scrambling to his feet to shove down his jeans and underwear together, while Belle makes quick work of removing the rest of her clothes and tossing them to the side, where she spots his discarded vest and, with a small smile, pulls it on over her bare chest. It feels as good as she had imagined, the suede soft but with just enough of a roughness to its texture to make her very aware of it as it shifts over her breasts, the edges grazing her nipples. Gazing up at Gold, she thinks it’s a good angle, his cock already half hard and lifting away from his body, and she thinks about rising back onto her knees and taking him into her mouth, but as she shifts onto her knees and curls a hand around his ankle, he braces his hands on her shoulders and lowers himself back down to the blanket, stretching out above her, one hand supporting her lower back, and she lets him ease her down, enjoying the weight of his hips pressing her down against the ground. They kiss, long and slow, and then he begins working his way down her body, touching and tasting, fingers and lips and tongue as her head falls back and her body arches into him.

She buries her fingers in his hair and gazes up into the branches of the tree as he suckles at her breasts. Something glints there, catches the sun and magnifies it. She closes her eyes briefly against it, becomes more aware of the pulse of the music in the background, the pulse of her blood in her veins. She opens her eyes again as his mouth leaves her and he moves further down, leaving her nipples wet and swollen and aching. She looks down at her body as she lifts her hands to cup her own breasts, to tug and pinch at the nipples and sees small rainbows dancing over her chest, her skin dappled in light and shade from the sun filtering through the leaves. She looks up in puzzlement, and then smiles in delight and reaches up as if she could reach the crystals she spots hanging from the branches of the tree, their prisms catching the light and breaking it up into the bands of colour that paint her skin and increase the dreamlike quality of the moment. She knows at once where they’re from, thinking of the box in the shop’s back room full of dismantled chandelier parts, but the knowledge doesn’t lessen their magic. She traces one along her skin, then takes one of the vest’s long fringes and shifts it back and forth over her nipple, sucking in a breath as it catches briefly before rolling over. Gold runs a hand along her thigh and she lets her legs fall apart and half closes her eyes as his fingers slip inside her, drawing out her moisture and using it to draw slow circles over her clit.

He watches her rolling the fringe back and forth over her nipple, the flesh visibly puckering around the hardening nub, and his own cock hardens in response. He longs to take her into his mouth, but cannot look away.

“You would fit right in at Woodstock,” he says huskily. “Imagine us there, listening to the music, and I’m standing right behind you, and we’re swaying to the music. You’re wearing nothing but your skirt and that vest, and it’s open, and I’m cupping your breasts in my hands, and playing with your nipples.“

Belle’s hips jerk, as the image goes straight to her core.

Gold dips his fingers into her again, and feels the effect his words are having on her. There’s plenty of slick now, for his thumb to glide easily over her flesh, that light, grazing touch that causes her clit to swell and harden in response. His voice drops in pitch, his Scottish accent strengthening without him being quite aware of it. “There’s people all around us, but it doesn't matter, no one does more than glance our way.” He searches his memory for images from the documentary of the famous concert. “It’d been pouring rain earlier, and your shirt had gone drenched and transparent in minutes. Other people were stripping off their wet things, and you’d boldly done the same; there’s no shame here, no constraints. Bodies are natural, they’re beautiful, there’s no need to hide them. There’s people with body paint, offering their services. Perhaps we’ll ask one to decorate your breasts; would you like that?”

Belle can’t keep from squirming, her eyes wide as they rake over his smooth, lightly tanned chest and lower, his cock blatantly erect for her.

“If we could paint you, too. What about you? Is your shirt off?”

“Oh aye, my chest is bare against your back, and my jeans are clinging to me like a second skin, and my cock is straining against the zipper; anyone who looks at me would know how much I want you. I want to take you away from the crowd and find a place to lay you out on the ground and rut into you like a wild beast, but I need you to come first, come on my hands, come for everyone to see – “ He slid his free hand up her chest, pushing the suede leather of the vest aside, completely baring her front, and cupped her breast in his warm hand, his hips shifting and pressing down against her pubis as he leans over her, thumb being replaced by middle finger, changing the angle, rubbing relentlessly. “Come on, sweetheart,” he urges, kneading her breast, his touch rougher here where she prefers lighter down below.

The music pulses in time with her blood and Gold’s hair falls forward to hang in his face. He blocks out the sun, he is haloed by it, sun and shade and the scent of grass and incense and she is here and she is there at the same time and his cock is heavy and stiff against her thigh and the hard knot of pleasure bursts within her and she comes with all her muscles clenching tight and her fingers digging into his skin where she’d reached for him. His finger stills against her, knowing not to move again until she relaxes, the tension sagging out of her body, and she feels good but it’s not enough, there’s an aching emptiness inside her that needs to be filled. She sits up abruptly, tumbling him onto his back, and straddles his hips, taking hold of his cock and stroking it firmly.

“We’ve gone away from the crowd now,” she tells him. “Found a place by the lake, behind some bushes. They offer us some privacy, but we can hear people nearby, going down to the lake, to bathe, to swim. Someone could easily come upon us, if they came in just the right direction.” She rubs her thumb over his slit, coaxing out a bead of moisture, and he lets out a nearly inaudible whine. “I don’t care, though. I want you, and I don’t want to wait. Are you willing to risk it? Willing to risk someone seeing me riding you into the ground?”

“Hell, yes.” He can’t wait, either. “Let them see. Let them see a beautiful woman like you wants someone like me.”

“You say “someone like me” as if I’m not dripping wet for you, as if I don’t want to have you buried inside me more than anything in the world,” she says, and rises up, positioning him at her entrance so he can feel the truth of her words. “You have to be quiet,” she warns, mischievously, and sinks down.

Gold swallows down the noise that wants to escape his throat as she engulfs him. “I don’t know if I can promise that.” He splays his hands out on her waist, just under the edge of the vest, his thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts. Hanging open as it is, the vest only half covers them, baring a lovely wide strip of pale flesh right down the center of her body, adorned only by the love beads she still wore around her neck. As she shifts above him, the edges of the vest fall back, just revealing her nipples, and his cock throbs in response. He bucks up, everything feeling tight, and hot, and urgent. “That vest is a good look on you; we should keep it.”

Belle grins. “I’m glad you think so; I quite like it myself.” She leans forward over him, resting her weight on her hands, and begins to ride him, deliberately shifting continuously in a way that keeps the edges of the vest moving and rubbing against her breasts, her nipples staying hard and sensitive from the teasing friction. She undulates; rising and falling and pleasuring herself on his shaft, the long fringes falling forward as she lowers herself above his body.

Gold arches up as the leather fringes trail over his belly and swing forward to drag over his nipples, driving himself deeper inside her as he seeks more of the teasing sensation. He cups his hands over her breasts, rolling her nipples between forefinger and thumb, and Belle moans. He grins. “I thought we had to be quiet.”

"I never said I would be." She lifts herself up until just the head of his shaft remains within her, glancing down to see the hard column of his flesh joining their bodies. She tightens her muscles around him, squeezing as hard as she can.

Gold's whole body jerks as he cries out, his balls tightening and drawing up. He drags her back down upon him and rolls them over, pulling back out just enough to slam forward into her, rocking her backwards. He thrusts into her again, all control gone, feeling his climax rapidly approaching.

"That's it." Belle braces herself with drawn up knees and urges him on. "Come on, Rum, give it to me." He is all lean, wiry muscle, and dark hair falling forward and shielding his eyes from her view. She arches up into his next thrust, digging her fingers into his lean buttocks and feeling him long and thick and solid inside her. "That's it, so good, come on, come for me."

He snaps his hips forward, driving deep again and again until his body seizes with pleasure and he stills, braced on his forearms with his hips sealed against hers while the hot flood of his release spills inside her. After a few seconds his muscles unclench and he lowers himself to lay atop her, panting and letting his eyes fall shut as he savours the fading rush of ecstasy, his cock twitching a few times in aftershock as he softens inside her. He feels her fingers run through his hair and turns his face into her neck, breathing in the scent of her skin and the smell of crushed grass beneath the blanket, the air moving lightly over his sweaty back. A bird chatters above them, and he realises that the record had stopped playing at some point, unnoticed. He takes in a deep breath and rolls off to the side, blinking up at leaf-dappled sunlight and rainbows dancing in the air. He turns his head to the side and the corner of his mouth quirks up as Belle does the same and meets his eyes. She looks as debauched as he feels.

"So, Rumpelstiltskin," she says, reaching out to twine her fingers with his. She feels thoroughly well-used and it is about all she has the energy for at the moment. "Do you have any final words for the readers of our paper?"

Gold's smile widens into a grin. "Yeah. Turn on," He draws their joined hands to his lips and presses a kiss to her knuckles. "Tune in, and drop out." He lifts his free hand and flashes her a peace sign, feeling utterly sated and stupidly happy. He thinks of the box from the estate sale.

Best buy ever.

#rumbelle fic #rumbelle is hope #worryinglyinnocent #ficwoodelf #turn on tune in drop out #AHAHAHA I FINALLY FINISHED IT #THE SMUT HAS BEEN FIGHTING ME FOR TWO YEARS #BUT I WAS DETERMINED TO GET THIS DAMNED THING OUT OF MY DRAFTS #i'll put it up on ao3 in the morning #i want to give the smutty half a better edit when my eyes aren't so burning and blurry #also i'm never writing anything in present tense ever again #but i wanted to match the style of the others #every read through i kept finding spots where i'd slipped back into past tense and had to change all the verbs #ugh

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bobasheebaby · 5 years

Text

Ava Adore- Be Careful What You Wish For chapter 2

Pairing: Drake x MC; (past) Liam x MC

Word count: 1,927

Warnings: incorrect medical practices, blackmail, manipulation, Evil Liam

Summary: A trip to the doctors and leaning on friends for support.

A/N: This chapter starts the major canon divergence. I will try to incorporate elements that still fit with the overall story but here is where we go completely rouge. A huge thank you to @sirbeepsalot for all of her help and advice and being an ever patient sounding board. (MoE thanks DoE as well.) This chapter is named for Ava Adore by the Smashing Pumpkins, it so perfectly fits Liam.

Series warnings: Evil Liam, dark!fic, deceit, manipulation, dub con, possible NSFW content, possible character death. This is taking the Liam from TRH to the extreme, he is not the Liam we know and love. By clicking read more you acknowledge you are at least 18 years of age.

Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist.

Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the characters, I’m simply borrowing from PB for a bit.

Drake sat frozen in fear and worry. He announced it. He already announced it. Liam’s words still ringing in his head. ‘...as the king of Cordonia, I’m honored that they’ve allowed me to appoint their future child the royal heir.’ It felt as though there was a weight on his chest making it so he couldn’t breathe. What if something goes wrong? After their conversation on the jet he’d thought that perhaps the announcement would come later in the week after they’d seen the doctor. ‘Dr Ramirez is the best.’ He took a deep breath, releasing his fears. Everything will be fine, we’re both young and healthy. We don’t need to worry, this is just a precaution, nothing will come of it. He turned, smiling at Rebecca as the doctor came in, smile on her own lips. Okay nothing to worry about. We can do this, it’s for Liam, he’s my best friend. I’d do anything for him and he'd do the same for me.

Doctor Ramirez sat, smiling wide. “Well everything looks promising, there’s just one thing that’s bothering me.”

“Oh?” Drake swallowed. Don’t tell me we let him down already.

“It’s nothing to be worried about really. It’s just a small concern and given your rushed timeframe to produce Cordonia’s next heir I would like to address it.” The smile never leaving her face as she waved away Drake’s worry.

“I guess that makes sense.” Rebecca replied feeling more at ease at the doctor’s reassurance.

Dr Ramirez nodded empathetically. “Now as I said it’s minor, normally I wouldn’t be worried, but as the future queen or king of Cordonia is at stake I want to address it now.” She glanced back down at her paperwork. “It seems Duke Walker, that you have a slight motility problem. It’s very minor, but the concentration isn’t what I would like to see either.”

“Umm, Okay.” Drake blanched, everything coming down on him at once. If the country didn’t have an heir it would be his fault. She said minor, that it could be addressed now. “How exactly would you address this issue?”

Dr Ramirez flashed a hundred watt smile. “Oh it’s very simple. These issues usually come up when the scrotal veins are dilated, we would simply go in and repair them. It’s a very simple, easy, minor outpatient procedure.”

Drake’s eyes widened and darted to his crotch. Surgery, on my… it’s for Liam, for Cordonia. “Okay. When can we take care of it?”

“Usually it wouldn’t be able to be taken care of for a few days, weeks at most, but as we are talking about Cordonia’s future monarch I can fit you in later this week.” Dr Ramirez turned her gaze to Rebecca. “Duchess Rebecca, you should have no problems conceiving once we’ve done the procedure, however I’d like to get you started on prenatal vitamins right away. I will send you home with a script but I also have a special concentrated version I could give you as a shot. You see you should really be on prenatals for three months prior to conceiving if you are trying to get pregnant, and with it being our country’s future, I really don’t want to take any chances with his or her health.”

Rebecca nodded. “Whatever you think is best.”

Dr Ramirez sat back in her chair, finally dropping the smile from her face. She hated the lying she had to do today but she was given no other choice, she couldn’t say no to the person who asked. She grabbed the picture of her family, the happy faces glaring at her in judgment. I did it for you! She slammed the picture frame face down onto the desk, the glass cracking on impact. She raked a hand over her tired face, jumping as her phone ringing broke through the silence. She looked at the number flashing on the display. Breathe, you did what he asked. “Hello?” Her voice high and cheery.

“How did the appointment go?”

“Perfect. Your Majesty, absolutely no issues.”

“What did I say about formalities? We wouldn’t want anything to happen to your beautiful family because someone found out what I was up to, would we?

Dr Ramirez paled, her throat going dry. “O—of course not. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. You were saying?”

She swallowed thickly. “Yes, I said there were no issues. I gave her a depo shot and he’s scheduled for a vasectomy on Friday. They are willing to do whatever for the future of Cordonia.”

“And they suspect nothing?”

“No, they are fully onboard no trouble at all, they are happy to serve the crown.”

“Good.”

Rebecca covered her mouth as she yawned. “Why am I so tired? I thought vitamins where supposed to give you energy.”

Drake chuckled lightly. “It was a concentrated dose, it’ll even out. And you’re sure you don’t mind if I stay up?”

“No have fun.” She rubbed her still flat stomach. “Soon there will be the next heir growing here and our days of partying and staying up will be numbered. Have fun.” She kissed his cheek. “Just don’t stay up too late we need to get sleep while we still can.”

“Li, are you sure you want the future of Cordonia resting in Drake’s balls?” Maxwell slurred his hand swinging to hit Drake’s shoulder only for him to miss falling forward in his chair.

Great. He’s drunk. I knew I shouldn’t have told him how the appointment went! “Max…” Drake growled, his tone low in warning.

“I’m sure. I have the utmost faith in Drake and his…” Liam trailed off. “I trust that we will soon be announcing the heir of Cordonia is arriving in no time.”

“Are you sure? Maybe you should ask someone else, I mean Drake said the doctor said—”

“Maxwell, your drink is looking low maybe you should get another, and maybe one for me too?” Drake cut him off. Another drink is the worst idea ever but I need to get him away from the damn table before Liam learns everything.

Maxwell jumped to his feet, nearly tripping over his limbs. “You got it buddy.” He staggered off in search of another drink.

“Are you sure he needs another drink?” Liam asked with an arch of his brow.

“No, but it got him thinking about something else.”

“You’d tell me if something went wrong at the doctors right?”

Guilt wrapped around Drake, ensnaring his limbs, squeezing them tightly to his body, making it impossible to breathe or move. “Of course.” Liar!

Liam’s chestnut eyes softened, he placed a gentle hand on Drake’s forearm. “Drake, you can tell me, was what Maxwell was saying true?”

Drake sighed his head dropping back. How the fuck did I get in this mess? Oh yeah, I trusted Maxwell… “The doctor said that under normal circumstances she wouldn’t even worry yet, but given it’s the future of Cordonia on the line she recommend a procedure.” He drew out the last word. Dammit why is it so hard to lie to him? “To fix the vessels. She said we’d be fine to conceive naturally after.”

“Drake.” His voice soft and full of understanding.

“Li, I swear if she had been worried I would have mentioned it to you, but you have enough on your plate with the unannounced guests, and everything else. Hell, I didn’t want to make you worry about this again.”

“I completely understand, and I thank you for worrying about me, but you need to worry about yourself too.”

“Right.” Drake nodded.

“I would hate to see something happen to you because you let yourself become too stressed. Remember you are as important to me as an heir, I couldn’t imagine what I would do if I lost my best friend, my brother, because he overstressed himself about giving me an heir.”

A few days later...

Rebecca let out an exaggerated groan as she eased herself into the hot tub. Not too hot, wouldn’t want the tabloids to report I don’t care about the future heir, again. The warm water melted her stress away and eased the tension in her muscles. She rolled her head to the side, her eyes remaining closed in pure bliss. “Thank you for suggesting this Liv. I didn’t realize how much I needed it.”

“Don’t mention it.” Why Liam wanted me to suggest it instead of doing it himself is beyond me. “I figured after the way you handled the invading kings and queens you could use a day of relaxation.”

“Definitely.” She opened one eye. “Is it normal for people to ask for betrothal agreements before the child is born?”

“You’re asking the woman who was married off by her parents at the age of four.”

“I’m sorry Liv, forget it.”

“No. It’s fine. I’m over it.” Mostly. “But to answer your question, some nobles will make betrothal alliances, but most aren’t that extreme. I’d worry about their hidden agenda.”

Rebecca nodded her head. “Yea, it seemed a little off. I mean I’m not even pregnant yet.”

“You signed on to carry the heir, everyone will be waiting to hear news, and wanting to be the one to make a betrothal to elevate their own status.” Her voice growing harder.

“Right.” Why didn’t I think about that before I said yes? Change the subject! “I noticed Bastien has been absent from Liam’s detail.”

“Yes, Liam sent him to Lythikos to help me look for any loophole to get me out of the agreement, we came up empty. He asked Bastien to stay behind and catalogue what we did find on Anton and my parents involvement, I don’t know why, there was nothing useful.”

Rebecca nodded, a pit of regret forming in her stomach. Why did I bring up betrothal agreements? Stupid! “Thanks for suggesting the spa day, and convincing them to turn down the temperature.”

“Don’t mention it.” Olivia replied with a laugh. “Besides, they wouldn’t want to cross a Nevrakis.”

Liam smiled as she walked with poise and purpose through the duchy, expensive bottle of whiskey in hand. Everything was falling into place, he could clearly see the end when she would once again be his. “Drake.” He clasped a hand on Drake’s shoulder, his smile threatening to widen as he took in the frozen bag of peas on his crotch. “I brought you a little something before I head back to the palace. I wanted to treat you because you wouldn’t be in the pain you are if you and Rebecca weren’t trying to conceive an heir for me. I won’t ever be able to convey with words or gestures just how thankful I am that you would agree to this.”

Soon. I will once against know the feel of her skin, the taste of her on my lips. Soon, she will once again be mine.

Drake’s chocolate brown eyes widened. “Li, that’s a really expensive whiskey.”

“Nothing but the best for my dearest friend.”

“Thanks Li, you didn’t have to. You know I’d do anything for you.” He nodded to his lap. “Even endure a little pain. All I want is for you to have the chance to be as happy as Rebecca and I are.”

“And I will never stop thanking you for giving me that chance.”

“Like I said Li, I’d do anything for you. Just like you would for me.”

“Of course. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for my best friend.”

Oh Drake, I truly am sorry I had to do this, but you took what’s mine...

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