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bluepenguinstories · 2 years

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Remoras Full Intermission V: My Sworn Nemesis, Held At Arm’s Length

Oh, I was sure it raised concerns at the front desk when I asked for a room with a half-awake drunken woman slumped on my shoulders. Really, what could I have even said?

“Oh, don’t worry. I don’t even know how to take off that armor,” I mentioned to the front desk agent whose eyes darted between her and I. Good going, Cybele. Out of all the things you could have said…

“Er. I would like to reserve a room, but not for me. In fact, two beds would be fine. Actually, I don’t need to sleep at all. Or, I could sleep right outside the door!” I stammered, which if I thought the previous statement was a good idea, my verbal defensive maneuver was anything but.

“So, you want a room for two?” Asked the poor front desk agent at last in a thick, French accent. Truly, I pitied her: she didn’t have to deal with such a...me.

“Si. Er...oui?” I tried to drum up what little French I knew. She was courteous to speak in English, it was only fair that I try her language, wasn’t it? Oh, what another mistake that was. As I pointed to the armored lady, I continued my feeble incomprehensible babbling, “je suis...mon amie? Ami? Oui!”

Yeah. That was terrible. I glanced at the clerk’s nametag: Brittany. Such a simple name and yet I was sure if I were to say it, in any language, I would fumble it somehow. As she should, she disapproved of my non-committal French and shook her head.

She pounded on some keys on the keyboard overlooking the flatscreen monitor on the desk.

“100 euros,” Brittany groaned. Not that I could blame her. It was late and she was probably way too tired for such foreigner nonsense.

I slammed a few bills on the table. Won’t say how many but they all added up to a hundred euros exactly. No questions please.

She handed me the keys and I grasped them firm in my palm.

“Arigato? Gracias? Um…”

“Merde…” She groaned.

“Yes!” I wanted to cheer. To think she would help me find the right word. “Very merde!”

I scrambled away and dragged the supposed friend of Ray’s up the stairs to her room. She was awake enough to move, but hadn’t uttered a word since we left the plane.

“Where am I taking her?” I recalled asking Ray.

“She said any hotel would do,” he shrugged.

“Somewhere far…” The redhead murmured against the floor.

“What happened?” I jumped back, surprised to hear her speak.

“She asked for a strong drink, I gave her a strong drink,” he sighed, then walked back over to his desk and sat. Palm spread across his forehead, he too looked dead tired. “Sorry, Cybele. It’s been a long day and you’ve already flown twice today. I hate to impose, but –” I stopped him right there.

“Hey. This is important. Don’t worry about it,” I reassured him and in hindsight I wished that short burst of confidence lasted just a little longer. “If she was important enough to be taken hostage on the trip back here, surely she’s important enough that you’re entrusting me to whisk her away. I just hope she won’t be as much trouble with me as she was with you guys.”

Upon saying that I gave a nervous chuckle. It was true that I saw her tied up in some metal contraption as the gang loaded back into the plane. What a hassle it was having to stop all of a sudden and to find out that one of the passengers fell out...there wasn’t enough anxiety meds in the world to deal with that kinda shit.

Upon my neck I felt a hot, heavy breath. I glanced in my peripheral to see the source of trouble herself close behind me.

“Sure is fun talking about people when you assume they can’t hear you, isn’t it, my dear?” Her voice was a low, hoarse sneer but filled with that same heavy breath which tickled my neck and made me shiver. It felt hateful, malignant, yet that same heat brought with it a certain warmth.

“I’m...sorry…” I heaved out those two words, filled from head to toe with shame at the words I had uttered about a stranger.

Wait. What do I have to feel bad about? She could have wrecked my plane for all I know!

I knew she didn’t; I checked for dents a few hours prior. Nothing broken, nothing so much as a scratch.

I swear the collision was loud enough that something must be damaged, I had thought, but then I had a different thought, but what if she could control her strength to such a degree where she could give off an impression of damage without anything being harmed? No, that’s absurd. But somehow, she must have acted in a way to make her presence known and nothing more.

“Whatever. Let’s just get a move on. I cannot stand being in such a place even a second longer,” she groaned. Sheesh. So dramatic.

Once outside and on the way to the airport, she walked beside me and without warning, leaned against me with her head on my shoulder.

“Are you okay?” I asked, as if on instinct.

“Don’t worry about me,” she dismissed.

Her walks were stilted, inelegant. Of course, it must have been the drunken state she was in. Even still, the last thing I would have wanted would be for her to fall.

Don’t do it. Don’t you dare, a voice warned me, and really, I could and should have asked, yet my arm already went there; reached over, hand held tight at her waist as I pulled her in.

“Sorry,” I said after the fact, “I just thought you might be cold and I thought if I pulled you close, you wouldn’t get too cold –” She shook her head.

“I can’t feel anything,” she replied, and I swore I saw a smile when I glanced down, “but don’t get me wrong. I still appreciate the gesture.”

Even if that suit of armor is keeping her warm, her head must be freezing.

“It’s just courtesy,” it was my turn to dismiss before any implications could be drawn.

“Ha. You really are cute,” she commented and her breath formed a thick cloud in front of us.

There it was again: that warmth.

“You can’t just say these things,” my face crinkled to a frown.

“Yet I just did,” she smirked, that cheeky troublemaker.

Out of frustration, I growled. But I didn’t even know what I had to be frustrated with.

“You’re quite rude,” I commented and let my frustration show.

How hypocritical of me. Wasn’t I the one who talked about her while she was literally behind my back? Or how I put my arm around her without asking first? Which of us was the rude one?

“Sorry,” she muttered, “it’s been a long day. You have nothing to do with my plight, and I never intended to involve outsiders,” those words were softer. At least softer than I expected from her voice, and her eyes fluttered which made me notice her long, curled eyelashes. Then my sight scanned upward to her short and messy crimson hair. It looked soft and fluffy enough to the point where I had the intense desire to reach my other arm toward it and…

We both almost stumbled to the ground because of course we did. I should have known better than to have focused on anything other than the road ahead. Didn’t I know that it was rude to stare?

Once we entered the plane and took flight, she didn’t utter another word. I mulled over where to take her, but it didn’t take long for my imagine to run wild and what should have been a stressful predicament turned into a flight of fancy.

Bright and early came the morning sun as its rays leaked through the shutters of the window. Rather than that be what forced myself awake, however, it was instead the sound close to me that did it.

“Ugh...my head…” came a nearby groan, “what the hell?”

I blinked several times in rapid succession and the room was a yellow blur before it adjusted at last and I saw the occupant of the queen-sized bed next to me. Her elbow rested upon the white pillow, while her head rested upon her hand. She leaned up, only slightly, and the thick tartan blanket slipped down.

“Who the hell are you?” She groaned, her voice even more hoarse than the night before.

I rubbed my eyes and got up from the chair I had sat in (yes, I slept seated in a wooden chair, no cushion. I must say, it was rather hardcore of me. Why did I sleep in a chair? Well, let’s just say that there were less than two beds). My legs were stiff and I walked in a zombie-like manner as I paced about the room.

“I’m Cybele, the pilot who brought you to this hotel last night,” I answered her, hands on my hips with a wide grin as if such a thing was something to be proud of.

“I see,” she looked down, listless, before a smile cracked and she looked up toward me, “Cybele, was it? Have you ever woken up angry?”

“I’m not sure,” I answered. There have probably been times, but I couldn’t recall any in particular. “But I’m guessing you just did?”

She nodded, her smile kept intact.

“Well, if you want me to leave the room, that’s fine...we can part here and you don’t ever have to see me again,” I scrambled to the door.

“That’s not what I mean,” her smile faded, “if you don’t mind, there should be a trash can next to the dresser. Could you bring it over?”

If I was more heartless, I would have denied her request, but really I was surprised at all that she noticed such a thing considering the dresser was outside of her field of vision. Or at least that’s what I assumed. The dresser was aligned across from the bed, against the wall, but the trash can was on the end of the dresser that she wasn’t facing, and was so small that really, I hadn’t even noticed it.

I brought it over and she reached down and held up the ends of the trash can, then dipped her head in and retched. Heavy panting followed, along with more gags and when she lowered the can, yellow saliva hung from her mouth. She wiped it off, then lowered her head back onto the pillow.

“My head is killing me,” she groaned. I couldn’t tell whether she was still smiling or not, but I knew what to call what she was going through.

“You have a hangover,” I stated.

“I thought you said your name was Cybele,” she groaned, “not Captain-Fucking-Obvious.”

“Well...you’re being rude again!”

“Ugh,” she turned her head, “I don’t usually get these...and from one drink, too.”

“What did Ray give you that made you get a hangover from one drink?!” I balked.

“Ab...sinthe,” she hissed, “he said it made the heart grow fonder.”

“ABSENCE!” I shouted.

“No, I think I’d rather...you stay.”

She’s misunderstanding me.

“It’s too late for that now! I gotta go downstairs and get you a glass of water!”

“Fine, fine,” she waved a hand away, “do as thou wilt.”

When I returned with some water, she swiped it away and took slow sips, with annoyed looking glances my way every other second. When the glass was empty, she set it on the nightstand next to the bed. She looked up, an almost curious expression, yet that expression was replaced with disgust as she squinted and clutched the sides of her head.

“No good. Still hurts,” she gasped.

“Here,” I reached into my pocket and pulled out a couple of tablets, “some aspirin. It should help tide you over. I’ll get you another glass of water and –” She grabbed the pills from my hand and tossed them into her mouth and chewed, then spat them back out into the trash (at least it didn’t land on the floor).

“You’re not supposed to chew them!”

“How am I supposed to know that?! Nobody’s helped me with a hangover since…!” She sounded like she was about to say something else, but stopped there.

“Since?”

She shook her head and frowned, then sat up against the post of the bed. Her legs folded up and she held her knees together.

“Never mind that. Where are we?”

“France,” I told her, “which department...not sure. I kinda just picked a spot in the woods to land and hoped for the best.”

“Ah. When in Rome.”

“Actually, that’s Italy,” I corrected her.

She winced again.

“Whatever. I hate this feeling. Hate this room. It’s so yellow and piss-colored.”

“Hangovers aren’t known for feeling pleasant. Some orange juice can help. If you’d like, I can see if there are any shops nearby that sell some. Or maybe this hotel has some. I mean, it’s a hotel, I don’t see why it wouldn’t.”

“I don’t get these often...I mean, I don’t drink often. Most I have is usually a hard cider. Still...just one drink.”

“If you’re not used to drinking heavy stuff and you get absinthe...yeah, that’ll do it. Why did you want something strong, anyway?”

“It was a rough day.”

“Wanna tell me about it?”

“No.”

“Fair enough. I try to make it a habit not to get too involved in Ray and company’s crazy adventures. Flying a plane is enough of a thrill for me.”

No comment. Great. If me talking wasn’t awkward enough, the silence was even more so.

“You know...a warm bath might help. Of course, you’d wanna take that armor off of yours.”

“Will you take one with me?” She had the audacity to ask without a hint of shame or remorse.

“No!”

“Aw, why not?” That cheeky smile returned.

“You’d see me naked, for one.”

“And is there a problem with that?”

My face just about turned red, though not nearly as red as her hair.

“This is for your benefit!”

“Who says seeing you naked isn’t for my benefit?”

“Stop that!”

“Ha, ha...ph…” she wheezed out laughter, then began to cough. “More water, madame?” She reached for the cup and croaked, though maintained that awful smile of hers.

“Right away, mademoiselle,” I groaned and took the cup. I didn’t know why I was letting myself be ordered around like some kind of maid service (sure, we were in France, but there was no way I was about to wear a french maid outfit) but a hangover was a hangover and I obliged.

After downing another glass or two, she seemed in slightly better spirits.

“Come. Lay with me,” she commanded.

“Why?”

“What do you mean ‘why’? Do you think I’m going to throw up on you? Is that it?”

I can’t tell if this is how she is under the effects of a hangover or if this is just how she is in general.

“No. It’s just that your metal armor you got on is probably cold and uncomfortable to lay next to,” I lied. Not that it wasn’t the truth, but it just wasn’t the reason why I didn’t want to lay next to her.

“I see,” she sighed and sat up, “I get that. To be honest, I don’t know how I slept with this thing on, either.”

She poked at her palm and the armor unfolded. There was a faint clicking sound and she reached for her back and pulled up a small circular device.

“Usually I just attach it and it camouflages itself. I can pretty much control how much of it covers me at any given time. But considering what this thing might be…” She sighed, “I don’t know what I’m going to do now.”

“What do you mean?” I asked and noticed that under her armor had been a black suit and tie. Just like the tuxedos that everyone else had worn during the wedding.

“I’d rather not say,” she gave me a side-glance, “it would probably go over your head anyway. No offense.”

“I can respect that,” I said, “I prefer to stay in my lane.”

“Good girl,” she scoffed.

My heart thumped and I jumped in place.

“Good...good...now look here!” I pointed.

“Oh, you’re right,” she looked down at her suit, “forgot all about this, but it’s so stiff too, don’t you agree? You don’t mind if I go topless, do you?”

“Go what now?”

“It can’t be helped. I left my clothes back at the chateau.”

“Yeah. I guess it’s fine,” I gave in. Really, we’d both be under covers and I still had my clothes on and whatever it was just the top. Nothing special, really.

Good grief.

She stood up while I crawled into the covers of the left side of the bed. I really tried not to peek and let her do her thing but every now and then I caught a glimpse of her back and her broad, thick shoulders. That extended to her back as well – the rolls upon it and the defined line in the middle which marked her spine. How I wished to trace my hand down it.

No. Dispel such thoughts.

If that was all...but it wasn’t. There also happened to be the brief glimpses of her chest from the side, that small downward curvature.

So what? They’re boobs. I’ve got em too.

I turned away. Tried to keep my eyes averted, and within that same instance of turning away, she crawled back into bed and was beside me in the blink of an eye.

“You know, I never said you couldn’t look. I really don’t mind,” she teased.

“Couldn’t...I was trying not to be rude!” I protested.

She let out another one of her laughs and it seemed like her hangover had subsided somewhat. I noticed the tuxedo hung up on the back of the chair. Then, when my attention drifted back to us, I caught myself looking down upon her and saw the blanket covering her chest.

“What? Disappointed?” She asked and lowered the blanket a little.

“No! Not disappointed!”

She raised it back up, but the damage had already been done and I caught a quick glimpse of her plump and tender breasts.

“Sorry,” she said, “I really should have asked if that was okay.”

“It’s fine. I’m just nervous. They...you look nice. Really,” I admitted.

“Hate to disappoint you further, but nothing’s going to happen, either,” she continued, “not before I get some food in me, anyway. I’m famished.”

“I’m not really looking for something to happen, anyway,” which was true. I mean, would be nice, but would also be quite sudden and she still had the whole issue with post-drunk sickness.

“Mind if I scoot a little closer?”

“No, that’s fine.”

She drew closer to me and the side of her arm brushed against mine. Her skin was soft and smooth with a ticklish stroke of her arm’s hair.

So what? It’s skin. It’s whatever. I have skin. I could poke a random person’s cheek and that would be just the same. It’s all just skin.

“So why France, anyway?” She asked.

Our faces are close, too. Well, at least they’re not touching like our arms. Thank goodness for shoulders.

“I have a friend online who’s french. Thought it would be nice to visit. I texted her last night on Disarray and said I’d be in the area and she said it was okay.”

“Disarray?”

“It’s a chat app! Do you not have one?”

“I’m new to the...I’ll get one,” she sounded disinterested but my eyes lit up all the same and I let loose a grin.

“You should! I can write down my name on Disarray and you can add me and then we can send each other memes later!” I clammed up just as fast as my excitement reared its ugly head and I thought it would have turned her off but instead, she said:

“Sure. I’d like that. So tell me about this friend?”

“Well...her name’s Kitten. On Disarray, anyway! Her name in real life which I guess we’re in right now is Adrienne, but she probably wouldn’t want me telling you that as she’s a private person.”

“Mm...cute name. Got a crush on her?”

“No! Well...maybe I have a few times. I’ve had crushes on all my friends at some point! Like, I got one friend named Dennys, he’s a stoner guy and he’s a real ass, but he also skateboards and has nice shaggy hair and I don’t know. He said once he got his name ‘cause he fell asleep while high in a Dennys parking lot.”

“Interesting. And what about Kitten. What’s she like?”

“Well, she’s nice, and cute, and funny. Sends me funny things and likes to give me ideas. She’s got long, curly brown hair and glasses and long nails.”

“Hm. Hm. I see. So that’s what you’re into.”

“No! I’m into...whatever it is I’m into.”

“So if I become one of your friends you’d have a crush on me too?”

“I...I…” I got all choked up for no reason at all, “I don’t know how to answer that.”

“That’s fine. There’s no telling what the future holds.”

“Speaking of future!” I changed the topic before any awkward silence could ensue, “what about breakfast?”

“Do I have to get up?” She whined, “I was kind of thinking of breakfast in bed.”

“There’s not a stove, nor do I have ingredients to cook you something, otherwise sure,” I informed her although it was already pretty obvious. “Maybe we could order something?”

“With your horrible French?”

“You heard that?!”

“Pretty sure most people here know English as well. It would have been less insulting to admit you don’t know French.”

“How about we try one of those brunch places?” I suggested and ignored her criticism. “Like a cafe or what have you.”

“But then I’d have to go out in the sunlight and it will burn me up,” she whined.

“What are you, a vampire?”

“No, but I’ve still got a bit of a hangover.”

“It’s going to hurt at first, but then it’ll feel good,” I spoke from experience. Not quite hangovers, but those particular days where I would wake up and the brightness levels of the sun just happened to be cranked way, way up.

“Oh. Oh my,” she chuckled with one hand over her mouth, “will it now?”

“Would you cut that out?” I asked. “You know that’s not what I meant!”

She cackled and stood up, only to wobble about from dizziness and fall back. I managed to catch her in my arms and felt the warmth of her back upon me. She just leaned her head back and smiled.

“Nice catch.”

“Be careful,” I scolded, “here, I’ll hold onto you if you’d like. Just until you’ve adjusted.”

“Like this, people might get the wrong idea,” she closed her eyes and let her voice drift off, “it goes against my usual hard exterior. But just for today, I would like to be helped.”

My hands were so close. I hoped she would get up so I could let go.

“Before we get on our way, would you like to feel?” She offered.

What kind of fucking mind reader is she?

“Um. Later. We’re hungry. You have a hangover. Remember?”

“Ah, ha ha, you’re right,” she leaned her head back and laughed though in such a way that her hot breath found its way right into my ear.

God damn, you’re so close. I shouldn’t be thinking this but I’m pretty sure your breath is sour, too.

“Do you have a toothbrush?” I asked.

“Not on me.”

I could let her borrow mine, but then what would I brush my teeth with? It’s not like my breath is any better.

“Would you be okay waiting here while I go and buy you a toothbrush and toothpaste? Don’t bother with paying me back, they’re cheap things.”

Oh, and also I should get her a shirt since she doesn’t like that tux. Though I’m sure it looks good on her.

“It pains for us to part, but very well. I shall wait for you, my love,” she held her hand out and it was clear she didn’t mind.

An hour must have passed of perusing various shops and all the while guilt ate at me. We were both hungry, weren’t we? And the longer she waited for me, the hungrier she would be. What kind of food did she even like? What kind of food did I even like?

I should at least know the answer to that one. I usually have...jelly toast? Fuck. I need to eat more.

When I returned to the hotel with a fresh bought corduroy cardigan and a toothbrush with a tube of toothpaste in tow, I stopped at the front desk.

“Hi. I’m in room 420. I’d like to extend our stay one more night,” I uttered in a flurry, “here’s another hundred. Keep the change.”

“Uh-huh,” the front desk agent wasn’t Brittany this time. It was a tall, thin dude named Lyon. He seemed friendly but also bored.

“Merde!” I thanked him as I ran back up the stairs.

When I opened the door to our hotel room, I caught my short-term companion fast asleep under the covers. Seeing her sleep so peacefully gave me the intense urge to go back out and get cymbals, then start banging them. But that just wouldn’t do.

Instead, I took the delicate approach and threw the cardigan at her.

“Weh!” She squealed as she squirmed and thrashed about.

“Got you a shirt! And toothbrush!” I announced.

“What the hell?! Who does that? Who just throws things at people?” She drummed up a list of complaints. “And I wasn’t asleep long, I swear. You could have just wanted for me to wake up on my own…” She continued to drum up her complaints as she put the cardigan on. Part of me wondered whether they were legitimate or if that too was part of her teasing.

“Je suis enchanté, shall we head out for brunch?” I tried my hand at some fancy verbiage once again. She nodded, then stood up. Really, she was charming with that cardigan on. The tips of its sleeves were red, the striped with purple, and then violet. Each side of the cardigan was a salmon-pink color and the middle seams had red, white, and black stripes. Oh, and the cardigan had pockets. Essential.

We walked outside, her arm connected to mine, her head on my shoulder. Totally unprompted for the record. But it was fine. I wasn’t complaining.

“What should I call you, by the way?” I asked her, something I probably should have done a while ago.

“Nemesis,” she answered.

“Oh. Like enemy? Sounds edgy, but –” “No. Not your enemy. But I could still be your Nemesis, if you accept me.”

I froze. Not out of fear. Just a slight brain freeze. All thoughts stopped.

“I...uh...what does that mean?” I managed to spit out. She just laughed a soft laugh.

Fine. Don’t reply. I see how it is.

We found a nearby cafe and sat. I didn’t notice any dirty looks or anything like that, which I was glad for. I didn’t want to have to explain “no, we’re not a couple! I just met her yesterday!”

Nemesis ordered a mochi tiramisu with a berry smoothie and I had a parfait au lait along with an espresso.

“Ah, this truly is the life,” she sighed with pleasure as she spooned another chunk from her tiramsu.

“Is it? Maybe I eat sweets too much but I’m kinda used to this,” I said even though that parfait was out of this world crazy good.

“I don’t normally have a sweet tooth, but I think I could make an exception when it comes to you.”

“I really don’t know how to take that,” I groaned.

“You’re sweet, silly! You’re even willing to help someone like me.”

“You don’t seem that bad.”

“Bad isn’t what I aim for,” she shook her head, “I’ve just had a lot of bad days.”

“I know how that is.”

“I think I’ve just lost my way,” she twirled her spoon along the table, “I used to see myself as virtuous and now I don’t know how to see myself. It’s clear I can’t go back to how I once was, but I would like to figure out how I now want to be.”

“I’ve met people with that same struggle. I think I’ve had that struggle as well, and I don’t know what to suggest. Contentment seems like the best option but that’s easier said than done.”

“Yeah…” She sighed with a certain fondness, “it’s hard to sit still when there’s so much wrong in the world. It’s even harder to act. That said, while living in the moment may be like walking on hot coals...I’ve enjoyed these moments with you.”

Forget warm, throw hot out the window: my head became a boiling kettle. I could swear that steam whistled out of each ear.

Play it cool...play it cool…

I laughed. Yeah. That’s all I did. I laughed until tears fell out and I had to wipe them away. When I managed to calm myself down, I answered:

“Me too.”

Nemesis and I split up after brunch. She said she wanted some time alone for a few hours and I was antsy to met up with Kitten. Before we split, we laid out a plan for later: I gave her the keys to the hotel room and told her I extended our stay for one more night. She promised to stick around and we even exchanged numbers. Later that evening, we would go out for dinner (though I couldn’t imagine anything too fancy without a reservation) then turn in for the night back at the hotel.

But of course, everything in order, right?

First thing’s first: had to attend to the kitten with a capital ‘K’.

Now, she was in a different department than the one I was in, but I had my plane and its noise levels were pretty low. I’m sure nobody saw me take flight, right? Moving on, once I arrived on her doorstep in her quaint commune, I pressed the button on her doorbell in rapid succession until the door at last opened. No, I wasn’t brimming with energy, but rather brimming with hot jumping beans.

Those beans bounced around harder upon seeing her face with her long, curly brown hair which reached down to her waist and her long, dark purple fingernails. Then there were those big glasses and her hazel eyes…

“Hey, good to see you,” her voice was low and soft, mixed with a slow tenseness. I raised my hand up to greet her back.

“Hey. Your voice is just as lovely in person as it is in voice chat!”

“That’s not true. It’s deep and stiff. Not cute like yours.”

“Bweh,” I stuck my tongue out, “I say yours is lovely so it must be true.”

“Do you wanna come in and pet my kitty?” She asked and worked up a small smile, “she’s fat and needy.”

“As all good kitties should be,” I smiled wide and entered. Her house was quaint with much old furniture. There was an orange linen chair, a crocheted sofa, and a splintered, unvarnished coffee table. Splayed across the chair was the tabby cat, who rolled about on the chair and purred.

“Aww,” I reached my hand down to rub the kitty’s tummy and the cat curled up and reached her hand down to try to bite me. I pulled my hand back and Kitten laughed.

“Heh, she’s like that,” Kitten said and I knew how cats were, yet that trick seemed to get me every time.

“Sorry about the short notice, by the way. Yesterday was wild. I didn’t plan on coming here,” I told her, although I sure took the opportunity as soon as it arose.

“It seems a lot of days are wild for you.”

“Yeah. The people I hang around sure are something else. Demetria herself is quite the character.”

“Not you, though,” she joked.

“Yes. Not me. I’m not interesting enough to be a character.”

“Says the one who flew a plane all the way over here and hired an escort.”

“No! You misunderstand! I didn’t say anything about an escort. I said that I was escorting someone.”

“Oh, so you’re the escort.”

“No! Stop with that.”

“What’s she like, anyway?”

“Honestly, quite the character as well. We’re sharing a hotel room and are gonna have dinner later. I’d say she’s nice but she’s also quite strange.”

“Oh, I see,” Kitten teased. God damn, why was everyone teasing me? So mean. “No wonder you look so happy. Got yourself a dinner date then gonna sleep with her after.”

I huffed.

“Just sleep. Nothing else. No sexy times. I just met her. I’m not the type to have sex with people I just met.”

“Really, happy for you,” she smiled, “kind of jealous, in fact.”

“There’s nothing to be jealous over. We could go out for lunch...if I was hungry. Here! Let’s have lunch tomorrow. Just the two of us. What do you say?”

“I would love that lots much.”

We headed out and checked the nearby shops in the area. One place we stopped at was a hat shop where despite not buying anything we checked out just about every hat on display.

“Look!” I had a red bell-shaped hat on my head.

“Cloche!” She answered. She placed on a longer brimmed hat made of…

“Straw!”

We took turns putting on hats and naming what the other was wearing.

“Beret!”

“Pillbox!”

“Fez!”

“Sombrero!”

“Beanie!”

When we were done visiting all the shops that interested us, I asked where she would like to have lunch. I didn’t see many places for food, but I had a plane and she knew the area better than I did.

“Hmm...there’s a good sushi bar in the next town over. We could go there by bus,” she suggested.

“Sure! Sushi is yum!”

Before we parted, I reached in and gave her a tight hug. She held tight as well and rubbed my back before we parted. With each of us smiling, I waved.

“Tomorrow,” I said.

“Tomorrow,” she agreed.

Close to dinner time, I returned to the hotel and expected her to have been...wait. What did I expect from her? I really didn’t know. Like, was she just supposed to sit still on the bed until I got back? That sounded boring, and that’s coming from me. Of course, whatever I expected when I opened the door, it certainly wasn’t seeing Nemesis’ attire changed to a sports bra and short black shorts as she punched and kicked at a punching bag she hung up from the ceiling.

Right jab, left hook. Swift uppercut. Knee kick, high kick, roundhouse. Covered in sweat, relentless.

“What the…” I mouthed, jaw dropped to the floor. She turned, stopped what she was doing, and smiled.

“Hey, how was your hangout?” She held the punching bag in place, shimmied out of her sports bra and threw her cardigan and pair of slacks back on, all as if it was no big deal.

“Good,” was all I could say, as I pointed to the punching bag. Then back to her. Then back to the bag.

Now I’m on a horse, I completed the thought, though it was rather nonsensical.

“Oh yeah. Bought some things while I was out. Surprised? I have money too, you know, Cybele.”

“I’m...glad? But...why?”

“Exercise. Feels good to get the blood flowing.”

I guess?!

“Feeling better, I take it? How’s your head?”

“Tormented by thoughts,” she joked. Or at least I figured it was a joke, “but that aside, much better.”

“Good. You ready for dinner?”

“Yeah. Got a place in mind?”

“No. I figured we’d find somewhere along the way,” I admitted.

“God, you’re hopeless,” she smiled and shook her head.

“What?! Can you be nice? Please?”

“Yes, yes, sorry. I figured you’d be preoccupied, so I found us a place. How’s La Cave Du Salut sound?”

“No idea what that’s like so I’m down,” I shrugged.

“Good. I’ve no clue either, name just sounded neat.”

I got on my jacket and expected her to follow behind.

“You go ahead without me. I need to get something real quick.”

“Uh...okay,” that sounded strange, but what part of her hadn’t been? And seeing as she so far wasn’t the bad kind of strange, I obliged.

When I exited the hotel and met the stiff, dry air, my heart leaped as I was pulled back with something wrapped around my neck. I would have fallen if not for the hand on my back. As I looked down, I noticed the object: a soft, fleece orange and purple swirled scarf. I blinked as I reached up and felt its softness upon the tips of my palms.

“Hey!” Came her voice so close to my ear.

“What’s this?”

“A scarf, silly.”

“Yes, but why’s it on me?”

“You don’t like it?”

“I didn’t say that,” she let go and I wrapped it further around me, “it’s great, I’m just surprised.”

“Hey, you got me a shirt. I’m just getting you something too.”

“Yeah, but you needed a shirt,” I pointed out.

“And you’ll need something covering your neck after tonight,” she winked and walked past me. My mouth twisted and contorted without making any sound until I caught up to her and gasped, “what’s that supposed to mean?!”

“You know, because when you get back to the arctic you’ll be cold,” she laughed, and I could tell there was some kind of double meaning she wasn’t elaborating on.

The walk wasn’t far and leave it to Nem to have a reservation in place (how she did it, I may never know) as we were ushered to our seats within a few minutes.

Nemesis ordered a carbonnade normande (some beef dish), while I got myself a cabillaud à la normande (cod). As for drinks…

“Miss madame, may I have a cider?” Nemesis pleaded in a tone which reminded me of a poor Victorian orphan.

“Yeah, yeah, as long as you get water with it,” I played along in an ambivalent New Yorker tone.

As for myself, I just had water. Sorry.

We ate our first bites and let out a sigh of pleasure from the delicious and juicy taste that had entered our mouths. After taking a sip from our glasses of water, Nemesis pointed to my plate with her fork.

“You didn’t get a lot. Are you planning for dessert?”

“Hmm...probably not. The dessert looks delicious but I don’t know if I should get that much. The food here’s kind of expensive.”

“Please, Cybele,” she dismissed, “eat and drink what you like. Pay no mind to the price. I will pay for the both of us.”

“No way,” I crossed my arms together, “we can split the bill if you want. We can pay for our own portions. But there is NO reason you need to pay for me. It wouldn’t be fair.”

“How right you are,” she cracked a smile, “you paid for our room for two nights. You also paid for our lunch. I’m sure the scarf I bought you must have cost less than the shirt, but seeing as I don’t know how much you paid, I can only guess. Buying your dinner still doesn’t make up for what you’ve done for me.”

“The cost isn’t important,” I argued, “and besides, those things were things you needed. You needed a room to stay, and you needed a shirt. I didn’t need a scarf and I don’t need you paying for my meal.”

That didn’t seem to faze her and if anything, she made a sneering grunt and countered:

“You also didn’t need to pay for the second night. You also didn’t need to pay for my lunch. As for my stay in a hotel, sure, that’s where I requested, but that doesn’t mean that’s where I needed to be. You also didn’t need to stick around.”

“But your hangover.”

“Heh, yeah. Nasty thing. I’m just saying, what I’m doing is hardly spoiling and I’m still trying to find ways to make this even. Wants, needs, irrelevant to me. You helped me when I needed help, and for that, I would like to help you when in need as well. You gifted me things, paid for my meal? I would like to do the same.”

“But, but, but –”

“Let’s put it in simpler terms: you give me something, I will want to give you something in return. You take from me, I will want to take from you.”

I gulped.

“Take?”

“Let’s say you take my heart,” she joked, “I will want to take yours as well.”

“Sheesh,” I scoffed, “I thought you sounded threatening at first.”

“Not threatening,” she said while taking a sip from her cider, “just the way I view things.”

“Interesting.”

“I’m not saying it’s a perfect way to live, or that it’s the most reasonable, but it’s what makes sense to me.”

“Say, where are you going to go after tomorrow?”

“I don’t know. Maybe nowhere. Maybe I’ll find a nice spot in a park somewhere or some abandoned factory. I’m not picky.”

“Wait, are you homeless?”

“Sort of. Not from lack of funds. I was pretty broke for a while up until I met my employer and he gave me a place to stay but it was a temporary gig and now I gotta look for a place. I can afford one, but given I’ve only just gotten paid, I haven’t had a chance to look.”

“I know this is sudden, but I’ve got a place back in Alaska. It’s sitting empty and I haven’t used it since last year, but it’s still in my name and paid for. If you want a place to stay, I don’t mind.”

“Ahaha!” She slammed her fist on the table. “What are you doing? Spoiling me again so soon?”

“It’s not spoiling, it’s –”

“Yeah, yeah. Helping. I get it. But you do realize that even the rich, maybe especially the rich, don’t help to such a degree.”

“Yeah, well...I like to,” I puffed my cheeks.

“Tell you what: I’ll think about it. It’s a bit of a ways away, and as fast as I may go with my armor, may still take me a little while. I don’t want you flying me there. Just text me the address or something. I’m fine checking into motel rooms along the way in the meantime. It’s just...how am I supposed to pay you back? I suppose I could work on the upkeep. Make renovations. It’s still not enough, but it’s what I got.”

“Don’t worry about payback.”

“Ah, but such things do worry me,” she leaned back in her seat, “still, Alaska, huh? Interesting.”

“Yeah. What about it?”

“I was born in Alaska. In a little log cabin in the woods. Pretty remote place, used to go hunting with my dad. Well, animals. I didn’t hunt people with him.”

“Ah, so it’s got a bit of sentimental value for you?”

“You could say that. My mom disappeared without a word one day. Soon after, my father died. I ended up being adopted into a family, the Clements, and we moved into Back Bay City, a place up north in Canada.”

“Oh. Sorry for your loss.”

“Eh. Don’t sweat it,” she still smiled, but her voice took on that more apologetic tone she held when I carried her to my plane the night prior. Her words became slower, heavier, “You had nothing to do with it. I’m pretty much over it, anyway. It was a long time ago.”

“That’s good, at least.”

“Yeah,” she twirled her fork along the table, “it would be good, wouldn’t it?”

I looked around the dining area; every seat filled, lit candles on every table, plaid placemats. Couples talking. Friends. Families. Not so much anyone alone. What did that make us? Part of the crowd like them? All of those people looked like someone I’ve seen before, but I’ve never been any of those people.

A few seats down, there was a portly man with a tuxedo with the buttons coming undone. He had sideburns and leaned back in his seat, held a steak up to his face with both hands. Across from him, a woman in a red dress, curly hair, eating from a charcuterie board. Other seats down, two men with slicked back hair eating oysters. Two women sharing the same plate, one eating the fries and the other eating the burger.

Will Nemesis get mad when she notices I’m focusing on other people?

“I wonder what their lives are like,” she commented, and I noticed she was looking around as well, “like maybe that guy cheated on his partner. If so, I would like to know so I could tell said partner. Or maybe that girl over there,” she pointed elsewhere, “maybe she’s been down on her luck. Maybe some good fortune should come her way. Or what about that guy, maybe he helped an old lady cross the street. Maybe someone could help him carry his groceries into his house. I don’t know.”

“Pfft,” I snorted, “I really don’t know what any of these people are like. Besides, aren’t we good sometimes and bad other times?”

She crossed her arms and we locked eyes. It looked like a frown at first with the lighting from the candle illuminating her face, but really, she remained smiling.

“I suppose. Right now, would you say you’re a bad girl, or a good girl?”

“I’m a…” I chugged down my water, “I don’t know. I’m just existing, aren’t I?”

“And here I am, glad you exist.”

The heat from the candle must have got to me as my cheeks turned warm. Or maybe it was something in the food I ate. Either way, I couldn’t make heads or tails of how to feel.

We arrived back at the hotel, arms locked in each other, fingers connected. I didn’t know how or why it happened but I just let it happen regardless.

Nemesis ran in as soon as I opened the door and fell face first onto the bed. She lifted the cardigan up to her face and rubbed her head against it.

“Mm...I’m going to treasure this, I really will. It’s so soft,” she gushed.

“Will you now?” I raised an eyebrow.

“Oh yes. And what of you? Will you treasure that scarf around your neck?”

“Of course. That goes without saying,” I rubbed the scarf up to my cheek, “see?”

She looked up, tilted her head, and grinned to the point where her dimples showed through.

How is she this adorable?

I couldn’t help myself. Something took over and I think I blamed the cool night air and the carefree day I’ve had as I just went for it: I plopped down on the bed right beside her.

I turned to her and almost regretted it – our faces were so close! I could stare right into her green eyes and get lost in its fields. Not to mention her constant smile had a playful, inviting feel to it. I felt her warm, steamy breath upon me. It made me dizzy, it made my head spin in place.

“Wait. Did you brush your teeth?”

She huffed a thick cloud of minty air into my face and I coughed as the chilly yet pleasant scent was too much to bear.

“Good,” I wheezed.

“And you? Have you been good?”

“Yes,” I said without feeling the need for theatrics. Of course, that wouldn’t stop her, as she held my chin up and stared down into my eyes. I felt the burning, piercing gaze, and I feared I might melt.

“May I check to make sure? With my tongue?” She asked as if she thought she wasn’t being subtle enough.

“O...of course,” I muttered.

She took each hand and pinned me down onto the bed, sat up over me and leaned down. Her mouth pressed against mine, she opened wide and slipped her tongue inside, danced it around with mine and I knew then I was at her mercy.

When she released and sat back up, she pulled off her cardigan and leaned back against the wall. I crawled over to her and she ruffled my hair. My hands were so close until she had other plans and held up the bottom of my shirt. I nodded, and she took it off for me, and all I had to do was shimmy out of the sleeves. Once that was on the floor, she could see my chest as well. Did she view mine as inadequate due to its smallness? How they seemed less like lumps and more dots, tacked on like an afterthought.

There was no time to dwell on comparisons, as she reached out and ran her fingers along my nipples, pinched them, and caressed. Whatever afterthought they may be, the sensation was the same as I couldn’t deny the warmth of her touch and at first I reeled back and felt ticklish, but not repulsed. If anything, more welcome than before. I blew air out my nose and I couldn’t help but let out soft sighs.

I reached out as well. It couldn’t just be her, as magnificent as her touch was. My hands reached toward and felt around her supple breasts and giving light squeezes. I held on, cupped them, and looked up, smiling at her. She heaved, shivered, and smiled an uneasy smile. My smile must have been just as uneasy, and just as delighted to be in her company.

We leaned in for another kiss as we held onto each other’s chests. Through our kisses came heavy sighs and my hands moved from her chest to her back as I held on tight. When we let go I was left panting and she caressed my cheek, then undid the buttons to her slacks and slipped them off. What I first noticed were her silken peach colored panties with a little bow on top of the lining. What I noticed next were her large, muscular thighs.

Without knowing what I wanted to do next, I asked, “may I?”

“Of course,” her soft voice rang in my ear and I dove in and kissed along her thighs, then kissed over her panties before raising myself up and let my hand slide under her panties to meet the warm and wet embrace as I slipped two fingers in. As I stroked along, I leaned up and wrapped my mouth around her left breast. I ran my tongue around her nipple and sucked while quickening the pace of my strokes below. She held me tight, dug her nails into my back and yelped. The sharp sensation caused me to stop what I was doing and let out a gasp.

She laughed, shoved me down onto my back and gave a sequences of kisses and bites along my neck and chest. Each sensation no matter how soft felt intense and she continued down, nibbled along my nipples and caused me to let out a series of whimpers and gasps.

As she reached her hand down under my pants I shut down and let out a different kind of gasp: one of a flushed dread.

“Wait!” I stopped her. “Are you sure...you won’t be repulsed?”

She nodded, and I gulped. Such worries hadn’t left me, but I let her continue as I soon felt her warm hands meet what I was afraid of; yet rather than recoil, or reel back, she looked up at me and gave a sweet smile. Soon, I felt light, slow strokes along my shaft and up to the base. She pulled out, then unzipped my jeans and pulled them down.

My face, for whatever reason a red mess, relaxed and I smiled up at her. Her smile, however, lowered.

“Now, I must warn you,” she turned serious, “while I didn’t bring my strap, I can be quite intense.”

“Go on,” I gave a nervous approval.

I didn’t yet know what would ensue, or how. Naive I was at the aches and thunderous cries that would follow, along with me reduced to a quivering mess. Yet it would all be worth it when a couple hours after, us both exhausted, I would be sound asleep with a smile on my face and her head rested on my chest.

#side chapter #romance #remoras full #fiction #stories #fluff #cybele #nemesis #wlw

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themarquessofislay · 2 years

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THE SECOND TASK ✦ GETTING TO KNOW YOU

BASICS. Full Name: Kenneth Douglas Ridel Nicknames: Ken is reserved for his brother only. Red is a joke amongst family. Skeleton: The Northerner Titles: Marquess of Islay Cast Position: Royalty | Nobility | Gentry Birthdate: December 28th, 1765 Birthplace: Islay, Scotland

PHYSICALITY. Height: 190.5 cm Body Type: Kenneth has strong legs, broad shoulders and a narrower waist. A softness sits around his midsection, but his arms remain strong. Kenneth feels content with his body. It is not something easily changed. Hair: Fluffy, red hair falls from his head. It has grown recently, falling just past Kenneth’s chin. His thick curls become more pronounced the longer his hair grows. Little curls fall above his forehead, just above the eyebrow. Eyes: Kenneth has light blue eyes, that get paler in the daylight. Skin: Fair complexion runs in the Ridel family, Kenneth is no different. Tanning nor burning is something he has much experience with. Markings: Kenneth has freckles scattered across his backside. Small scars are spread across his body. Walking: Kenneth’s feet will stomp as he parades across a room, making you pay attention to him as he moves. Speech: His Scottish accent is very strong. He often has to repeat himself for people to understand him, which he is insecure about in London. Posture/Bearing: Kenneth stands very straight, but it doesn’t look natural. He prefers to slouch his shoulders, but only when he is comfortable. His natural posture becomes more obvious when he is sitting.

PERSONALITY. Presentation: The Scotsman comes across as serious and imposing to the naked eye. Some would describe him as intimating. Interactions: Kenneth is courteous and friendly with strangers, unless he is in a bad mood. He is more comfortable with one-on-one discussions. Kenneth hates talking to large groups. Lures: Kenneth loves solitariness, so any attempt at privacy is attractive to him. He enjoys art, and finds solace at museums. He loves being outside. Temperament: Kenneth gets angry from certain triggers. When triggered, his rage is uncontrollable. Incompetence pushes him the most, but blatant disrespect and subjects relating to his father are also damaging. When dealing with these feelings, his first reaction is to flee and separate himself from whatever is angering him. Reputation: To those who remember him, Kenneth is seen as a traditional gentleman. He is prone to angry outbursts and is seen as intimidating, but he is well-respected. Kenneth is unknown to many members of the Ton, so his reputation is still under development.

HABITS. Favorite Hours: He prefers to wake up early and get his tasks done for the day. Punctuality: Kenneth is very anal about punctuality. He will not show up late, or early. He arrives right on time. Nervous Ticks: When Kenneth gets uncomfortable, he has to clear his throat. If he is sitting, he will tap his foot. Sleeping Style: He alternates between sleeping on his back and side. He keeps two pillows underneath his head.

EDUCATION. School: Education is important to the Ridel household. Kenneth did well when he applied himself. If the subject did not interest him, he did not try as hard. He did want to make high marks to appease his father. Known Languages: Kenneth is fluent in English, French, and Gaelic. He speaks decent Latin and Greek. His tutors growing taught him all the languages he needed to know. Gaelic was taught to him by his father, because he wanted to keep Gaelic in his family line. Talents: Kenneth is a phenomenal dancer. He taught classes when he was younger. He is well-known for his realistic portraits he draws. Kenneth plays the violin well. Learning Style: Kenneth is a hands-on and auditory learner.

PHILOSOPHY. Religion: Kenneth considers himself a Christian. He is not particular devout, but he does go to Mass on occasion. Superstitions: Kenneth has a few Scottish superstitions. He refuses sleep on the left side of the bed, because it is unlucky to get out of the left of the bed. Kenneth won’t tolerate whistling on a boat, believing it summon a storm. A tradition from his mother, Kenneth believes if the engagement ring is lost during the marriage, the marriage will fail. Elena lost the ring sometime after their wedding and Kenneth believes the superstition played a role in ruining their relationship. Virtues: Kenneth exhibits Charity, Diligence, and Humility. Vices: Kenneth suffers from Wrath and Gluttony.

RELATIONSHIPS. Family: Kenneth’s immediate family is his son, brother, aunt, uncle, and little cousin. Kenneth finds family doesn’t require blood relations, feeling rather close to his clansmen and extended family. He considers his sister-in-law family, despite their trouble relationship. Friendships: He keeps to a few close friends. Kenneth is not very social so he will pick one person and stick with them. He is lucky his judgement has served him well. Friends in Need: Kenneth is uncomfortable when facing his upset friends. He will show up to provide support, but don’t ask him for comforting words or advice. Unless you want an awkward pat on the back or bumbling words of comfort. Needing a Friend: He won’t. Kenneth wants to deal with things on his own. If you’re lucky, he might tell you how he is feeling, but won’t elaborate on it. Discord: Unfortunately, he will either ignore it until it goes away or buy a gift to appease the person. He struggles with apologizes due to his pride. He would never openly admit he was in the wrong. Enemies: Betrayal. If someone were to break his trust, he would never speak with them again. The circumstances would have to be great for him to even consider forgiveness.

MOTIVATIONS. Intentions: Kenneth’s primary goal for the season is to find a wife. His son needs a mother. Goals: Kenneth wants to be a good father, and a good husband to his new wife. He would like to mend the broken relationship with his brother. Keeping his Lordship secure and thriving back home. Protecting his family. Fears: Some of it is insecurity and worries he personally has to deal with. The biggest obstacle, currently, is his blackmailer. Regrets: Kenneth wishes he had stood up to his father during the season he got engaged. It would’ve saved a lot of heartache and tragedy in his life. Breakthroughs: He needs to learn to be more confident in himself and recognize his shortcomings.

#theseason;task #kenneth ridel #task 02 #task dayys

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lauriquasar · 3 months

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Dans ton coeur

pairing; matt sturniolo x fem! french character

synopsis; matts gf's mother language is french, but they only communicate in english. until one day she says something in french and is surprised when matt understands her!

authors note; yk i never really got the hype with the sturniolos when they started popping off but now.. i get it. — also lunaires race isn’t mentioned but she’s meant to be black :)

lowercase intended, x character , 410 words

"hello my lover!"

lunaire sings with her thick french accent, while bursting into matts room, and flopping on his bed while he sat at his desk.

he climbs out of his desk chair and pulls her into a hug and kisses her face a million times.

"how are you my love?"

"well. I have to do work for school, but im procrastinating. what were you doing?"

she asks, taking off her shoes and outside clothes and climbing into matts bed.

"you really should do you schoolwork babe, i can be with you while you do it,"

matt offers with a smile.

"but its going to take forever, i have too many classes,"

lunaire whines, while matt sits on the other end of his bed next to here.

"oh la la, je'n veux pas! parfois je souhaite tu n'étais un bon petit ami."

(ugh, i don't wanna! sometimes i wish you weren't a good boyfriend.)

lunaire groans and covers her face with matt's blanket, knowing only she would understand what's she's just said.

"Aw, you think I'm a good boyfriend?"

matt asks while pulling her into a big hug and smiling.

lunaire hadn't known matt spent days on end reading books to learn french and spending countless hours on duolingo, so he could understand her when she needed to speak freely.

"how did you know what i said?"

"duolingo. Lots of it."

matt responds with a grin.

"Vraiment?!"

(really?!)

"yeah, maybe like two hours everyday for like three weeks straight, or was it three?"

matt began to count on his fingers, but was interrupted by a huge hug from his girlfriend.

"je t'aime tellement, tellement, beaucoup."

(i love you so, so, much)

"i love you so, so, much too babe."

“say it en français, s’il te plaît,”

(in french, please)

lunaire asked with a persuasive pout.

“je t’aime?”

matt repeated the phrase he’d heard previously, causing lunaire to cringe at his bad pronunciation.

“c’est okay, we’ll work on that!”

(that’s okay)

lunaire and matt laughed, while she kissed him a million times, and engulfed him in another massive hug.

#matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo fanfic #lauriquasar #multifandom #dividers not mine !!

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thisisthehardestthing · 3 years

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тоска, 18+ Tanaka x Reader, 2.2

Written for The Smut Pile Server Collab: Mafia AU | MASTERLIST HERE.

тоска tus-ka: Russian, noun It is a dull ache of the soul, a sick pining, a vague restlessness, mental throes, yearning. In particular cases, it may be the desire for somebody or something specific, nostalgia, lovesickness.

Russian Mafia AU: Tanaka Ryu x A Reader OC Rating: E for explicit Warnings: Violence, Blood, Death, Masturbation, Oral sex, Public Sex, Grinding, Cheating, Denied Orgasm, Manipulation, YEARNING Word count: 9,328 Part 1 | Part 2

GLOSSARY

Enjoy the final part of this two part hell.

Special thanks to: @joyousandverywarlike for being my ride-or-die, @pleasantanathema , @present-mel and @linestrider for hosting this collab, and everyone in the server for being amazing friends. I would not have been able to write this without any of you, and I truly mean that. @the-smut-pile

2.2

6. Tanaka

Daichi, Sergei, Ryunoslav and Yuuri sit in the wooden banya, white towels wrapped around their waists as they sweat and speak about the Georgian trip. It smells of cedar, rich and woody, and sweat. Like men.

“Boss Vashadze is unwell,” Daichi muses, knees spread wide as he relaxes against the hot walls, facing the glass door. “It won’t be long until he retires.”

Tanaka sits perpendicular to him, on a lower step with one foot perched up and his leg bent. Yuuri is opposite Tanaka, and Sergei stands, lightly smacking his back with a Venik, the scent of eucalyptus and birch dispersing through the air with each tap against his skin.

“That is good for you, bad for connections,” Sergei says, “how is business there?”

He always talked numbers first, pleasure second. Yuuri laughs, reaching for the besom of herbs from Sergei’s hold to lash his legs.

“Fine. I am gaining more of a footing around the ministers... However it will still take some time before they trust me. There are rumors of a new political party rising. We have to keep an eye open for unrest in Eastern Europe.”

“Ukraine?” Sergei asks, rubbing some of the leaves that stuck to his arms into his skin.

Daichi nods, then his eyes slide sideways to peer at Tanaka. His shaved hair has grown out slightly, which will be trimmed tonight, and he picks at his toenail of the foot bent beneath him.

“We can discuss strategy after we eat. How was your weekend, Ryunoslav?” The Bulldog asks, eyebrows raised.

Tanaka lifts his head casually with a simple smile.

“Just what I needed, spasiba Boss.”

Daichi’s laugh booms in the sauna, and Yuuri joins in, slapping the wood next to his thigh.

“Tell us more, Ryu! When I saw the first prostitute leave after thirty minutes, I thought it was over. But then, when I saw a second one arrive at midnight, I thought you must’ve not enjoyed the first.”

Tanaka frowns, looking at Yuuri in confusion before realising who he meant. He had seen Valentina arrive late at night, although he didn’t recognise her, or so he hopes.

“She was banging on the door very loudly, woke me up. Tell me, was it the same one from before wanting a second round?”

With a glance to Daichi, who is scanning his every expression,Tanaka shrugs.

“It was the same whore. I must be very good in bed.”

All the men burst out in laughter, but Tanaka laughs the loudest in compensation. Daichi closes his eyes as he tilts his head back.

“Well, she stayed for a long time. I only saw her leave past five am.”

“Yuuri, are you stalking Ryunoslav?” Sergei questions, using the water the Venik was soaking in to rinse off his body, the liquid sizzling as it hits the warm floor by his feet.

“No, I just found it interesting that Ryunoslav will fuck someone twice in a single night when there’s only been one woman he’s ever wan-”

“Yuuri.” Tanaka growls, cutting off his closest friend who has had too much vodka before entering the sauna. The heat and alcohol is loosening his tongue too quickly. Daichi sits up at this news, leaning forward so that muscle bulge and inflate.

“Oh? Is this true? Who is this woman?”

Tanaka waves his hand dismissively as he glares at Yuuri, “I met her years ago, when I first started working for you, Boss. No one of importance now.”

“Surely she still means something if you don’t want Yuuri to talk about her.” Sergei chimes in, climbing past their heads to sit on the top bench next to Daichi. Tanaka avoids his gaze, but can feel the Bulldog sniffing at the faint nerves that climb up Tanaka’s spine, his ears blushing red from the heat. He feels closed in, backed into a corner.

“It is an unrequited love, so please, I would prefer not to speak about it anymore.”

The men all murmur in understanding, except for Yuuri, who says, “I will just have to get you drunk to tell us about her then.”

7 - Valentina

Daichi sits across from you in the chartered jet, the beige leather seats muted even further with the deep rumble of the engine and the third glass of champagne in your veins. He’s reading a newspaper, you’re staring out at the cotton-peach clouds as they pass by. To your left, Sergei Sugawarov scribbles in books filled with numbers, the taptaptap of the calculator permeating the heavy air.

“Refill, Mrs. Sawamurova?” the air hostess asks, her smile wide as she holds the Moët & Chandon bottle in her manicured hands. She’s trembling slightly, and you smile reassuringly.

“Leave the bottle, thank you,” your heavy Russian accent drips from your tongue as you answer in English, and the bottle is placed in a silver ice bucket on the birchwood table between you and Daichi.

Two hours have passed during the five hour flight from Ufa Airport to Côte d'Azur Airport, and you pour another glass for yourself as you watch Daichi turn a page. He glances up at you with a small smile, but his eyes are hard. Something happened while he was in Georgia with your father. With a small smile of your own, you turn your gaze back to the window, leaving red lipstick on the rim of the glass.

A phone rings, and you hear Tanaka’s gruff voice answer the call, the memory of last week shooting painfully through your core.

“Oi?”

Some silence, before the Khazak turns in his seat behind Daichi and whispers through the space between the leather and the wall of the jet. You can’t help the way you look at him, stormy grey eyes peering out at you as he whispers into the ear of your husband. Your brow furrows when Daichi jerks his head in a slight nod, tense.

Tanaka retreats back around and you’re left staring at the empty spot, snapping your eyes to the calculating gaze of The Bulldog.

“Is everything alright, my love?” you ask, deciding to stand from your seat and sit on his arm rest.

Daichi folds the newspaper away, one arm wrapping around your waist while the other takes a sip of the champagne straight from the bottle.

“It seems this trip will not only be pleasure,” he muses, eyes closing as he swallows. However, when they open, his face melts into the calm reassurance you’ve always known when he smiles up at you and places a kiss to the cream wool crepe of your blouse. “I have something to take care of, but it will only be a moment. Nothing to worry about.”

You nod, delicate hands stroking at Daichi’s hair, but Tanaka’s cologne wafts up, invading your nose.

“I understand.”

***

The drive to the private Villa La Vigie winds between grey and green rock mountains to your left with glimpses of the dazzling azure ocean of where the French Riviera gets its name to your right. You’re invited to stay in the home of your fathers dear friend, Monsieur Lagerfeld, situated on a private hill just outside Monaco. He will not be there, March being the month he spends in his apartment in Paris, so you and Daichi and the many bodyguards take residence for the week.

You’ve visited this house a number of times in your youth, in your adulthood, and yet it steals the air from your lungs each time you return. It’s one o’clock in the afternoon when you pull up the driveway. In front of you, the two story villa looms in it’s beautiful white-painted glory, the sun a beacon shining upon it. Light brick extends below to where there is a wine cellar, garage and access to the private beach club below.

The car parks, and Daichi kisses your cheek in the backseat before he exits the vehicle and strides up the steps and through the large glass double doors, answering his phone while bodyguards open the way for him. You see Tanaka grip the steering wheel, the leather of his gloves stretch and squeak. It is the first time you are alone with him since that night a week ago, and the heater in the car feels sweltering against your skin.

“Thank you for the drive, Ryunoslav,” you mumble, shifting to the edge of the seat to leave out of the side Daichi had.

“Val,” he starts, then his mouth shuts and his eyes catch yours in the reflection of the rearview mirror, “of course.”

The terracotta tiles of the terrace reflect a salmon pink up the walls of the villa, and you smile at the men as you pass by and find the master bedroom on the first floor. You can already hear Daichi negotiating in the connected office, and you decide to bathe. As the water runs in the porcelain tub, the water mists with the scent of lavende de provence, and you open the windows looking out over the meditterean ocean. The salt and trees wash over you as the sound of the ocean crashing against rocks floats up, and for an instance, you imagine jumping out the window and into that endless blue. The winter air trickles into the warm bathroom.

Notes of a waltz dance in from the direction of the office and you see Daichi’s shadow move around in the bedroom as he unbuttons his cufflinks and loosens his navy blue tie. He walks into the bathroom where you’ve already slipped on the linen bathrobe, your blouse and jeans folded neatly onto the clothes ladder leaning against the wall.

“Care to join?” you ask, clipping your hair up. Daichi peels his shirt off and drops it near your own in a crumpled pile, his thick muscles rippling with each movement as he undresses.

“Prosti, Gadyuka. I have to get to the board meeting before the gala tonight,” he apologises, turning on the glass door shower as he gets into it on the opposite side to the bath. You watch as the water in the faucet of the bath sputters, and your heart imitates.

“Ah yes, I forgot. What-”

“The car arrives at seven, Khazak will escort you.”

Your head whips around to stare at Daichi as he massages white suds over his body, large palms running over his chest where the Sawamurov crest is tattooed in a large circle. He raises his eyebrows. You clear your throat, standing to drop the gown and dip a toe into the water.

“Not you?”

“Unfortunately no, but I will be there waiting for you. I know the dress you are wearing and can’t have any man trying to steal you for himself.”

Daichi’s honeyed words wash over you as you submerge into the water, turning off the faucet and staring out to the sea, a stark sapphire against the lily-white of the bathroom walls and window pane. In the mirror above the sink, you can see The Bulldog get out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his defined waist while he shakes the water from his hair.

You laugh as you turn to observe him while he pats on the cologne displayed on the sink, before brushing his teeth.

“I doubt anyone will try to steal me away.”

He looks at you in the reflection, a curious expression in his eyes, before he spits and rinses.

“Yes, well, you never know. You might run off with a French vineyard heir by the end of the night.”

“Never, Daichi. No one can be my Bulldog but you.”

He snorts, turning to watch as you lather yourself in Chanel shower gel, the scent mixing with the lavender already clinging to the air.

“Da, no one is like me.”

He leans down to place a chaste kiss on your lips before he exits the bathroom and changes into a clean outfit waiting for him in the Master bedroom. The made-to-measure Chanel suit hangs in a black garment bag that he carries out with him as he leaves to join the council meeting of the European Casino Association before the Annual Art Auction tonight.

The interaction runs through your mind as you mull over the look in his eyes, the way he tensed before he kissed you goodbye, the faintest flicker of jealousy in his eyes that flared when he joked about you leaving him. Suddenly, you remember Ryunoslav’s lips against your neck and you squeeze your eyes shut. With a deep inhale, you sink deep under the water to feel it tickle your nostrils and earlobes, before submerging your head.

Your fingers find the curves of your thighs, dragging up slowly to feel how the water moves around your hands and displaces against your skin. You lift your face slightly, until the edge of the water tickles your skin and you inhale, swirling the skin of your clit. In your mind, Ryunoslav’s kisses fall hot and wet against your body, skin red and heated in the bathtub while you press hard circles against sensitive nerves. You’re not trying to take it slow, coaxing the first wave of clenches quickly as you imagine a thick cock sliding over and over inside you.

Ryunoslav morphs into Daichi, and you sit up with a gasp, fingers not slowing, your hand gripping the handle of the tub tightly as your abdomen contracts. Uncontrollably, Ryu and Daichi alternate, their bodies shifting fluidly until a faceless man fucks into you.

You orgasm on the verge of tears, confused and aching. The styling team will arrive in an hour.

You stand, feeling the cold winter air touch your heated skin. Wrapped again in the robe, you close the window and bind your hair in a towel.

A Russian Waltz still plays on the radio inside the ensuite office, and you look around to filter the channel to a French songstress crooning over the small speakers. Next to the stereo, is Daichi’s small black book, open to his to-do list, and your eyes scan over it before you can stop yourself, reading the neatly scribbled words.

14 March 2006, 1:00 am, La Serpent Fleur

That was the name of the Superyacht you and Daichi are to go on after the gala for the afterparty to the auction. You frown, thinking of the myriad of reasons what he might do there, who he’ll meet with other than the ECA board today. It must be to do with what happened in Georgia and was whispered to him during the flight.

You turn, leaving the book just as you found it and unpack the suitcase that was brought to the bedroom in preparation for tonight.

8. Tanaka

Ryunoslav waits at the front door, facing the short five-stair foyer that branches into the stairwell leading to the first floor. The golden light of the sunset filters in gentle waves through the chiffon curtains of the entry hall.

The first thing he sees of Valentina is in the reflection of the large silver mirror facing the stairwell on the landing. A single leg slinking out from a thigh-high slit, while a heart shaped pump in patent black is clasped around her ankle. The metal YSL heel clinks with each step. Next is the black, silk crepe de chine perfectly draping to the floor–not clinging to anything but the curve of her hips–and the bodice tailored to her waist in a tight structure that pendulums side-to-side.

However, what steals the very air from his lungs, stops his heart, is the bustier covering her breasts. The dress is strapless, the neckline two rounded cups that trace down the sides of her cleavage and towards her ribs before turning and meeting in a gentle hill at the end of her sternum. The dress is Yves Saint Laurent. Ryunoslav watches as Valentina rounds the stairwell and stands at the top of the foyer, opera length gloves running up her arms and with one hand on her hip while the other clasps a small black Bulgari clutch. Around her neck is a pendant necklace, emeralds glittering amongst diamonds and silver, set in the shape of a viper head. Matching emerald drop earrings hang from her lobes, reflecting the golden sun and glittering green against her neck. Valentina’s hair is pinned up, and that tattoo that curls from her left shoulder down her arm disappears beneath the gloves, reminding him that beauty is a secret poison. He swallows, blinks, then climbs up the steps to hand her the white fur coat he was holding.

“Vot eto da… You look beautiful, Mrs. Sawamurova.” Tanaka whispers, mindful of the bodyguards and staff littering the villa.

“Spasiba, Khazak,” she smiles, slipping her arms into the silk lining and fixing the collar. “Is the car ready?”

“Da.”

“Good, let’s go.”

The exchange between them feels mechanical, and Tanaka rushes ahead to open the car door, waiting until she is comfortable before shutting it and sliding into the driver’s seat. It is nowhere near the low temperatures of Russia in March, however he can’t stop the shivers that travel up his spine, and the ugly twist of jealousy that stabs at his heart.

The Casino de Monte Carlo, where the gala is being held, is a mere five minute drive from the villa, yet the silence is heavy, weighted, and slows down time.

“I missed you last week,” Valentina whispers, looking out the window at the midnight blue sky. A traffic light changes from red to green.

“Me too.”

The conversation ends when Ryunoslav pulls the Aston Martin around the fountain, waiting behind a elder couple stepping out of their black limo. The statues on either side of the Casino name look down at him as he parks and climbs out, a porter beating him to her door.

Camera’s flash, the music of a quartet floats out from the massive wooden doors up the entryway, and Ryunoslav remains closely behind Valentina’s right arm as he escorts her inside, pulling the ticket for both of them from his inner coat pocket and handing it to the doorman.

The grand foyer of the Casino is massive, ceilings high with a stained-glass skylight and the floor a white tile with black triangles in a circular pattern. Posed around the room, mostly in the center of the circles, are the artworks up for auction: a variety of paintings, sculptures, artifacts and some vintage designer jewellery. The golden chandeliers light the air with a sepia filter that softens the chatter and noise within. On the first floor bannister across the long hall, is a banner exclaiming, ‘2006 Annual ECA Art Auction’. Couples mingle, champagne is sipped and the Hors d’oeuvres are ignored in favour of the alcohol.

“I will check our coats,” Tanaka murmurs low in Russian, watching as Val slides the white fur down her arms to hand it to him with a polite smile, the kind he’s seen her wear in the public eye alongside Daichi for many years now.

“I’ll wait here, then we go find Daichi.”

His heart thumps painfully, the curve of her shoulders delicate as they flex in passing the heavy coat, but he nods and heads to the coat check just off the side. In passing, he spots Daichi at the top of the red-carpeted staircase, head bowed to speak secretly with someone Ryunoslav can not see, but knows. Daichi’s eyes find the growing storm in Tanaka’s with a smile, and he straightens to bid the woman a goodbye and descends the stairs.

“Sir,” Tanaka nods, pocketing the number for the coats.

“Ryunoslav,” Daichi returns the greeting, casually clapping the man on his shoulder. “Enjoy the evening, I will see you at the yacht later, yes?”

“She could’ve seen you, sir.” Tanaka whispers, carefully keeping eye contact with his Boss. Daichi smirks cooly, glancing back up the stairs and at a retreating woman’s back wearing a deep green dress.

“She did not see me. Thank you, again, for keeping this secret. Now, go, enjoy the party. Hell, if you see something you like, bid on it. I will pay.”

With that, Daichi walks past his Head of Security, chest puffing up as he walks towards his wife. Ryunoslav watches as she gives Daichi a gentle kiss on the cheek before wrapping a gloved hand around his bicep and following him into the crowd.

9. Valentina

The evening passes by in a blur.

The dinner and speeches take up half the evening before the auction begins, and the gala attendees disperse throughout the Casino, while you and Daichi walk to the gardens. Heaters are spaced periodically, warmth sinking below while gentle lights litter the walkways and grass. The stone steps leading there are cool, and you see your breath misting with each exhale before you’re back under the warmth.

The area of the auction outside has statues, planted with lighting that bring the romantic and violent figures to life.

“This one would look beautiful in our gardens in summer,” you muse, studying a small mermaid brushing her hair, tail flicked up and shells covering her breast.

“Anything for you,” Daichi replies, writing down a number with his auction code and placing it in the poll box besides the statue.

You just laugh politely, aware of Daichi’s two bodyguards following the both of you.

“Let’s go back inside. I want to see how our bid on the Kandinsky is doing.” Daichi offers, but you shake your head.

“I’ll walk around here for a bit longer. It’s such a beautiful night and the noise inside was giving me a headache.”

“As you wish.”

You spend a few minutes admiring the remaining statues, finding a waiter that hands you a glass of champagne. With small sips, you hug an arm around your waist, looking over the stone wall at the beautiful, glittering scenery of Monte-Carlo below. You find yourself tucked away in a dark corner of the ledge, where the lights of the gala are few, the tree branches of the gardens overhang, and the city has come to life beneath you. You can hear jazz music from a bar down the road, and you wish you were sitting on a terrace with a glass of wine instead.

“C’est magnifique, non?” A heavy french accent sinks into you, and you glance at the man that leans with his back to the view, a deep purple suit contrasting against his tanned skin and sharp cheekbones. He smokes a hand-rolled cigarette. You look back out at the city.

“Oui, trop beau,” you reply softly, taking another sip, shifting onto the foot farthest from the stranger. He turns and offers you one of the smokes, tucking it away in his jacket breast pocket with a smile and a tap when you decline. His eyes travel down your breasts, before glancing back up to your arching brows and unamused eyes.

“Je ne parle pas de la vue,” I do not mean the view, “Emmanuelle Beauchant,” he offers an outstretched palm.

“Valentina,” he lifts your gloved hand to his lips, but hovers just above contact when you continue, “Sawamurova.”

“Desolee, I did not realise you were not French, or married,” Emmanuelle apologises in English.

You smile politely, lifting the glass to your mouth to down the last of the fizzing alcohol.

“An honest mistake.”

“Your husband’s Casinos are some of my favourites. Please, accept my apologies. Let me get you a new glass.” He waves down a waiter, plucking the empty flute from your fingers and replacing it before you can reject. “I am the coordinator of this petite soiree. Enjoy your evening, Mrs. Sawamurova.” With that, he leaves in a hurry, scampering off into the light much like he had appeared, leaving you alone again. Almost.

You feel the warmth of another body to your right, and you almost sigh from exhaustion when Ryunoslav’s gruff voice washes over you in comforting Russian. It breaks like the wave against the shore.

“I thought I would have to scare him away.”

Tanaka’s serious eyes beneath the shadow of a deep brow pulls the first real chuckle of the evening from your chest, and you see his shoulders somewhat relax as he leans with a hip on the stone.

“It was innocent, Ryu.”

“He wanted to fuck you.”

“He’s French,” you counter, placing the champagne glass down, sliding it away from your body and towards the party. “And everyone wants to fuck me.”

You spin, losing your balance as Tanaka pulls your hand towards him and twists you so that your back presses against the cool stone in a darkened alcove. His forehead is on yours, eyes shut, and breath fanning over your lips. Your own chest heaves with the sudden rush. His hands dig into your hips, yours into his shoulders. Your bag drops to the floor.

“You have no idea,” each word is punctuated by palms shimmying up the side of your waist, thumbs digging into the fabric, “how badly I want to fuck you too.”

He wraps his thick forearms behind your back hugging you tight and into himself as he folds over you and brings his lips to touch yours. It’s deep, and although passion usually pours from his kiss, this one is born out of jealousy, desperation, and desire.

Compliments drip like honey from Ryunoslav’s mouth as he mumbles them into your skin, words melting so that they become part of you.

“Ryu, Ryu, stop, we can’t. It’s so open.”

He shushes you, a palm snaking under the boning of the open neckline to cup the breast, nipplie erect from the night chill. “No one saw me come here.”

“But the people. They know who I am, mmpf.” A pinch to your nipple has you moaning under your breath, head tilting back against the stone, cold against heated flesh.

“They are all too busy with their own conquests, showing up one another.”

“You light a fire in my heart,” his onslaught of compliments don’t cease, and you realise that tonight is the tipping point. The intensity of his words drag you beneath his waters, much like the way his fingers find the high slit of your dress and sink into your folds. Your knee falls open to let him pull you deeper.

“Underwear?”

“Not with this dress.”

“Whore.” Teeth nip at your neck.

“Yours.”

An animalistic groan rumbles through your veins from his mouth, and you clutch at the lapel of his jacket as his fingers thrust shallow, over and over again. You want him–need him– inside you, and the thought of public sex no longer scares you. In this moment, only Ryunoslav exists, the smell of lilies and the fresh ocean fill you, devouring you with a hint of something darker that you recognise as human.

Sin. And something else.

A zipper comes down, his cock unfolds and stretches you out.

“I love you.”

The words tumble from your lips before you can stop them, and even then, you don’t keep them in as you whisper, him thrustsing into your aching core. You vaguely hear him mumbling it back to you. His voice low and sincere, forehead against yours, lips against yours. Your bodies become one.

“Blyat, where can I?” desperation fills his voice, and you barely utter the words before he spills inside you, keeping you warm and plugged up, panting against his face, chin tucked down.

A hand rifles through his pants pocket, and he pulls out his regular small handkerchief, stained, but comforting. You take it from him, careful to keep your face hidden as he pulls out and you wipe yourself under your skirt.

“Ryunoslav.” His name feels like lava, molten on your tongue as it rolls down your body and ignites a fire over your skin, burning you. “We have to stop seeing each other.”

He tenses against you, arms shielding you from the world so only the two of you exist.

“Why?”

“We’ve changed. We’re not just having fun anymore, Ryu-”

“What do you mean we’ve changed?”

“Us. This.” You curse, gesturing vaguely to him and yourself, feeling the fire spread to your ears and your heart.

“Nothing has changed. I have always loved you.”

Your heart drops into your stomach, turning over and over as you digest it, painfully aware of how much truth rings in his words, and how you’re sure you’ve always loved him back.

“We have to stop. Or we have to tell Daichi.”

His lips connect with your forehead. You hear him swallow.

“Tonight then. Together.”

“Together.”

Ryunoslav stays close to you as he picks up the bag from the floor, handing you the mirror inside to fix your lipstick, your hair, before you dust the stone from your back and ass.

“You look beautiful,” he whispers to you a final time, stepping to the side so you emerge from the shadow, pick up your forgotten champagne glass and head back into where art dances together and people mingle.

10. Tanaka

Tanaka watches as Valentina saunters away, past the bodies to rejoin the party. With a heavy sigh, he leans against the stone, cooling his forehead and calming his thumping heart. His feet bump against something and with one eye, he squints at the ground and spots glittering emeralds in the dark. Her necklace.

Quickly, he picks it up, carefully placing it in his suit jacket pocket, and curses when he sees the time on his watch. He has to find Daichi and head to the yacht to do the final security checks before he arrives. Vines wrap themselves around his intestines, anxiety leaking into each step, the emerald necklace a dead weight in his jacket.

He finds the Boss surrounded by influential board members, holding a glass of vodka casually as they all laugh at his jokes. The Chanel suit drapes down his broad back perfectly, clean cut and sharp, the single seam a crisp line.

“Sorry for interrupt,” Tanaka apologies, English tangling on his tongue. He continues in a low Russian to Daichi, sweat beading on the back of his neck, palms clammy and therefore kept in his pants pocket. It’s better that way, his tattoos are less appreciated around the higher class of society.

Daichi nods, a loose smile along with his loosened tie. He hands Tanaka a paper that shows he won the bid on the Kandinsky painting. “Arrange this on the way out. Leave Valentina’s coat with mine.”

“Ya ponimayu.”

Tanaka turns to leave, but Daichi calls out one more time.

“Ryunoslav?”

“Da?”

“You have lipstick on your collar.”

Tanaka feels nausea bubbling up his gut, not from the proximity of your scent to The Bulldog’s nose, but from the thought of later tonight. He forces a cocky smirk and shrug, turning on his heel to head to the back office to finalise the paperwork for the painting and add the delivery address, before shrugging his thick coat on and stepping outside by the valet. The air has cooled considerably from the heat of the balcony and between your thighs. Once safely in the car, he rubs the stain furiously in the reflection of the rearview mirror, making it set even further into the white fabric. It blends into the threads like spilt blood. With a grumble, he drives to the harbor.

La Serpent Fleur is a sleek superyacht with three decks above water and one below, housing jet ski’s, a speedboat, storage and crew quarters. The middle and lower decks have outdoor and indoor seating, with main bedrooms for up to 15 couples to sleep in. The flooring and interior is light teakwood, rich brown accents amongst cream and white leather and fabric. It’s unmissable in the late night, lit up in silvery white, the name illuminated against a navy blue sky and pitch black water. It reflects stars in the meditterean sea.

Tanaka greets all staff, deploying his bratva across the yacht to inspect all rooms and inform the captain of the upcoming helicopter landing at 1:00 am. It’s not often that Mafia business mixes with Business business, but as money is always intertwined, this time, it is unavoidable. The pool on the top deck shimmers aquamarine, and Tanaka inspects that the bar is fully stocked for the upcoming meeting. Vodka and Campari. This floor is only for Daichi and a select few.

“It’s like I’m a fucking assistant,” he grumbles under his breath, withdrawing a small hand-gun strapped to his calf and securing it in the hidden shelf under the bar top. You never know, he smiles, tapping the holster against his back for comfort.

All checks are done by the time the first of the guests arrive, high-stakes rollers for the gambling about to happen. Tanaka keeps to the shadows, lighting a cigarette as he surveys the walkway leading up to the yacht, and it’s guests. They are all smiling, huddling together in their pair against the cool ocean breeze. He takes a look at the pack that was confiscated from Ukai with distaste, flicking the cigarette into the ocean water.

Daichi and Valentina are the last to arrive, and although he’s smiling, she is not, lipstick slightly faded and a smudge of mascara under her eyes. Tanaka watches as she disappears as soon as she set foot on the yacht, hurrying off to inside the cabin before anyone can stop her. Tanaka’s eyes follow her retreating figure, the white of her coat bristling, before he steps up to greet Daichi.

“Everything is ready for Kuroo Testuro to arrive, Boss,” he reports, murmuring low.

“Perfect, evening has turned into disaster. Make sure no one will disturb us except for emergency. It will not take long. What is his eta?” Daichi never lowers the corners of his mouth, but those brown eyes are hard mahogany. Tanaka checks his watch, the light above reflecting in the glass, shining in the storm in his eyes.

“Forty-five minutes. We have to set sail now, all guests have arrived and the poker tables inside have been set up.”

“I will wait upstairs.”

“Yes, Boss.”

Tanaka sighs, running a hand over his shorn hair, a shiver rippling down his spine. He hears his name, and he turns to face one of his brothers, following after to inspect a stairwell.

It does not take long for the party to fall into full swing. Continuing with free-flowing champagne is the key to keeping rich socialites and underground dealers happy and oblivious. Daichi stands near the railing, ice cubes in his glass clinking while he surveys the decks below and waits. Tanaka stands to attention off the side, the cool winter air breezing through his suit jacket, the veins on his knuckles and forearms almost frozen; he stuffs them into his pockets. The cool silver of Valentina’s necklace shocks him and he remembers he has to sneak it back to her. He peers over the edge, spotting her in the distance, smiling once more, makeup fixed and socialising.

His heart thumps, emeralds and diamonds cutting a hole in his jacket pocket, beating faster until it syncs up with the incoming helicopter blades. They whir around in a steady beat that consumes the noise below and thrums through his bones. Then, the wind hits him. Air cold as ice as the machine descends, the collar of his jacket whipping up and folding into itself. Kuroo Testuro has arrived.

The blades come to a halt and Tanaka steps forward, two men overtaking him to climb up the stairs of the helicopter pad landing and open the door. Long legs dressed in a black pin-stripe suit step out, a lopsided cocky smirk plastered on the Italian boss’s face.

“Ciao Daichi, it’s been a while!” Kuroo calls over the wind, arms stretching out while he’s patted down. “Khazak, you’re looking sour.”

Tanaka scowls, not entirely sure what The Panther of the Testuro family said to him. Daichi turns to face the man completely, walking until he stands next to Tanaka, waiting for the man to descend the white metal stairs to the upper deck. The Boss’s exchange a stiff handshake, their eyes piercing as one fights for dominance over the other. Daichi wins, his hand slapping against Kuroo’s back in a hearty greeting.

“Let’s get to business, something to drink?” The Bulldog offers, but Kuroo is laughing, already walking to the leather sofas around the pool, flopping down onto it with one leg crossed over the other. He waves to one of his bodyguards, pointing at the bar.

“Always so formal Daichi, tell me, how is Valentina? Still married to you?” Kuroo’s words tumble out quickly, Italian accent thick enough that Tanaka can only pick up on a few words. He registers your name, and the hairs on the back of his neck stand to attention, ready to attack at Daichi’s order. The Boss takes a deep breath, his teeth gritting.

“She is fine. Enjoying party below.”

“Pity, I think she’d be happier up here with us. Won’t you call her?”

“Careful, Kuroo.” Daichi warns, but the Panther just smiles his wicked Cheshire grin in return.

“Ah, I’m joking. I will just keep the fantasy of her lips around my–”

A hand darts out over Kuroo’s shoulder, interrupting any further explanation of imagination. Tanaka grabs Daichi’s arm, one that had tensed with it’s fist closed around a concealed gun in a holster on his back.

“Campari, sir?”

“Ah! Grazie!” He takes a sip, setting it down on the glass table beside him. “Now, we can talk business.”

Tanaka listens to the low conversation between the two bosses, the discussion of the new trade route of cocaine between Italy and Russia. It takes some time to adjust to the accent, but then he’s following along, standing with his hands in his pockets, a thumb gliding over the necklace. There had been an interruption along the coasts between Lecce and Albania, several different Sicillian Mafia’s holding up some of Daichi’s shipments due to unpaid ‘reparations’, a farce to ignite a turf war between the Families in Italy and their Russian connections.

“You must call off your friends in Italy. We keep up our end of bargain. I will not be so understanding in future.”

“Ah, but you see, they are greedy and believe you are not paying properly for the passage.”

“I assure you, I am.”

Tanaka stiffens, seeing how Daichi begins to inflate, irritation lacing his voice. Kuroo chuckles, taking a slow sip with raised eyebrows.

“Oh, I believe you. I can convince them but I’ll need some extra incentive from your end.”

Tanaka speaks up, eyes narrowing as he sniffs out Kuroo’s angle. “We can not give you that.”

“You are one of the largest groups in the world, surely you have some men for me?”

“No.”

Tanaka’s blood begins to boil, nails biting into the skin of his palms enough to draw blood. The gun strapped on his back heavy as it calls to be unholstered. His men are not dispensable. Kuroo sighs, then his eyes glance to the left where the noise of the party floats in the night air, and he smiles.

“Then maybe you have a woman.”

Tanaka turns to follow his gaze, and climbing up the stairs slowly is Valentina, a hand on the metal rail, the white fur coat hanging down her back as it drapes from her elbows, lipstick blood red. She’s drunk, giggling to herself but stops when a vor blocks the final step onto the deck. Then, she sobers, straightening instantly with narrowed eyes.

“Asahi,” she says, voice sharp but breathless.

“The Boss is in a meeting.”

Her makeup had been fixed, the tips of her nose and ears pink from the chill, her hair no longer pinned up but wild down her back from the wind. Tanaka glances at Daichi, his eyes muddy and lips tightly pursed.

“Oh, let her join, huh?” Kuroo grins, setting his glass down and leaning forward to interlock his fingers and rest his elbows on his knees. “Surely, you trust her enough.”

“Of course.”

Daichi and his guest battle in their stares, but ultimately the Panther wins. With a sigh, Daichi calls out to Alexei, “let her through.”

Valentina strides over to the men, coat dragging on the floor behind her. Surprising everyone, she stops in front of the cocky bastard, who stands to greet her, and their cheeks brush twice, left then right.

“Kuroo, how lovely to see you again. I hope my husband is kind.”

Tanaka holds back a wince, the feeling of her warm breath against his neck still teasing him in his memories. He has to admire her acting, even inebriated, she commands attention. Their eyes follow when she walks to the head of the table and flops down onto the chair, slit falling open with crossed legs.

“He’ll be kinder now that you are here.”

Valentina laughs, “yes, but I might not be.”

“Enough.” Daichi cuts through the jovial small talk, fists clenching and resting on his knees, his back straight. “I am tired of games.”

Tanaka thinks he catches a double meaning, heart racing as he readies himself for anything.

“You own Casinos,” Kuroo drawls, but he’s no longer smiling, still standing. Daichi gets to his feet, shorter than his counterpart, but thicker.

“We are getting nowhere. I will not be included in your battle for control, and if my next shipment continues to be held, God is not the only one that can turn water into wine. Capisci?”

Their stares are intense, and seconds tick by in eternity, before Kuroo nods with a sigh, a hand tucking into his pants pocket while the other extrends. They shake, curt and stiff, and Tanaka rolls his shoulders, loosening the knots in his upper back, eyeing Valentina curiously. She has her eyes focused on Daichi, pupils narrow and mouth pressed into a thin line; the same look she had when she boarded the yacht. She snaps out of it, lips curling up as she stands.

“It was a pleasure, although short,” Kuroo tells her, and they exchange polite kisses. Tanaka hears the rumble in Daichi’s chest, and he briefly wonders if she’s purposefully trying to anger the Bulldog. She’s always been unafraid of his bark, a viper teasing with her fangs.

They wait until Kuroo climbs back in the helicopter, until the blades whir to life with that beating drum that pumps adrenaline through his body and until it is quiet once more, the waves sloshing far below against the yacht. The air is crisp, and the silence heavy. Valentina turns to face Daichi, neck tense, mouth open but Daichi cuts her off.

“Don’t embarrass me like that again.”

Tanaka bristles, the hair on the back of his neck standing up. He controls the need to step in front of Val, to shield her from his Boss. The weight of her necklace in his pocket keeps him anchored. His heart pounds in his ears, Daichi glances at him briefly before keeping an unwavering eye on Valentina’s fierce gaze. It’s odd. Tanaka always has a plan, knows what will happen next, and yet, he is at a loss. Unsteady on his feet as the boat rocks. He’s unsure of what she will do, how she will tell her possessive husband–

“I’m seeing someone.”

11. Valentina

Lightning flashes in the distance when the words leave your lips, the thunder rumbling in the silence that follows. You watch Daichi carefully, standing your ground even though parts of you scream to take a few steps back. You resist the temptation to glance at Ryunoslav. During your musings, you decided not to say who it was right away. Daichi glances down at your bare neck, the necklace he’d given you missing, lost somewhere at the gala when you finally lost yourself in emotion. You remember the fight with him when leaving the venue.

You expected Daichi to burst in anger, explode outwards and destroy everything with his fury. Yet he remains silent, eyes mattifying as he draws inward, no longer oiled mahogany but rather sanded wood. When he speaks, it’s so low you almost miss it, but it penetrates you with the next flash of lightning.

“Leave.”

White, hot anger burns through you at his command, your hands raising as though to grab his lapel. Quickly, you reroute to pulling your fur coat back onto your shoulders.

“You don’t want to know who?”

“You don’t want to know what I am thinking right now, Gadyuka.”

You open your mouth to respond, but Ryunoslav cuts you off, “take the boat, please.”

You stare incredulously at him, but he is already speaking in a low voice onto a handheld receiver, then back at Daichi, who’s body slowly begins to vibrate. However, Daichi is no longer looking at you. Instead, his eyes have shifted to Ryu, brows furrowed. Thunder claps. You feel the first spray of rain misting onto your eyelashes.

“Fine, we will talk more at breakfast.”

You turn on your heel, the sound grating against the wooden deck, and someone from the Brigade accompanies you down the stairs, walking just slightly ahead of you, silently asking you to follow.

You descend slowly, crossing the second deck with a practised smile, apologising to anyone that approaches you with an easy lie. Most of the crewmen begin to pack up and rearrange the party to continue on indoors. You enter the large cabin, and walk down another flight of stairs, to the first deck and then lower still. Here, the walls change from luxurious wooden, glass and metal to open beams, and white gritty flooring. It’s slightly wet, from the rain that batters against the open exit and the ocean water shimmering inside.

A small speedboat waits for you, not fully submerged, and a captain, yet his face is wary.

“Mrs. Sawamurova,” he holds his hat in his hands, a navy raincoat wrapped around his uniform, “wouldn’t you rather wait for the storm to pass? Please, enjoy the evening and when the water is still, I can take you to shore in an instant.”

“My husband wants me gone.”

“But not dead.”

You laugh, bitterly, feeling your intestines swirl, unsettled by those words. He’s brave.

“How long do you think it will take?”

“A few minutes, maximum. It is the winter rain, harsh but quick.”

“I will wait here.”

12. Tanaka

When the top of Valentina’s head disappears down the stairs, Daichi speaks, not looking at Tanaka. The first of fat raindrops begin to fall onto their shoulders.

“I will have to talk to her father, after I kill her.”

Tanaka’s tongue is heavy in his mouth, every bump dry and scratching against his throat. He can’t be serious. Slowly, Daichi turns to face him, eyes raking over his closest subordinate’s features, down his throat, and settles on the crisp white collar peeking out from his suit jacket, stained the same colour as Valentina’s lipstick.

“Khazak, who is it?”

“Boss–” but he doesn’t know what to say. The memories of the prison hospital bed, bare with just a sheet, an unsterilised IV drip stuck into his arm flashes in front of his mind. Daichi’s calm face that visited him before he woke up somewhere else.

“Tell me right now, or does your loyalty mean nothing?”

Tanaka winces, “nyet, Boss, you know I am loyal to you.”

He takes a deep breath, then reaches inside, fingers looping around diamonds to pull out the necklace, the viper head swaying back and forth. His heart claps with the thunder, the clouds breaking into a heavy downpour. Chill sets in instantly, his bones freezing beneath his suit.

“Supply snakes with a meal, and you will have them all by the fangs,” Daichi whispers under his breath, barely audible above the pattering of the drops against the floor, but Tanaka’s sensitive ears pick it up. “She played me for a fool.” Daichi’s wide-set eyes lift from the necklace to Tanaka’s.

“Mne ochyn zhal,” Tanaka begins to apologise profusely, but the hardened look shuts him up.

“I was wrong, Khazak,” Daichi interrupts, his hands moving to his pockets, Tanaka dropping his arm to his side. He starts to walk towards the sheltered area of the deck, withdrawing a pack of cigarettes. “You are the one that is going to have to kill her.”

Tanaka’s heart drops to his stomach, falling straight into the floor and sinking to the bottom of the unruly ocean. The Boss does not joke around, but he wishes for it to be one.

“I can not, Boss,” his head shakes, body vibrates. This is the first time he has ever refused an order from Daichi. The Bulldog watches with raised eyebrows, the question evident on his face.

“I am in love with her.”

The bark that erupts from Daichi’s throat echoes above the rain, above the thunder, and shatters inside Tanaka’s heart. He holds the cigarette to his lips, and Tanaka feels the rain drip down the rivulets of his shaved hair and under the collar of his suit and shirt. There’s a flicker of orange as the Marlboro tip glows.

“And you think she loves you back? Valentina is a snake, a woman. They know only two things: how to lie and how to fuck. You have fucked her, da? It’s magnificent. Was she the second whore of that weekend? Or was she first as well? How long have you been fucking my wife, Ryunoslav?”

Tanaka wants to answer, but it catches in his throat. His tongue refuses to mould the shapes, his lungs refuse to exhale the sound. Daichi sighs.

“It does not matter. Only one thing matters. Come.”

Tanaka walks towards Daichi, each step kicking water down his shoes, his socks wet. He’s never felt more like the ocean than now, swallowed by the rain, drowning. He stops when he stands under the partition, Daichi’s large hands cupping themselves under Tanaka’s chin to lift his head slightly, wiping the rain from his skin, the gold rings cold against his jaw. There may have been tears but Tanaka can’t tell, numb and expectant of Daichi’s next words,

“Tell me, do you love her more than me?”

Cigarette smoke tickles Tanaka’s nose, and he holds his breath. Without him, Tanaka would be dead. Daichi knows this, Tanaka knows this.

“I owe you my life, Pakhan.”

“Now, you owe me a life. I am not without mercy. You have been the closest brother to me. You have tasted the sweet fruit of sin, I can not blame you. You know I have done it too. But I am expected to sleep with someone else. She has embarrassed me. I can not have that. A Boss that can not keep his woman in line? No one will respect me, her own father will not respect me.”

Tanaka remembers the conversation in the banya, the plans to take over completely, the poor health Valentina’s old man is in.

“Are you loyal, or are you just another predatel, scum like the men you erase from existence?”

The storm in Tanaka’s eyes swirl around, clashing against the hard forest floor of Daichi’s. He is loyal. Strangely, in this moment, he remembers the lilies of his home, and their sweet, comforting fragrance, his mother making dinner, and his sister who ran with him to their new life before separating. The pain of losing her no longer stabs at him, maybe this pain someday will not either.

13. Valentina

The room is white and grey, the smell of oil and rubber and metal and salt clinging to the air, to your skin. All the alcohol consumed over the evening seeps from your pores, creating a pounding in your head. You begin to wonder if it was ever a good idea to tell Daichi. You wonder what happened when you left, and you wonder where your necklace is. Your fingers brush over your sternum, feeling the ghost of the viper head and of Tanaka’s mouth.

You taptaptap your toes against the floor, the rain echoing in time, the water drawing in and out rhythmically as you wait for the storm to pass. Only a few minutes, you were told.

“Few minutes, my ass.”

The walkie-talkie connected to the captain’s hip shocks to life, and broken Russian floats up, but you can’t make out the words. He answers, smiles at you, “please, wait here. I will be back soon.”

Then, he leaves, and you’re left alone with the brat that accompanied you. He sighs heavily, as though the inconvenience to him is all your doing, and you glare.

“Is there a problem, soldier?” you ask, standing straight, arms crossed in front of your chest. They seem to forget, Daichi married into your family, not the other way around.

“Nyet, Gadyuka, prosti,” he apologises quickly.

Silence settles over the hull again, claustrophobia leaching into your veins. If you look out at the open hatch, you can see inky blackness, and far in the distance, the faint yellow lights of Monte Carlo. You are about to ask for some water when footsteps echo against the metal walls, a familiar gait.

“Leave us, pazolvste.”

Ryunoslav says to his subordinate, who swiftly salutes him and walks up the stairs. The door at the top clicks shut. You’re speechless, and he is sopping wet.

“Ryu,” you whisper, walking towards him and draping your arms around his shoulders, uncaring at the feeling of water pressing into the fabric of your dress, dripping between the open gap of your breasts. He’s stiff when you touch him, but soon melts, nose nuzzling into your neck and breathing deeply. He still smells like crisp apple and fresh seawater.

“Why are you here?”

“Daichi knows.”

You’ve never felt colder, warmer, like a fever and frostbite all at once. You feel him rustle against your bodies, and you let go to watch him pull the Bulgari necklace out, lifting your hand to place it in your palm. Your fingers close around the jewels automatically.

“I told him I love you.”

There are no words that come to your mind in that instant. Emotions, many. Relief, nausea, stillness and rage, love for the man in front of you. You ache to feel his warm, corded muscles against your skin. He looks pained, eyes tormented as he looks into your soul.

“How did he react?”

“Not well.”

“And?”

He gives no space for continuation, pulling you tightly against his body, arms snaking around your waist as his lips fall against your mouth. His skin is cool, wet, pressing to your heated cheeks, but his mouth is inviting. There is passion unlike what you’ve experienced before. It tastes like freedom, like a new day and endless night. It’s the smoke on the fire, and the salt of the sea. He’s crying, you realise, and you open your mouth to lick up a tear on the corner of his mouth.

The necklace slips from your fingers when you grab him, pushing the jacket of his suit from his shoulders to drop to the already wet floor. There’s a faint crunch, but neither one of you pull away to look at the crushed jewel beneath your heel. It’s just so right to kiss him. In this moment, the world falls away and it’s just the two of you. His taste fills you with a feeling that rivals being whole, satiated. Something hard pokes against your hip, and you smile into the kiss, lips moving to his jaw to suck on an earlobe.

But you freeze. Daichi is at the top of the stairs.

“I’m sorry,” Ryunoslav whispers.

You frown, his words not registering and when you pull back to ask what is happening, he ensnares another kiss from you, tears flowing freely, something hard, cold, now presses against your temple and–

End.

-----

Thank you for reading, truly. This fic honestly has so much of my heart and soul in it. I had so much fun writing it. I hope you’re not too mad about the ending lmao.

@dee-madwriter , @pleasantanathema , @lookslikeleese , @linestrider , @hisoknen , @mindninjax , @whats-her-quirk , @messwriting

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writer-akihiko · 4 years

Note

How would the ikevamp boys react to an mc who isn’t very good at English since she never left her country before and when she does, she has a thick accent that makes it difficult for people to understand? (And can we make her nationality neutral?) like for example when they approach her she’s like, ‘sorry i can not speak English!’ And crossing her arms in an x motion? Thanks!

IkeVamp Boys + Accented!MC

It took me awhile to formulate my answer because I've never had trouble when speaking with accents. However, I have The Miss (my girlfriend) to analyse since she has a very cute accent when speaking English. I do have trouble understanding her at times, but I just find it really cute. It doesn't trouble me at all.

Sorry if any readers were thrown off by my previous IkeVamp headcanon. I just made MC Japanese because I followed the canon of the game.

Napoleon Bonaparte

With some scrutiny, he could identify what you were asking about

At times, he would ask you to speak slowly

He found your voice really cute trying to speak English

He couldn't deny that you knew a lot of English

It's just your accent is quite odd

He would find ways to help you so that he could understand you

Eventually, he gets good at interpreting what you say since your English vocabulary is quite good

Jean sometimes asks him what you're saying

"Nunuche, it's pronounced this way."

You bet he's a giggling general when you repeat after him

If you were fluent in French, you'd be smooth sailing with Napoleon

Isaac Newton

In all honesty, Isaac has the most difficulty understanding you

This made you approach Isaac less

You were afraid he would tease you

He'd never Arthur and Dazai tease him enough-

But since his primary language is English, he tries to help you out as best as he can

He does get a little jealous that you are much more fluent in other languages (Dutch, French, Japanese, etc.)

He wants to know what you're saying too

You too can never hold a proper conversation

It results you writing in your notepad

"T-Tease you?! Never!"

Shy Isaac makes the ultimate resolution to help you with English

No way he'd let Arthur

Arthur Conan Doyle

Oh dearie me, Sir Arthur has met his match

What do I mean? Well with a heavy accent, Arthur can't understand you

You yourself aren't that fluent in English in Arthur's standards

Comte told you to stay away from Arthur

Every time Arthur goes near you, you put your hands up in an X

And yell "No!"

Or "Bad touch!"

This of course gains the attention of the other residents

So when you yell, it's always Arthur

He finds it a little irritating

He... just wants to get to know you

Your confused face is so kissable to him after all

Dazai Osamu

Toshiko-san can't speak English well?

"Well neither can I!"

You surprisingly get along with Dazai the most since you both weren't fluent

"I have an idea Toshiko-san..."

Oh poor poor Isaac is being tortured

Whatever Isaac taught you is being un-taught by Dazai

"The National Erection..."

"YN it's election-" - Isaac

"Dazai told me that saying both means the same thing..."

"Isn't that right Apple-kun?" - Dazai

Cue Isaac screaming

It's a known fact that Dazai is the only one that can understand you

You were trying to talk the Sebastian

"Toshiko-san is saying help her tie her apron, Sebastian." - He says in Japanese

Theodorus Van Gogh

Oh this man is gonna tease you

"Hondje, what are you yapping about?"

One time he took it too far

How he regrets it

He took a joke about downgrading your accent

You slammed your tray down

"I can still understand you! I'm not an idiot!"

This time he heard it loud and clear

You had tears in your eyes

It didn't help that this was during breakfast

And all of them came for breakfast (exception to Will)

The silence as everyone stared at him was deadly

Not as deadly as what Vincent told him

"Apologise to her Theodorus."

"Broerー"

"Now, Theo."

He does, finding out that Isaac and Comte were helping you

You... looked cute as you wiped your tears

The apology wasn't the only thing he was red from

Vincent Van Gogh

He is very understanding

When he'd not understand you, he'd ask you to write in the book

He actually gave you that empty book

Next to some random phrases you'd say, he'd invite you to doodle and draw with him

"What language are you fluent with YN?"

He's asking because he wants to learn it

He picked up a few phrases and talk to you

"You have a heavy accent in my language."

"We're in the same boat then. There's nothing to be ashamed of."

You'd turn red

"Thank you Vincent," You'd say in English

"You're welcome YN," He'd reply in your language

Leonardo Da Vinci

You'd mostly use your book in front of Leo

It didn't bother him

Okay maybe it did

He's a little envious that you'd speak so freely with the others even if they didn't understand you

Why didn't you talk to him Fragnolina?

He didn't push it though

Until one day you visited his room to clean it

He put your book aside amongst his very very messy books

"Ah, what is Sebastian making for dinner?"

You stopped working and went to get your book

Where was it?

"What's the problem cara mia? Just tell me?"

This man pushed you up against the wall, waiting to hear your voice

Once you opened that mouth of yours, he couldn't help hold you closer

Oh, he may not understand you but he was being serenaded by an angel

In turn for listening to your adorable English, he might be very handsy with his Italian~

Jean D'Arc

Jean watched you from the shadows and observed that you had trouble communicating with other residents

He has decided to be a knight of the shadows for you

Whenever you were in a pinch, he'd get you out

Especially when Sebastian put you on shopping duty

He'd follow you through the town

When a shopkeeper couldn't understand, he'd step in to explain what you wanted

Those were the only times you'd see Jean

Besides that he doesn't talk to you

You apologised for causing trouble for him

He found no need for you to apologise

Every time he'd walk you back, you made effort to have a conversation with him

Quiet talks like this made him understand you more

He almost drew his blade at Theo when he made you cry

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

Mozart, as a master of many languages, slightly understood your difficulty

When he was learning these languages he struggled too. He's a pianist, not a linguist after all

He could still make out certain parts of your English since he's communicated with people similar before

That doesn't stop his irritation though

He's not irritated at your accent

He's irritated that you're not willing to speak to him since he corrects you and is strict with you

He doesn't want to make it out as the bad guy

He… just teases at certain times

Because your confused face sometimes is too cute!

Sebastian/Akihiko Satou

Honestly he relates

Learning English for him was hard

He was kinda upset that you knew more English than him

He rubs it in that he can speak better

You two banter over it

He still understands you. He doesn't mind your accent

He treats you quite normally

However he was thrown off when you carried a notebook around

Most of your conversations were verbal after all

He was so upset with himself when he spilled Comte's tea on your book

Comte Saint Germain

Comte doesn't let your accent bother you

After all, he could always speak your mother tongue

For mysterious reasons

However he gets concerned when you go out

Jean may secretly follow you but Comte shops with you

He likes to pay for you after all

He's not around much but when he sees the other residents poke fun at you, eHEM tHEO eHEM aRTHUR he gets upset

The Comte glare is on

The said residents would wish they died

This also includes any of his other lordly friends

He's secretly happy that his lordly friends dislike you accent

He can keep you to himself

Just because you had an accent doesn't mean your voice is horrible

It’s angelic to Comte

You and your lovely voice as his little songbird

William Shakespeare

Well this is awkward

William can't understand you because of your accent

While you can't understand Will because seriously who can understand Will

He had to admit your voice was lovely to him

Even if you were cursing him, he'd be happy to hear you

You followed Vincent to his house

And oh dear oh my, what an enchanting muse you were

"Stay longer."

The first sentence you ever understood from him and you were taken aback

You were wary of Will and used your notebook to communicate

When you were alone Will tried to get rid of your book

He's only interested in your voice after all

He'd give you a script to read

Your knowledge of English is quite good after all

He trust your edits to his scripts

But oh, for you to speak to him before he sleeps

It would be utter bliss to look at your face and hear your voice

Again if he knew what a voice recorder was, he'd record every syllable that spills from your lips

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevamp leo #ikevamp isaac #ikevamp vincent #ikevamp theo #ikevamp jean #ikevamp comte #ikevamp arthur #ikevamp sebastian #ikevamp mozart #ikevamp dazai #ikemen vampire headcanons #ikevamp william #ikevamp shakespeare #ikevamp headcanon #ikevamp napoleon

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ageless-soul-au · 3 years

Text

Sorry we sat on this ask for so long!!! Wanted to have something good for this one!

Each hero has a favorite bakery treat!! They're all sweets fiends

Wars: pan au chocolat

Leg: peach cobbler/peach and whipped cream on angel food cake

Rav (for fun lol): I forget what it's called but it's basically an apple pie filled croissant

Time: m u f f i n f i e n d

Twi: cherry filled anything. He didn't even know what cherries were at first and then Dusk introduced him.

Four: blackberry muffin

Odyssey: wildberry tart SPECIFICALLY w powdered sugar on top. His big sister Mara makes them for him

Fae: mincemeat tart

Cinder: apple turnovers/French toast

Hyrule: eclairs

Wind: jam n biscuits

Wild: cherry tart

Sky: honey toast and pumpkin butter

Flicker: strawberry jam filled donuts

Twilight is EVERYONE'S bro figure. That includes hugs when ppl are feeling bad, but also he's good at being discreet about it. He is soft and warm and ppl usually fall asleep on him

Leg/Wars fluff bc I have an Agenda:

PET NAMES. Legend loves calling Wars sweet things. Wars adores it, it makes him feel special and wanted. However, early in the relationship, Leg cannot handle Wars calling him pet names, he DIES. He melts into a blushy, flustered puddle. Especially when Wars calls him love.

Wars' accent. It's thick and near unintelligible when he's sleepy, and Legend is so in love with it. The accent comes out when he's comfortable. Mizu tends to write his speech patterns differently before his accent actually comes out in his voice! Think rural English, almost cockney. Ravio likes to imitate it to tease him.

So Legend is a prince, right? He only acknowledges this fact under two conditions: when he's flirting with Wars, or (very very rare) when using his status to flex on noble assholes. When flirting like this, he and Wars like to play up the knight/prince dynamic. Legend speaks formally and carries himself differently, and Wars really leans into the chivalry. Whenever Legend addresses Wars as "Sir Knight" the others learn they better RUN bc goddesses have mercy, those two are about to be DISGUSTING.

Hope u enjoyed!!!!

- Kio & Mizu

#Ask #ASAU Legend #ASAU Warriors #ASAU Twilight #Food ask

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vaindumbass · 3 years

Text

The ministry is good for one (1) thing... getting Tonks a date

‘Why-’ Tonks says to the head that is currently sticking out of her fireplace, ‘Why did you ask me for this job.’

Charlie doesn’t even hesitate before answering. ‘Because you speak French fluently, and because you love me and therefore couldn’t say no.’

Mentally, Tonks curses out the Black family and their fucked up traditions. Why French, of all things? Then she corrects herself and blames her mother instead, for keeping this particular tradition. Couldn’t she have gone hunting when she was ten, instead? Bella always thought that was great fun.

Out loud, she replies. ‘I could’ve said no. If I wanted to.’

‘So you want to do this? Good to hear! You can always thank me later, a gift basket would be nice-’

Tonks scoffs at Charlie’s way too wide grin, a laugh threatening to crack out on her face too. ‘You know what, Charlie?’

‘What?’ he says, smugly, as if he’s won.

‘You weren’t completely wrong. I couldn’t have said no.’

‘I know.’

‘You were wrong about one thing, though.’

The fire crackles as Charlie cocks his head. ‘Well?’

Tonks pulls her face into something sad and melancholic to the best of her ability, and looks dramatically into the distance. ‘I don’t love you.’

Charlie’s gasp is loud enough that Tonks almost fears that he’ll douse the flames, somehow. ‘How dare you! Was all this…. a lie?’ After he has stared morosely into the flames for a while, though, he asks: ‘But seriously, babe, what is it?’

The back of Tonks’ shoulders itches a little now that they aren’t joking anymore, and she feels a bit too closely scrutinized. ‘It’s not that bad, okay? You don’t have to look so worried.’

Charlie still looks worried.

‘It’s just- remember how you asked me so that I could translate what she would say?’

‘Sure.’

‘Well, since she’s here partially to improve her English, she told me that I wasn’t really needed.’

‘Okay.’ Charlie says, ‘And?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You wouldn’t be bothered this much by that. I know you, can’t fool me.’

‘Okay so I may have-’

‘May have or you did?’

Tonks ignores him, words spilling out of her. ‘I may have spilled my coffee on her. And she’s so fucking pretty, Charlie, and confident, which I’m apparently attracted to?’

‘There we go,’ He mutters under his breath. Tonks isn’t done.

‘And she doesn’t sugarcoat stuff, you know? So logically I know that she means it when she says that it’s okay, and that she doesn’t mind me ruining her clothes, but what if she secretly hates me now?’

‘Mhm.’

‘She was perfectly kind, though, and have I mentioned how good-looking she is? Name is Fleur, by the way, and sure looks aren’t everything, I change mine on the daily, but the way she looks when she smiles… Only, there’s no excuse for me to stay around her, anymore, and now I’ll never see her again, and she’ll only remember me as that horrible person who ruined her day.’

Charlie’s laugh rings around the room, warm and comfortable, and some ash gets on the carpet when he finally decides to just step out of the fireplace. ‘I’m going to have to stop you there, babe. You’re not just here to speak the language of love-’ After these words, there’s a horrible eyebrow wiggle, and Tonks makes and even weirder face back, just because she can. ‘- but also to show her around!’

‘I don’t even work here anymore! It really is weird that you couldn’t find anyone else who speaks French. I mean- Sirius does?’

‘Yes,’ Charlie responds, while walking around in her house in that comfortable way of his, easily settling down on her couch, ‘because I know Sirius so much better than I know you.’

Tonks lifts up his legs so that there is some space for her to sit, and then keeps one hand curled around his ankle, the other gesturing wildly, almost hitting the lamp that stands near. ‘I don’t know! You both like animals, right?’

‘You know very well that Sirius has adopted a hippogriff. Now, if it’d been a dragon-’

‘Fair enough,’ Tonks says, because while she loves Charlie’s ranting there’s still one topic she’d like clarity on, ‘But still, aren’t there people who speak French and, like, actually work at the ministry?’

Charlie purses his lips. ‘Maybe. But while I am very aro ace I still have eyes and she’s indeed very pretty, and you are very single, so-’

He can’t even finish the sentence before Tonks has thrown a pillow at him. He throws one back, of course, and soon enough they’re two adults in a full-on pillow war, laughing up and until Tonks accidentally punches Charlie in the face.

She gets him some ice and then they just cuddle on the couch for a bit, legs intertwined, and as Charlie tells her about the proper way to clip a dragon’s toenails, she gets a feeling as if she might just be able to handle the whole Fleur thing.

~~~

Tonks is not able to handle the whole Fleur thing.

They don’t spill their coffee again, they’re trying to be careful now, but she’s already confusing departments, and accidentally pressing all the buttons in the lift, which isn’t really appreciated by anyone.

Fleur just laughs at that. ‘How did you press all of them?’

‘I was-’ Tonks stammers, ‘I was trying to hold on to something so I wouldn’t fall.’

‘Why not hold on to me?’ Fleur asks, a thick French accent coating her words, and Tonks just stares for a while. Is this flirting? Is it a joke that Tonks is simply too dumb to get? Should they respond to this with ‘but then I wouldn’t have fallen for you’ and some finger guns?

Tonks only knows the answer to that last one (it’s ‘no’, in case that wasn’t clear). ‘It’s- erm- I mean-’

Fleur just smiles at them in a way that Tonks wishfully thinks might be flirtatious. Tonks is suddenly very glad blushes don’t really show up on their dark skin.

A voice calls out ‘Department of Magical Games and Sports’ and Tonks and Fleur get out, because this was the next part of the tour.

Fleur, her eyes lingering on the various posters hung on the walls, says, ‘Aren’t people here supposed to be impartial? This must be inefficient.’

‘For sure,’ Tonks says, never one to defend the ministry, ‘it’s all a bit shoddy, as if it’s taped together with duct tape.’ (They very carefully pronounce that last word. Who knows, maybe muggle knowledge will impress Fleur?)

‘Then why do you work for it?’

A laugh curls Tonks lips. ‘I don’t! Me and Moody, that’s my old mentor, have opened a sort of private detective office.’

They aren’t even walking through the corridor anymore. One quidditch poster (The Chudley Cannons) is slightly crinkled where Fleur’s shoulder is leaning on it. She throws a bit of her long blonde hair over her shoulder. ‘Then why are you giving me a tour here?’

With a bit of a crooked grin, Tonks answers: ‘Like I said, a bit shoddy.’

Tonks likes the fact that they’re talking now, likes it very much, and therefore they try to lean on the wall just as casually as Fleur does, but they miscalculate, and the ground suddenly comes at them with an alarming speed.

‘Watch out!’ Fleur says, from somewhere very, very close, a flowery smell suddenly surrounding them. One of Fleur’s arms is around their upper arm, the other one curled around their waist. Fleur is very warm. Coincidentally, so are Tonks’ cheeks.

They get up quickly, trying not to elbow Fleur, avoiding eye contact just a little bit. ‘When you said I could hold on to you, I didn’t think I’d need it this quickly.’

Fleur snorts. ‘I am not all too surprised, honestly.’

‘That’s fair,’ Tonks' heart is still beating wildly.

There’s a bit of a silence, and Tonks wrecks their brain for something to talk about. They don’t want this to be over just yet. Luckily, Fleur speaks up.

‘How is being a metamorphmagus? I am part-Veela, and I know other magical beings are immune for that, but I do not know much more. What do you change most often?’

‘My hair,’ Tonks laughs, raking a hand through it (short and a deep blue today), ‘It’s partly apart from my body, in a way, so it takes a bit more effort to change, but once it’s a different colour it stays that way without any effort.’

Fleur cocks her head. ‘It takes effort to change?’

‘For sure. Not all that much, but if I change too much for too long I get a headache. I would never change my skin tone, but if I did I’d get really grouchy, most probably. Oh! And I sometimes change my nose and such as a party trick.’

‘Sounds fun,’ Fleur says, a smile playing on her lips. Tonks seriously considers changing their nose into the one of that squid in the cartoon Hermione showed her, before realizing that that wouldn’t impress Fleur, but rather the opposite.

‘It is! But I get tired if I do it too much. That’s also why, on days that gender is-’ Tonks makes a vague hand gesture, ‘- I sometimes wear a binder, because while I can make my chest flatter, sometimes I’ll be concentrating on some work and suddenly, bam!’ They mimick an explosion in front of their chest, pushing their hands forward.

Fleur snickers. ‘Poor you.´ That sounds like the end of the conversation, but Tonks has finally had enough time to get their brain to work again, and they’ve come up with a new topic.

‘So, what are you here for?’

‘Did you not get that information?’ (Tonks had never said it was a good topic)

‘No, I did, but I thought you might be able to explain it better?’

‘Oh.’ Fleur says, ‘well, I am looking into the practical applications of magic, but specifically on magical creatures. Dragons, for example, can be lured to sleep with a sleeping charm, but can resist most hexes without any effort.

‘Giants, who can also resist hexes, can easily resist a sleeping charm, but curses can seriously harm them, and that’s already fascinating, but I’m going to look into what effects other kinds of magic have, outside of wizardry, starting with Veela magic, because I happen to possess that, and that's not even talking about how that magic works. Only female Veela have any sort of non-wixard magical power, but the magic is not stored in the uturus as one might think, because I do not have one, but still have magic. How does the magic know that?’

Fleur had been talking slowly and deliberately ever since Tonks had met her, as if she was weighing the words, remembering the pronunciation, but now she talks faster, a flush on her cheeks.

‘But I'm getting of topic. I will mostly work with stuff like: why does Veela magic affect unicorns but not dragons? Why does it affect giants but not metamorphmagi? And if it doesn’t affect metamorphmagi, then why do you still get so flustered?’

‘I-’ Tonks says, ‘Erm-’

‘Do not worry,’ Fleur says, smiling ever-so-slightly, ‘I think I know the answer. Would you like to go on a date with me?’

Honestly, Tonks didn’t think a dingy corner lined with quidditch posters could ever be romantic, but Fleur makes it work, with the soft lighting on her cheek, and that fucking gorgeous smile on her lips. ‘Yes,’ they answer (was there ever another option?), ‘I’d like that very much.’

In a sudden rush of courage (what are they, a gryffindor?) they ask: ‘Can I kiss you?’

Fleur nods, and they discover that yes, Fleur’s smile tastes as wonderful as it looks.

#flonks #in my timezone its still femslash february so im saying it counts #even tho this isnt completely FEMslash yall get what i mean #fleur delacour #nymphadora tonks #charlie weasley #to anyone wondering: yes this is what prompted the 'charlie weasley calls his friends 'babe'' post #and im right!!!!#oneshot #mywriting #i took hp lore and RAN with it #fleur is just so smart tho.... that deserves its own place #and moody and tonks ruining a private detectives business is actually something that can be so personal-#also just so yall know charlie doesnt work for the ministry EITHER the reason why he could still get tonks the job is. well.#its explained in the story

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doberbutts · 3 years

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As someone whoa hoh due to audio processing, something that always makes me >:/ is when shows will provide translation for slang but then not just cc what theyre actually saying. Like i know this is only adjacent to the conversation, but it feels like its less about accessibility and more pandering to a presumed majority white audiences.

Oh I feel the same- and I always complain about the lack of accurate subtitles in non-English films because English subtitles always take liberties with translations and sometimes miss some subtle nature of what's being said- I see this most often with Spanish and Japanese, primarily because I actually understand large parts of these languages so sometimes I'll see the subtitle really does not say what was actually coming out of that character's mouth. I'm not good enough with German to try this! Censorship is the most common reason, but also culture-specific metaphors and turns of phrase that someone assumed would translate poorly are often lumped in with that.

And the thing that bothers me about open captions is that they often present differently to accessiblity devices (such as screen readers) and often closed captions will literally just stop to allow the open caption to do it instead, which does not make any sense outside that open caption is often placed exceedly poorly (and usually too big and with bad visibility to boot) so there's really no where on the screen for closed caption to go... and THEN you add that most open captions provide a basic translation but then closed captions if they're present during that bit at all just go [speaking x language] and don't bother trying to transliterate it on screen...

It also provides a stumbling block for those who ARE interested in learning more about that language in question because we know they didn't actually say whatever that phrase was in Standard [American] English, and yet we're Not Allowed to know what words actually were spoken in the dialect in question.

Additionally I still hold onto my critique that I never see dialects not associated with POC or lower class or poverty translated like this. Someone mentioned on one of my other posts on the subject that they've seen some Scottish films with Standard American subtitles- I haven't seen many if any Scottish films so I can't verify, but that's interesting if that's the case. I have watched some BBC shows including Doctor Who and Sherlock and Torchwood and can tell you that with my ADD processing and my inherent difficulty with thick accents there's times where I need to turn subtitles on because I genuinely cannot understand what's being said.

And yet, no open captions for an American audience because we're just expected to know and understand how white British people speak. It took me forever to understand what Sherlock was asking for when he wanted 'a moment of privacy' because he was muttering, his accent was difficult to understand at times for me, and his pronounciation of 'privacy' REALLY threw me. Why is it that AAVE, which I honestly DO NOT struggle to understand whatsoever outside of some older, less common words, is given the open caption 'we can't expect Americans to understand this' and yet heavily accented British English is expected to be perfectly understandable sans-caption for a hearing American audience? An American English dialect is too difficult but a British English dialect isn't?

One last thing: Cajun, like AAVE, is not slang but a recognized dialect of the American English language. There is also the Cajun French dialect, which iirc is considered endangered. In doing my research on this topic, I discovered that I actually grew up speaking two dialects: AAVE and Pennsylvania Dutch English. I had not realized that my heavy German influence to some words and phrases and the smattering of German I've been taught to use in place of English words was considered a recognized dialect.

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thepartyresponsible · 4 years

Text

this fill is for verdantmoth, who asked for winterhawk. so here’s an alternate timeline where clint goes awol after the battle of new york, and, eventually, he and bucky end up working for the same circus.

Bucky falls in with the circus when it tours through Bucharest. It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement. They need manual labor and dependable security, someone intimidating enough to scare off troublemakers but not likely to cause trouble himself. And Bucky needs to move and keep moving, needs to eat, needs to sleep.

It’s still cold, so nobody asks any questions about his long sleeves and gloves. Nobody asks any questions at all, really. Except the archer.

As far as Bucky can clock, the archer is the only American traveling with the circus. He’s tall and blonde and muscular and handsome, has spiderwebs of old scars across his knuckles and elbows, lightning-forks of long-healed knife wounds across the blades of his forearms. He speaks Spanish like he learned it in public school, French like he learned it in Louisiana, Russian like he learned it in prison, and English like he’s fresh from Midwestern farmland, like sometimes he likes vowels so much he can’t quite let them go.

His name’s Clint. He gives a different last name every time someone asks.

“And what did you say your name was?” Clint asks, early on, with a half-smile like he knows damn well Bucky never gave one.

“James,” he says, because that’s what he read off the plaque at the museum before he caught a freighter heading east out of Boston.

“Uh-huh,” Clint says. His smile grows roots and blooms, and there’s no aggression in his eyes, but there’s a watchfulness, a weighing-up. “Your parents give you a last name, James?”

“Rogers,” Bucky says, because he figures last names are about families, and Steve Rogers is the only thing that makes him feel homesick.

“Got it,” Clint says. But he doesn’t sound like he believes it.

Clint isn’t in his way very often. He just checks in, from time to time. He must be watching Bucky more than he’s letting Bucky see, because he tends to materialize on particularly bad nights. He brings beer or sometimes whiskey, cigarettes to share. One time, he brings a bottle of clear alcohol in an old jelly jar, and it’s so potent that it almost – almost – has an effect.

“You should be careful with that,” Bucky says, when the bottle’s half gone. Every time he sips, his lips go numb and then sting for a handful of heartbeats. He can’t imagine what it’s doing to Clint, who, despite his perfect aim and perfect arms, doesn’t seem to be enhanced.

“Oh, careful,” Clint says. He half-hums, half-sighs the second syllable of the word, flat on his back on top of his trailer and staring up at the stars.

It’s a strange thing, the night sky. Sometimes, when Bucky looks up, he gets flashes of being here before. Europe was different then. The geography, the buildings. The people. The stars were brighter, he thinks. When they weren’t cloaked over with smoke and ash.

“No fucking use being careful, James,” Clint says. He’s smiling when he says it, but it’s not one of the smiles Bucky likes.

“Plenty of use,” Bucky says. He picks the jelly jar up and relocates it to the other side of his hip. If Clint wants it back, he’ll have to crawl over Bucky to get it. And, as far as Bucky can tell, they haven’t progressed quite that far yet.

“You’re careful,” Clint says, more like a confession than an accusation, “and you’re good, and you work real fucking hard. You try to do things right. And you know what fucking happens?”

What happens is you fall off a train in the Swiss Alps, and HYDRA cuts your mangled arm off with no anesthetic, and they set your brain on fire over and over again until the ashes fall in an arrangement they can use.

“No,” Bucky says. “What happens?”

Clint breathes out, slow and even. Controlled. “You ever fuck up so bad you can’t let people look at you anymore?”

Bucky closes his eyes, and it’s like a lightshow on his eyelids. Faces of all the people he’s killed. We’re building a better world.

Sometimes, he has nightmares. And it should be the things he’s done. It should be all the blood, the kill shots into civilians, the families he’s put down. But it never is. The thing that scares him the most is Steve Rogers, reaching for him. Steve Rogers, with his own blood on his face. Cuz I’m with you til the end of the line.

Sometimes he dreams that Steve finds him, and it scares him so fucking bad he has to go on half-mile, one-mile, two-mile, and five-mile perimeter checks, circling broader and broader and then back in. Can’t sleep for shit after, has to work into the red-gray of exhaustion just to make himself stand down.

Someday, Steve Rogers is going to find him, and he’s going to call him Bucky Barnes, and Bucky doesn’t know what the hell he’s going to do.

He can’t fit back into that skin. They cut him out of it. There’s not enough left to stitch shut.

He can live with being a monster, just so long as nobody knows he used to be a man.

“You don’t like when people look at you?” Bucky asks, because he’s been learning about tightrope walking since he joined up, and what he’s learned is that you don’t look down, don’t think about the rope until you have to.

“Well.” Clint props himself up on his elbows, looks over, and grins, crooked and inviting. If there are ghosts at the backs of his eyes, Bucky chooses not to see them. “I don’t mind when you look.”

Bucky likes watching Clint shoot. He doesn’t go to the shows, because he can’t tolerate the noise of them, the crowd, all the variables he’d need to track to feel safe in a place like that. But nobody cares what he does for long portions of the day, so he finds himself watching Clint practice, sometimes.

He never startles him, and he never tries too. But he doesn’t make a big production about showing up to sit in the grass of whatever field Clint’s found and watch as he nails bullseye after bullseye.

“You ever wanna try, James,” Clint says, once, “just let me know.”

But Bucky isn’t interested in a bow, doesn’t want anything like a weapon in his hands. And he doesn’t break that habit until a bar outside Bratislava, when he’s antsy, feeling exposed, and wishing he hadn’t let Clint’s blue eyes drag him out from the comfortable, anonymous trailer he shares with two hulking Russians who never speak to him beyond asking, politely, what groceries he would like them to pick up.

“They want you, too,” Clint says, half-drunk and animated, gesturing over his shoulder to a pair of locals he’s befriended.

Bucky must make some kind of face, because Clint immediately laughs. “To play,” he says. “Jesus, James. They wanna play doubles. Darts, not a foursome. I wouldn’t just barter you off like that. Not for two beers, come on.”

And he seems happy. Loose-limbed, even-keeled. There’s a misery that comes over him, sometimes, but it’s not here now. And Bucky doesn’t want to ruin that for him. Clint, whatever his secrets, whatever it is he thinks he’s done, is sweet and good-natured and patient with children and stray animals. Good, in all the ways Bucky thinks he used to be, too.

He’s nice. And Bucky isn’t, but Clint makes him want to remember how.

The darts feel like nothing in his hand. Lightweight, not dangerous. He could take out an eye with one, but the tips are so blunted that he’s not sure he could make a killshot. Maybe if he used his left.

Probably if he used his left.

He uses his right. Clint, who’s a showoff even when he isn’t drunk, alternates between hands. They outpace the Slovakians so bad that they laugh off the idea of a rematch, and Clint tightens his hand around Bucky’s wrist and tugs him out into the alley behind the bar.

It’s not that Clint’s mouth on his is a surprise, exactly. But there’s a difference in logically knowing something is likely to happen and actually facing the reality of its arrival. It’s surprising the way Christmas is surprising, like homecoming after long travel or recovery after weeks of illness.

Sometimes hoping for a thing makes it feel impossible.

But Clint’s mouth is insistent, soft and playful. Confident. He tastes like cheap beer, and his hands curl around Bucky’s hips like they’re staking some kind of claim.

“Goddamn, James,” Clint says, mouthing his way down to Bucky’s neck. “You’re a fucking sniper, huh? Been holding out. You never said.”

Something happens at the word sniper. Bucky’s here, and he’s on a ridge, with a rifle, watching Steve give away his position by saluting right the hell at him. Because of course he did. Because Steve plays soldier, but he hasn’t lost one. Not yet.

“Hey,” Clint says. His lips move against the skin of Bucky’s throat, and Bucky flinches, backpedals straight into the brick wall behind him, and he’s not trapped, not in any danger, but numbers rise up in his throat, a serial number that wants out, and he’s too busy swallowing the whole mess of it back down to tell Clint that it’s okay, that he’s fine, that it doesn’t mean anything, it’s just his useless fucking brain misfiring.

“Hey,” Clint says, again. “Are you--”

His hand curls comfortingly around Bucky’s shoulder, but he’s touching the metal arm. He probably can’t feel the cold of it through the thick fabric of Bucky’s jacket, not the way Bucky can feel it every morning, as the metal leeches warmth from his skin, but Clint’s smart, and observant, and it’s only so long before he figures out there’s something wrong about him.

“I gotta,” Bucky says, accent swerving way too far into Brooklyn. “I need to go,” he says, and that’s not even in English. That’s Russian. He’s so far gone that he’s speaking Russian. To Clint. Jesus.

“Okay,” Clint says, hands up, moving back. “That’s fine, James. I’ll just settle up inside, and then we’ll--”

But Bucky’s going to have to pay him back, because he can’t stay. He can’t. He shifts past him, jarring him with his shoulder because his depth perception’s fucked, and then he’s up the alley and gone.

He doesn’t watch Clint shoot anymore. And when Clint tries to find him, Bucky finds ways to make that difficult until, after a week or so, Clint stops trying.

HYDRA tracks him down outside of Vilnius, and Bucky isn’t ready for them. He has a knife at his side and a knife at his back, but his guns are in his trailer, in a locked trunk. The children of the circus are nosy, and friendly, and fond of him; he’d wanted to keep the guns as far from them as possible.

“Soldat,” one of them says. His accent is American. He’s only using Russian now to make it clear he knows the words that’ll rewrite Bucky’s brain. “It’s time to come in for recalibration.”

There are times, even now, when Bucky wants that. He isn’t getting better in a linear fashion. It’s a scattershot, a splatter pattern. Somedays he wakes up, and all he wants is a mission. It was easier then.

But he knows what manner of mission they would give him. And beyond that, he remembers the chair. Steve Rogers may have walked willingly into the machine that unmade him, but he only had to do it once. Bucky’s not sure even Steve’s bravery would’ve held out the tenth time, the fiftieth.

“No,” he says, because he might as well, while he has the chance. While his mouth still belongs to him, he might as well use it.

“Soldat,” the man says, again. And there’s an expression on his face like he’s disappointed, but his eyes are eager, and laughing.

“Gentlemen,” Clint says. He’s beyond the circle of HYDRA agents, fifteen feet back, with his bow in his hands. “Show’s not for another four hours, and he’s not part of it anyway. Time to move on.”

“He’s an old friend,” the leader says. “We’re taking him home.”

“You’re taking him nowhere,” Clint says. Casual, bored, and vaguely annoyed. Like he’s caught someone slipping into the tent without tickets.

“And you’re going to stop us?” the man asks. He’s half-laughing, and it’s well-earned. Clint’s in old sweatpants and a purple hoodie; his hair’s tufted up on one side like he was asleep ten minutes ago. “With your bow and your blunted arrows? I’m not afraid of bruises. Why don’t you--”

The arrow sprouts from his eye like a sapling. Burrows straight through into his skull. He jerks and topples over, dies on the fall down.

“That one was blunted,” Clint says, with that same irritated tone. “The rest aren’t. Got a few that blow up, too. You guys wanna see ‘em?”

There’s a single moment of stillness. The tense bit of pause between realization and reaction. Bucky takes out his knives, and the Winter Soldier goes to work.

They don’t really speak until after they get a motel room in Bialystok. Clint arranges it, chatting in Polish to the desk clerk. He sounds like a native speaker, and Bucky stands there with his bag on his back and reflects on the fact that Clint’s accent was always a choice.

“Look,” Clint says, once they’re in the room. There’s one bed, but Bucky doesn’t think the plan is to sleep. The plan, probably, is to split up. To create a record of them checking in here and then rabbit off in separate directions. Bucky thinks maybe he’ll backtrack into Lithuania or dash down south to Ukraine, maybe catch a flight and leapfrog anywhere.

“We are in,” Clint continues, “kind of a complicated situation.”

“Not that complicated,” Bucky says. “You should head west. I’ll go east.”

Clint’s eyebrows snap together. “I blew my cover all to hell for you,” he says. “We’re not splitting up now, Barnes.”

And Bucky never, ever gave Clint that name.

“Hey,” Clint says. “Hey, fuck you, don’t look at me like that. I’m not a threat to you. I’m just not a Goddamn idiot. James Rogers, are you kidding?”

Bucky saw Clint fight. They left seven men dead, and most of those were Clint’s kills. But in close quarters, Bucky’s better. And in every arena, he’s hardier.

“I don’t blame you,” Clint says, which doesn’t make sense. “For fucking off. I did it, too. But if HYDRA can find you, SHIELD can find you. And if either gets close, Tony Stark’s gonna know about it. If Stark knows, Steve knows, and--- just listen. Jesus.”

Bucky can’t help the way he flinches. Steve’s face, bloodied up. Steve, reaching out, because Bucky wears the face of a dead man, and Steve thinks there’s something left to grab onto.

“We have to go back,” Clint says. He sounds tired. He looks tired. “We were always gonna have to. Better to go than be dragged, Barnes.”

“You,” Bucky says, and then stops. Thinks it through. He knows all of Steve’s Avengers, but there was one who went missing after New York. Hawkeye. HYDRA had marked him down as dead; SHIELD had him as MIA, presumed KIA.

He was blonde, and muscular, and deadly with a bow.

“Hawkeye?” he asks. “You’re dead.”

Clint grimaces at the name and then smiles. “Well, look at that,” he says. “Guess it’s prophecy, right? ‘One fine morning in the middle of the night, two dead men got up to fight.’”

Bucky blinks at him. “Is that what we’re gonna do?” Bucky has a bag of weapons on his back, and he doesn’t want to use any of them. He can feel the blood of the dead HYDRA agents on his hands, hot and slippery, damning. “We’re gonna fight?”

Clint shrugs. When he smiles, his mouth is aw-shucks, but his eyes are aw, hell. “Well,” he says. “Not each other, I hope.”

Bucky thinks, of all things, about the feel of Clint’s mouth against his, the warmth of him, the way he used to look over at Bucky like he was something worth earning instead of something he deserved to keep.

It’s only after he realizes he doesn’t want to fight Clint that his brain starts working on how he’d do it, if he had to. It’s been years and years since he prioritized an emotional reaction over a practical one.

“No,” Bucky says. “I don’t want to.”

“Good,” Clint says. “Me either.”

It sounds so easy when Clint says it. Like that’s a choice he thinks they get to make. But Bucky will hurt anyone he’s aimed at.

“I can’t,” he says. “I’m not--- I’ll do whatever they tell me to do. I’m not safe. I don’t always have control. I kill good people.”

Clint’s smile hooks up wide, but it’s the ugliest one Bucky’s seen yet. Cutting like scalpel. Crooked and hateful and sad. “Well, hell, Barnes,” he says, “we’re a pair. It’s like we were made for each other.”

The way Clint says it makes it sound like a sentencing, but it bounces back and forth between Bucky’s ribs like a promise.

He doesn’t know what Clint did. He doesn’t even know everything he’s done himself. But he thinks, if they were made for each other, that’s better than being made for no one at all.

But, still. He has to say it. He can’t let good things happen just because they’re easy. “If I hurt you--”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Clint says, jaw tightening. “It’s never me that gets hurt.”

And Bucky figures that’s not true. But he understands. It’s the same for him. He does get hurt. HYDRA used to hurt him all the time. But he hurt other people worse, so, in the scale of things, what happened to him doesn’t matter. After all, he lived through it.

“HYDRA’s gonna come looking for me,” he says. It’s a warning, the last one he has.

Clint shrugs it aside like it’s nothing. “Good. That’ll make them easy to find.”

“I’m not worth all this,” he says. And that’s not a warning. It’s a confession.

“Me either,” Clint says, with a smile. “Like I said, Barnes. We’re a pair.”

Maybe they are, and maybe they aren’t. Maybe they’re just going to get each other killed. But Bucky has nightmares about Steve, because he’s not ready for Steve to see what he’s become. Clint’s had a good long look at what Bucky is now, and he doesn’t know enough to be disappointed or disgusted.

A pair of killers, a pair of failures. A pair of people who kill people better than themselves.

Bucky doesn’t know what he deserves, after everything he’s done. But Clint, at least, deserves not to be alone.

“Okay,” he says. He doesn’t know how the hell he’d even begin to say no, when Clint’s looking at him like he’s the last chance he’s got. “Okay, yeah,” he says. “We’ll stick together.”

Maybe, this time, they’ll get to stay that way.

#writing #fic #fill #winterhawk

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marvel-and-mischief · 4 years

Text

Safe Haven Part I

Title: Safe Haven.

Words: 3200

Warnings: None

Synopsis: Pero x Reader. You are the owner of a tavern in England when a mysterious stranger asks to stay in your lodgings whilst he works for the Lord of the town you live in. Soft, awkward, grumpy Pero! Post TGW (no William).

When you thought about the past eleven months, you couldn’t believe you had gotten this far. You had three wonderful, hard working women under your care. Gwen kept to herself in the kitchens, baking meat pies for your customers and keeping the tavern clean and tidy. Darcy could talk the back legs off a donkey if given the chance, but her charm kept the customers coming back and those passing through remembered to come back the next time they were near town. And Adelaide, or Addy as she was known, helped you with the business; counting money, keeping on top of the food and drink that was needed, finding new ways to attract guests to the lodgings out back.

When your father had suddenly come down with a fever, you were certain it would pass. The cold, damp nights had started to settle in, so it wasn’t unusual to hear of the townspeople getting ill. You sat by his bedside in the day, feeding him soup and reassuring him that the tavern would be just as he left it when he returned to work. And at night you opened up as usual, serving the locals who had come in for the warm fire and mead. You only had Gwen back then, so you were rushed off your feet without your father as well. When not even a week later your father had taken a turn for the worse, you couldn’t deny that maybe this new way of running the tavern would be a more permanent way of life.

The fever took your father five days after he fell ill. You worked harder than you ever thought you would have to. You not only had to quickly learn how to be a business owner, but being a woman you had to earn the respect of the townspeople. They all knew you, having grown up in the tavern as your father’s only child. The town healer helped your mother give birth to you, as a small child you brought bread from the baker, you courted the blacksmiths son as a teenager. But as a businesswoman, they were a little more concerned. The regulars that came into the tavern most nights had your back, but some of the older members of the town thought you couldn’t handle it. Some even suggested they would only support you if you found yourself a husband.

After two months, you had found your newest employee. Darcy stumbled into the tavern just as you were closing up one night, mud caking her hands and most of her dress. You brought her inside, sitting her in front of the large fire on one side of the tavern. You asked Gwen to make up a tankard of warm milk and honey and handed it to this stranger. You convinced her that if she just trusted you, allowed you to keep her safe in the tavern, you would never ask where she came from or who she was running from, and she would always have a home here. She had nowhere else to go and she had had no better offers than yours and doubted anyone else would be so kind. She agreed to work for you.

After a few weeks Darcy opened up a little more. She had travelled from Armagh in Ireland, looking for a new life away from a family that wished to marry her off to a brute of a man. She would rather have died journeying out of Ireland than be made to live the rest of her life with him. Her sweet Irish accent hypnotised anyone who heard her speak, so custom quickly picked up and so did her confidence.

Soon after that was your last employee. Addy was mild tempered, still is, when you found her covered in blankets and huddled against a stone wall in the marketplace. Her large brown eyes were flitting back and forth, her hands shaking where they clung to her only bag of belongings. The first time you tried to walk up to her she hid under the blankets and started crying. You left her an apple and a chunk of bread, not wanting to spook her any more than you already had.

The next day you went back to where you had last seen her but she was gone. She had moved to the opposite side of the marketplace and was trying to hold onto her bag which was being torn away from her by a boy no older than twelve. You had rushed over to her, yanking the bag from the boy and pulling yourself up to your full height to tower over him. With a gasp the boy ran off and you turned to see Addy with her eyes down, biting her bottom lip. After assuring her you only wanted to help, you handed her the bag and brought her back to the tavern.

Once she was comfortable with you, you realised she was literate and could help with the day-to-day running of the tavern. She was born in France but spoke very good English. She has never told you why she ended up in England but it didn’t matter. She was kind and thoughtful and worked harder than any man you’d ever met.

Once you had your team set up everything felt like it once had. People respected your position, they supported the tavern and your guest rooms were never empty.

Your day dreaming was disturbed by Darcy slamming a tankard on the counter in front of you. You raised an eyebrow in her direction, silently asking why she did that.

“There’s a new man in town,” she stated matter-of-factly. It wasn’t unusual for travellers to pass through. The river that ran through the town lead a few miles east to the sea that separated England and France. Anyone travelling from Europe would most likely have to come through your town to reach the rest of the country. So why was Darcy making such a big deal about this one man?

“Does he practice sorcery or something just as interesting?” You asked with a smirk. Darcy came from a country steeped in superstition so you knew that would hit a particular spot.

Darcy made the sign of the cross against her chest and gave you a warning look. “Do not jest. Of course not. But everyone’s talking about him. He barely says a word to anyone. Has an accent apparently-“

“How do they know he has an accent if he doesn’t speak?”

Darcy seems to think this over. The difference between Darcy and Addy is, where Addy is educated, Darcy is smart when is comes to the realities of life. She knows to keep to the clear roads and not walk through the woods when travelling to market, but she doesn’t always understand irony.

“Well… I’m not sure. He must have spoken at some point. You can’t just not speak!” She was getting flustered which made you giggle. Darcy realised what you were doing and grabbed the towel that had been hanging over her shoulder and whipped it in your direction, catching you on the elbow where your arms were folded.

“Alright alright! I’m sorry. What is it they are saying about him?”

“Just that he’s a little strange. And he has a large scar over his eye.” She shrugged and began to use the towel to wipe dust off the counter.

“A mercenary perhaps?” You had met mercenaries before. They weren’t common but they were all the same. Kept themselves to themselves and never stayed anywhere long enough to make friends.

“Do you think he will cause trouble?” Darcy was purposefully not looking in your direction. She was worried. Trouble meant fighting and none of the girls were comfortable with dealing with that.

“No,” you said sternly. You glanced down to the thick sharpened branch you hid behind the counter. You would nip it in the bud before any fighting started. You wouldn’t have the girls frightened to live here. This was supposed to be their safe space. “If I think he’s going to cause a problem I will kick him out. He may not even come in here Darcy.” You spoke softly, not wanting to spook her.

She seemed satisfied with that answer when she walked away to clean the table tops. You watched as she began to hum a tune as though the previous conversation had never happened.

“I’m going to check that Gwen is ready to open up for the night,” and with that you left in the direction of the kitchen, putting this stranger to the back of your mind.

You had opened up in the early evening, just as the sun was beginning to set. The night had been busy but not chaotic. Gwen managed to sell all but one of her pies so the three women were sat around the kitchen table tucking in. The last of the drinkers were stumbling out of the front door. You bid them a safe journey home when you noticed a man walking towards you. The lights from the tavern weren’t strong enough to catch any details until he was right in front of you.

He wore a black cape, hood up against the bitter air, and the unmistakable line of a sheathed sword could be seen poking through the material. He carried a bag over his shoulder and nothing else. You looked up as he took a step closer and candlelight showed you the scar of the man Darcy had been talking about earlier that evening.

You stood up straighter, head held high. You were not going to be intimidated by this man and the permanent scowl that seemed to be etched onto his features. His facial expression didn’t change even as he spoke.

“Do you have rooms?” Darcy was right, there was an accent. But it didn’t sound like Addy’s French accent. You had had men pass through from further afield, but some didn’t speak English at all so you couldn’t ask where they came from.

“My rooms are full.” You didn’t mean to be blunt but that’s how it came out. You weren’t lying, your earliest vacancy was in two days time but you still felt bad. This man must have walked all the way from where his ship had docked, and he hadn’t brought a horse with him. He was about to turn away when you shouted out to him.

“I have a stable.” It was the only solution you could think of. He didn’t turn to look at you but you heard him grumble something in his native tongue. You didn’t think you wanted to know what it translated to. “It’s enclosed. With the door shut it’s quite warm. Only one horse in there at the moment too.”

He finally turned to look at you. He raised one eyebrow rather high, and you thought if he just stopped scowling he may be handsome. So you gave him a small smile. He hadn’t done anything to offend you, yet, so the least you could do was be polite.

“Where can I find more rooms, camarera?” His voice was deep and his accent was strong, and you don’t know what he had called you but he sounded tired. And maybe you were too kind for your own good but you didn’t want him travelling longer than he had to when there were perfectly fine stacks of hay he could sleep on for a few hours.

“You would have to travel north into town. On foot, you could reach it by sunrise.” He seemed to be mulling it over. Was he serious? He’ll drop down in exhaustion before he’d even travelled halfway. “Come into the stable. I won’t charge you anything.”

That seemed to make up his mind because he was walking back towards you. You stepped inside to let him in before locking the door. You took him through a side door, down the side of the building and into the stables.

It wasn’t large. Could fit three horses in at a squeeze, but the current resident was lying against the large doors and on the other side against the stone wall of the guest rooms were stacks of hay.

The horse raised his head and let out a huff of disapproval when you both walked past him, but soon became disinterested when neither of you paid him no attention.

The stranger sat on a stack of hay, moving about to test how comfortable it was. He looked up and nodded when he was satisfied. There was an awkward silence for a moment before you remembered that this was your tavern and you shouldn’t be feeling nervous.

“Did you want a blanket?”

“No thank you.”

“Something to eat or drink?”

“No.” He cleared his throat and looked away. “Thank you.”

You nodded and turned away to leave him alone. When you got to the door you had entered through you saw he was still sat exactly where he was. He hadn’t moved in the slightest. Was he not used to anyone being nice to him? Or was he just an awkward, angry man?

Closing the door behind you, you let out a breath you didn’t know you had been holding. You began to walk along the corridor, taking a turn to arrive in the kitchen.

The women had devoured the pie that had been left. Gwen was nearly falling asleep at the table whilst Addy had taken over the washing up duties. Darcy was nowhere to be found.

Addy saw you first, holding up a finger to the ceiling when she noticed you were looking around the kitchen.

“Darcy went to bed. Are you going up?”

For the first time that night you realised just how tired you were. You didn’t know whether to tell them about the man in the stables. Maybe it was for best that Darcy was already in bed. She would be none the wiser.

“I just need to stub the candles out in the front. I’ve let a traveller stay in the stables. Don’t disturb him. I imagine he will be gone by morning.”

Addy frowned. It wasn’t unusual to let the odd person stay in the stables. Usually poor travellers looking for work, or like tonight when you were feeling especially kind. But maybe your tone inflicted that it was unusual with this man because she looked like she was waiting for you to explain.

You refused. You grabbed some pie crumbs off the plate and shoved them into your mouth.

“Alright. I’ll stub the candles out if you wanted to go on up? I’ve nearly finished here.” She grabbed the empty plate you had just eaten off of and dumped it in the bowl of water.

You made your way towards your room, hopefully to get some sleep and forget about the man in the stables. You don’t know why he was bothering you so much. You were acting like he was a dirty little secret. He’ll be gone in the morning and you will never see him again.

You sort of hoped you were wrong.

The morning started as it always did. The birds singing and the Winter sun shone through my window.

Your room was modest. The bigger of the three bedrooms upstairs (it was formerly your fathers room). You had it all to yourself, whereas Addy and Darcy shared a room and Gwen had the smallest room furthest from yours. You had a small wooden table next to your bed which sat a candle and a ribbon for your long hair.

Across from your bed, underneath the window, was a box to store your clothes in and along the wall on the left of the room was a tin bath, the only one upstairs.

You were lucky, you knew that. Working in a tavern brought in more money than the average business in town. But with four mouths to feed you didn’t have a lot of money for long.

You were rubbing the sleep from your eyes when the memories of the previous night came rushing back to you. you remembered the strange man with the scar that intrigued you. The deep, husky voice, the grumpy look on his face, his curt responses.

You should be hoping that he’s long gone but as you jumped out of bed, quickly throwing your outer dress over your underdress and slipping on your boots you realised you were hoping for the exact opposite. You ran down the stairs, rushed through the hallway and arrived at the kitchen to see Gwen at the stove.

You couldn’t help but notice the smell of warm milk and honey in the air. You grabbed a tankard off the side and dipped it into the pan that Gwen was mixing.

“Sorry Gwen,” you muttered. You knew she’d be annoyed for the rest of the day but you’d find a way to make it up to her. You always did.

The short walk to the stables had your heart pumping. You suddenly felt stupid. He probably wasn’t in there anymore. And what if he didn’t like honey? And why did you care so much?

When you opened the door you almost bumped into him. You gasped as he jumped back, hand immediately reaching the hilt of his sword.

The hood of his cape wasn’t up so you could see his face much more clearly this morning. He had a peculiarly large nose which you found yourself wanting to run your finger along, and an unusual moustache that you never saw on Englishmen. He was staring at you, mouth slightly parted when you realised you had also been staring at him for longer than was acceptable.

You caught your breath and decided to show him the contents of the tankard.

“Warm milk with honey. Thought you might want something before you left?” You said hopefully. He was inspecting the contents as though he had never been presented with something before. It was as though he didn’t know how to respond. “You don’t have to. Just thought after a cold night, something warm would be welcome,” you shrugged and started to take it back. But he stopped you with a gloved hand over yours.

He took the drink off of you and began to sip at it. He didn’t make a face of disgust so you assumed he liked it. You were desperate to know where he was going but you didn’t want to intrude. Luckily you didn’t have to.

“Thank you, that is nice. I have to go. Work in town.” His words were to the point. Not like yours were when you rambled like a mad woman. You nodded and took back the drink he was handing back to you.

“Good luck. I hope everything goes well for you.” You smiled, and it looked like he was going to smile back but he nodded instead.

“Thank you. For the bed.” And with that he brushed past you. You knew Addy would be at the front of the tavern to let him out so you didn’t follow. You also didn’t want to make more of a fool of yourself than you already had.

You sighed and trudged back towards the kitchen. You had some making up to do.

#Pero #Pero Tovar #Pero x Reader #Pedro #Pedro pascal #fanfic #first fanfic #pero tovar x reader #pero fic #pero tovar fic #tovar #safe haven

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cicici03 · 4 years

Text

Who You Goin To Choose- Chapter 1

What’s up guys! So if you can’t tell this is my first Florian series and I am so excited because that is a fine, fine, fine white man! If you haven’t read one of my stories before, I like some drama! With that, this one is going be full of it! I hope you enjoy the first chapter of, Who You Going To Choose , and can’t wait for y’all to comment your thoughts!

Please comment, reblog, and like!!

Characters:

Florian

Kia

Ernest

Dominique

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Wednesday, 11:50 p.m.

The five bedroom and six bathroom house belong to one of the top names in boxing as of 2020, Florian Munteau, and his wife, Kia Ford-Munteau. Kia was also well known due to her father, Ernest Ford, who made the first black owned grand hotel in Las Vegas: Black Wall Street. He name it that in honor of the massacre of Black Wall Street in Tulsa, Oklahoma to show that Black Wall Street is back better than ever.

In the master bedroom, you could here the bed frame hitting the back of the wall and the couple loud moans.

“ Big Nasty, right there baby!” Kia moan under her husband.

Florian was pounding in her and not giving her any breaks.

“ Fetiță , you better take it!” Florian stated with his thick, deep accent that was lower than usual.

As the couple started to get into it, Kia’s phone rang with the signature Kim Possible ringtone.

Florian and Kia both knew who was that calling her. That ringtone meant her boss.

“ Flo, you know I have to get that!” Kia moan out more with her eyes rolling in the back of her head.

Florain pound in her looking at his wife that was under him. With her eyes close and moaning, that help Florian drowned out the phone in the background.

With the phone stopping, Kia started to take control. As she start riding Florian, her phone started again making the same ringtone. Kia knew that was going to happen, so that why she made sure she was in control.

Kia hoped off Florian, who was a groaning mess, and picked up the phone.

“ Hi dad!” Kia answered the phone in a hush tone while looking at Florian in the eye.

Florian just looked at his wife of two years, and knew what was about to happen. Her father going to call her to come to his house and help him with something. With that, Kia would try and stay home, but her father talk her into to leaving the house.

Florian knew that Ernest didn’t like him when Kia and him started to first date. However, after they got married, Ernest made sure that he tried to keep Kia away from Florian by making her check up on him or do work things.

“ Daddy, why can’t you let your new wife do it?” Kia questioned her father, and avoiding eye contact with Florian as much as possible.

Since Florian knew what Kia was going to do, he got out of the couple’s bed and went into the bathroom to finish his manhood.

“ Well, Kia, I want my babygirl to do it! Plus, her name is Alexis!” Ernest asserted the last part in with his gruff voice. Ernest looked at Alexis, who heard what Kia said.

“ Daddy, I am not going to call that girl by her name! I can’t believe you would marry somebody that could possibly be my older sister!” Kia shouted back her father while putting on her leggings.

Kia’s mother died almost fifteen years ago due to a bad car accident. With that, Alexis came in the picture four years ago. She was three years older than Kia, 31, and was a showgirl for one of Black Wall Street musicals.

One day, Kia and Ernest came to see the performance and it went on from their. Alexis actually had true love for Ernest, but Kia just saw a young girl trying to get her daddy’s riches.

“ Well if we want to talk about people that we married. Why you married what his name, Flo Rida!” Ernest roared as he got up from bed. Alexis saw that and knew that he was going to raise his blood pressure.

“ You know who you should have married! Dominque Powers! Dominque is the best neurosurgeon in the United States! May I also say that he is black!” Ernest shouted even louder over the phone.

“ Dad!” Kia shouted backed while looking at the floor. She knew that Florian also heard from the sound of the door opening as he said that. Kia looked up to the bathroom door, and saw Florian face.

Florian shook his and went to his side of the bed.

“ Daddy, you know that you can’t talk about him like that!” Kia croaked out from the tears holding back in her eyes.

“ Well he can’t understand English no way!” Ernest threw back, with Alexis hitting him on his chest. Alexis truly cared for Kia and Florian’s relationship and it hurt that her husband was seemly trying to destroy his only daughter’s relationship.

When Florian heard that comment: he snapped. Florian got up from his side of the bed, and went over to Kia’s side. Kia saw as Florian walked over to her with anger bouncing off his muscles.

Florian tooked the phone out of her hands and spoked into the phone.

“ Well Mr.Ernest, I can speak English after all. With that, I find it very disrespectful to say that about your daughter’s husband! With that, Kia will not be coming over!” Florian angrily yelled in the phone and gave it back to Kia.

Kia looked at her husband like he is crazy. She loves when he is all hot and angry and it made her a little wet. However, she could hear her father cussing on the phone.

As Florian got back to his side of the bed and got under the covers, Kia put the phone back up to her ear.

“ Kia, you just going let that man speak that way to me! Kia, you better be here in the next hour!” Ernest screamed and hung up the phone.

Kia shook her head and put the phone down on her nightstand on her side. Kia looked at Florian, whom was just turning on the TV to watch ESPN talking about the fight that was this week that was involving him.

“ Florian, știi că nu poți vorbi cu tatăl meu așa!” Kia blurted out with anger and sadness in her voice due to her having to choose sides once again. (Florian, you know that you can't talk to my father like that!)

When Florian heard that, he turn and glared at Kia. He saw that Kia was putting on her shoes.

“ Kia, când voi fi prima dată în viața ta! El a fost așa de când ne-am reunit! atunci îți ridică fostul! Am fost departe de tine de două luni, pregătindu-mă pentru lupta vieții mele! Tot ce vreau să fac este să fac dragoste soției mele, în ziua în care ovulează și să rămână însărcinată! Cu toate acestea, știu că soția mea va pleca la fel cum a spus-o tatăl ei!” Florian hollered out with him looking at Kia the whole time.

(Kia, when will I be first in your life! He has been like that since we got together! Then he brings up your ex! I have been away from you for two months, training for the fight of my life! All I want to do is make love to my wife, on the day that she is ovulating, and get her pregnant! However, I know my wife is going to leave just like her dad said so!)

Florian huffed out and turn back to the TV and turn it up. Kia knew that he was angry due to him replying back in his native langue.

“ Florian, you know I love you! However, my dad relies on me! So, I am going to go over there, and I’m sorry that we couldn’t make love like I wanted us to do too!” Kia yelled while trying to be louder than the TV.

Florian laughed to himself thinking that Ernest have Alexis, who is a sweet and genuine person that cares for him. Out of three of Ernest children, Kia is the only one that doesn’t cares for Alexis and Ernest knows that. With that, he know that Kia will come over to make sure that everything is okay at the house even when Alexis know how to do it.

Kia huffed and went to the seats at the end of the bed and grabbed her purse. She looks back at Florian, who was staring at her, and went quickly out the door.

Florian already knew that she was going to choose her father over him.

She always did.

Florian looked back the TV and saw him and Brooks Jones on the screen. After the success of Creed II, a manager reach out to him about boxing due to them looking at some of his amateur tapes from Romania.

With that, Florian became a household legend after he KO, Tito Jones, a person who had a 49 winning streak, but was ended by Florian.

After that, Florian been having him a winning streak himself: 9-0. This next fight would be hard one due to Brooks Jones being a dominant fighter that had to move to Florian weight class due to being “ dangerous”.

He have KO ever last one of his opponents since the beginning of his career.

As Florian watch the ESPN special on his fight with Brooks, he looked over to the other side of the bed.

He has been use to Kia choosing her father over him. However, now it was really hard for Florian to cope with it due to him and Kia wanting to have a family. Florian shooked the tear from his eyes and turn off the TV.

With that, he turn off the lamp on his side of the bed.

All he could think of was how he was always second on Kia’s list to her father and she was always first on his.

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Thursday,7:30 a.m.

Ring

Kia woke up from her bed, to her phone ringing. She looks at the phone and see that Alexis is calling her. She put back on the nightstand and turn to look over and saw no Florian there.

She knew he wasn’t go to be there due to him having training at 4:15 in the morning to prepare for the fight in the next two days.

Kia layed back down on her side to go back to sleep. As she did that, Florian walked in their room. Florian walked over to bathroom without closing the french doors.

Kia turn that way to looked at her husband.

Florian, not knowing that his wife was looking, took off his shorts and briefs. With that, Florian turn the shower on and walked back to the sink to wash his face.

Kia looked at her husband’s manhood with her bottom lips moisten. Florian went back into the shower to clean himself up.

Ring

This time Kia knew that she had to answer that phone because that was her dad calling. Kia relucantly picked it up and answered it.

“ Kia, my only daughter, I want to thank you for coming over to make that pecan pie for me!” Ernest shouted with much joy while in his office at the hotel looking over that Vegas Strip.

“You welcome dad, however you can’t just call me to come over to make a pecan pie in the middle of the night.” Kia mumbled to last part to her dad. Ernest sighed and got up from his chair and looked out side.

“ Did Flo-Rida, put you up to this?” Ernest demanded for an answer. Kia sighed and shook her head.

“ Daddy, no he did not! I haven’t seen Florian for two months due to training and we haven’t had much alone time.” Kia said with much sadness behind her voice. As she turn her head back to the bathroom, she saw Florian walking out with his towel around his waist.

She then looks up to his face and saw him looking at her.

Kia was wearing a sports bra and sweatpants, one of Florian favorite outfits on her due to it being is accessible.

“ Well that is not my problem that he have to leave. One thing I know is Dominquie wouldn’t be gone for two months!” Ernest threw backed at Kia.

“ Daddy, we are not talking about that! I just see you later when I get to the office.” Kia said with annoyance from her father bringing up her ex. With that, she ended the called.

She looked back to the bathroom and saw no Florian there. She got up and put on her house shoes and went to the couple’s closet to see if he was in there.

She saw Florian’s towel on the floor, on his side of the closet, picking out an outfit to pick up his family from the airport.

Florian turned around and capture his wife’s eyes looking at him. He looks at her and then turned back around.

“ So we really are doing that Florian.” Kia snapped at Florian while going over to her side of the closet.

Silence.

With that, Kia turned around and looked to see her husband’s back and ass.

Kia knew that she going have to apologize and she knew the trick that always work.

Kia walked over to behind her husband and start tracing his back.

“I’m sorry Flo!” Kia mimicked to make her voice to go up a pitch. With that, she start rubbing down to his lower back.

She knew that he was tired and his muscles was aching due to his tough training.

“ Flo, I am truly sorry! I can show how much I am really sorry.” Kia purred out while starting to rub on Florian’s sides and then going down the front of his thigh.

With Florian still not budging, Kia had to move her plan to Level 3.

She start going for his manhood.

As she got to his manhood, she start rubbing his shaft in one hand and his balls in the other.

Florian stopped reaching for the shirt that he wanted due to his wife. Kia knew how much Florian loves handjobs. Even though Florian loves his manhood around Kia’s mound. He also loves her warm, small hands around his manhood.

“ I’m so sorry Big Nasty.” Kia whispered out while feeling Florian get hard. Kia then went back to kissing his back.

“ Kia.” Florian purred out with his hands wrap behind him holding onto Kia’s sweat pants. As Florian started to feel himself get harder, he went back to taking control.

He turn around and picked up his wife and put her on the counter in the middle of the closet. He went to kiss her lips fighting for dominance.

Florian of course won.

“ Are you still ovulating?” Florian ask in between kissing Kia. Kia hesitant and kept trying to fight for dominance.

Florian went down Kia’s neck and gave her love bits all over.

Kia looked at the clock that was on Florian’s side and saw the time, 8:30, which Florian was suppose to leave to pick up his family.

“ Florian you got to leave!” Kia moaned while enjoying the attack on her neck by her husband.

Florian stops and looked back the clock and realize that he should have been leaving ten minutes ago due to the Las Vegas traffic.

“ Shit!” Florian cussed while rushing to put on the clothes that he took out for himself. Kia sat on the chair and watch him.

Kia wanted to have a baby, but her dad was in her ear about Florian. Ernest told Kia that Florian could just want to have a baby with you and leave with the baby and some of her fourtne.

Kia didn’t believe that, but it was always in the back of her head. Florian finish putting on his clothes and rush up to put on his shoes. As he was putting on his shoes, he looked at Kia, whom was looking out at space.

“ Prinţesă , what you thinking about?” Florain said while rushing to putt on his cologone. Kia snapped out of her thoughts and smile at him.

“ Nothing, baby, just thinking about me and you!” Kia shouted with happiness in her voice while walking to Florian. Florian turn around and wrap his hands around Kia’s waist.

“ How much longer are you ovulating?” Florian question while looking at Kia. Kia looked in his eyes and stated, “ Four more days.”

Florian smiled and start kissing Kia on the lips.

“ Well that mean after the fight I win. My prinţesă and I will be making lots of love in this sound proof room.” Florian said in between kisses.

“ Florian you better leave before your bother and Tata kill you for being late!” Kia laughed to move to the topic away from the statement. Florian let go and looked at Kia.

“ Well you are right! I see ya later and love you!”Florian kissed Kia on the cheek and smack her butt. Kia waited for Florian to run downstairs and out the door. Kia ran to the window facing the driveway and saw Masias, Sandro, and Florian driving away the three Mercedes Vans to pick up Florian’s family.

Kia ran over to her purse to find her birth control. Throughout the time Kian and Florian been trying for a baby this pass year, Kia have been taking birth control to make sure nothing happens.

Kia knew that it would hurt Florian to know, but right now is not the best time for them to have a kid due to Kia not wanting to hear her dad. Kia knew she was not doing the right thing, but she didn’t know if she should believe her father or not.

After taking the pill, she went inside her closet to put on her clothes for work. With that, thirty minutes later, Kia was done with all of her hygiene she left with her purse and phone.

However, she left her birth control on one of the seats in her bedroom.

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Kia drive up to Black Wall Street into her assign parking spot. Kia got out of her Merecdes G- Wagon and made her way into the hotel.

As she walking to the elevator, she wave at every last one of the employees. Some of the employess at the hotel have seen Kia grown up in front of their eyes.

All the employees love Kia due to her fun and sweet personality and loves when she is at the hotel. Kia finally got to the elevator and went up to the office floor.

As she got to the floor, she was bombarded by her two oldest brothers, Sean and Ross.

Sean

Ross

“ Kia, what did dad’s favorite child do this morning to make him angry?” Ross snapped at his younger sister while walking towards her office.

Kia sighed and shook her head.

“Well you are the favorite. From me being the gay son, which he don’t accept when people bring it to his attention. To Ross, not wanting to own the family hotel!” Sean said in a matter of fact attiude.

As Kia got to her office, she went to her desk and sat down. She stared at her brothers as they walked over to her and sat in the two chairs in her office in front of her.

“ Well I hung up on him after he brought up Dominique.” Kia stated as she crossed to see her brothers’ reaction.

They were unreadable, which is rare because Kia could read them in a second.

As she was about to speak, Alexi walked into her office.

“ Hi you guys! Kia, ummm, you know your dad got diabetes,” Alexis stammered across her words, “ I think you should have not made that pecan pie for him last night.” Alexis finished with authority, like she practice this morning in the car.

Kia looked at Alexis and laughed.

Now, Alexis wasn’t expecting that and it made her angry that she laughed at her. Alexis looks towards the brother and saw that they shocked to by their sister’s reaction.

“ Well Miss. Thang, I am going to do whatever my father tells me to do and you can’t do nothing about that!” Kia bellowed with much anger against Alexis.

“ Well, will you let your father continue to ruin your marriage?” Alexis snapped back at Kia. That comment really got under Kia’s skin.

Kia got up from her desk, with Ross getting up with her to makes sure she don’t attack Alexis, she went to the door heading for her dad’s office.

Alexis was right after her, and all the employees watch the two women storm to the boss’s office.

“ I don’t think you want to go in there Kia!” Alexis shouted at Kia. Even though Alexis took the low blows from Kia, she didn’t want her to get hurt.

“ Why because my father is going to see your wrong!” Kia rebutted back Alexis while reaching for the door knob.

As she open it, she saw the person that was her first love, and first everything talking to her father.

“ Dominique!” Kia croak out with a look of surprise on her face.

Dominique turn around and got out his chair and walk to her.

“ Babygirl, still looking good!” Dominqiue replied back while for going in for the hug.

“ Ah shit, Florian is going to be piss!” Sean yelled out with Ross hitting him upside his head.

However, Kia was frozen, she didn’t know what to do.

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Welll then.....

Who is the villian in this? Kia? Ernest? Both?

Kia is still taking birth control behind Florian’s back!

What y’all think of Kia?

What y’all think about Alexis?

The big shocker, DOMINIQUE IS BACK

Why is he is back? Did Ernest brought him back? Enrest trying to ruin Florian and Kia’s marriage?

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

Hope y’all enjoyed the first chapter!!!! Please comment, reblog, and like!!!

Taglist: @l-auteuse @twistedcharismaaa @19jammmy @designerwriterchic @michelleteriney @munteanhore @ljstraightnochaser

#florian munteanu #florian big nasty munteanu #florian munteanu x black reader

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indiemick · 3 years

Text

The Seduction of the Duke of Suffolk || Part 5, The Unexpected Proposal

This takes place somewhere between season 3 and 4 of the Tudors.

Read these first

Trigger Warning: age gap, sex, affair

Colette slipped from the dressing room and hurried herself across the castle. Charles implied that he loved her. She didn’t know what to do with that knowledge. When she was asked to comfort the Duke, she never intended to have any feelings or to have them reciprocated. She heard his voice in her head over and over again, love. The single word echoed over and over again.

Then the emotions became too much. Colette had to steady herself against the wall. Her chest heaved with panic and her corset felt like it was strangling her. She couldn’t breathe.

“Colette?” A man came running up to the distressed women. “What is the matter?” His thick accent was familiar, but she couldn’t place it in her state.

Then she saw his face. Between her panicked breath she muttered his name, “Francis?” He nodded. “What- are- you- doing- here?”

“Don’t worry about that, ma Cherie.” He offered her a hand to steady her. Francis’ eyes focused on Colette as she came down from her state. He rubbed her back and make a soothing noise that wet nurses often used to sooth babies. Tears coated her palms as Colette held her face. Francis remained at her side while she returned to her normal state.

Her brain gathered itself and she looked to Francis, “What are you doing here?”

The young Frenchman gave a sheepish smile. His rich chocolate eyes held her gaze. “I came for you…”

“Me?” She gasped. Francis was a friend from her youth while her father was an ambassador in France. Their relationship was pure. He spent hours helping her learn archery. He tried to teach her how to wield a sword. After a few close encounters with the wrong end of the blade, Colette admitted she was not destined to be proficient with a sword.

Francis exhaled as he gathered his thoughts. “My father wants me to marry.” Colette hung on for him to continue. “You were my first thought.”

“Me?” Colette was confused. There were plenty of Frenchwomen ready for marriage. Why were the men around her acting in such a way? Why did love and marriage invade her life all at once?

“Why not?” The French rolled off his tongue with a wide smile. “You’re beautiful, smart, and everything I could ever ask for in a woman.”

“We haven’t seen each other in years, Francis. I could’ve been married.” He laughed. “What is so funny?”

“Your father was in France recently, n’est-ce pas?” Colette nodded. “We spoke while he was there. He informed me that you were still unmarried. He sounded enthusiastic about the potential match.”

Colette groaned. “He didn’t mention it to me.”

“I asked him not to speak a word. I wanted to be the one to ask you. He agreed. I am fully aware, and so is he, that you would never stand for an arranged marriage.” He was right in that. Colette was a head-strong woman. Her father raised her to be that way.

“This is true.” She was deep in thought, her words disconnected from reality.

“I don’t expect an answer from you right now. Think about it, please.” He held her hands in his and offered a sweet smile.

“You will have to ask the King, even if I say yes. I am a lady of the court.” Francis chuckled. “What’s so funny?”

“Your king already gave me his blessing.”

“What?”

“Oui, I spoke with him earlier.” Colette wanted to run to Henry and ask him what he was thinking. She had an arrangement with him. She was to pick her match. “He said that I had to ask you.” Francis laughed, “it is clear that you have a reputation of your fierce independence.”

“And you want to marry me.”

“Of course. I don’t want some complacent wife that will do whatever I say.”

Colette scowled, “most men do.”

“Well, I am not most men.” He ran his thumb over the back of her palm. “Colette, my intentions are pure and true. You came to mind because I’ve always loved you. When you left France, I felt empty. I couldn’t imagine going into this part of my life without you.”

That word again, love. She started to hate that word.

“It is getting late. I should walk you back.” Francis drew her attention back. “I don’t want to upset your father by making your late return seem scandalous.”

She chuckled. If Francis only knew where she had been prior to finding her.

Charles was sitting in the chapel when Colette and her family arrived. Their eyes met and she quickly turned her attention to Francis who had kept a place for the trio of Gilles. Charles narrowed his gaze on the young man. An instant jolt of jealousy surged through him. Who was he? And why was he with Colette?

The service felt as if it went on forever. Colette stole a glance at Charles, who had a searing gaze focused on the back of Francis’ head. Colette didn’t know what to tell him about Francis. She didn’t exactly have a grasp on what she was going to do. Perhaps she needed to get an audience with the King. He was Charles’ best friend. He would know how to go about her situation. Aside from that, he was the only other person who knew about the affair. She didn’t have anyone else to turn to.

After service, Colette excused herself to seek out Henry before he became too busy with other matters to speak to her.

“Your majesty!” She hurried down the corridor, her dress billowing behind her. “Do you have a minute?”

He turned to face the woman. A smile stretched across his face and he gave her a nod. “What is it, Lady Gilles?”

“Francis De La Grange,” she paused, “he asked you for permission to marry me?”

Henry nodded. “I must approve all the marriages of the people in my court. Your father is an earl. Anyone you marry will stand to inherit that title and the lands belonging to it. De La Grange is standing to inherit his father’s titles as count. It is a likable match.”

“I wanted to pick my husband.”

“And you are free to reject it. I am not forcing you to marry Francis. I’m simply stating the facts. If you’d like, I can find someone who stands to inherit a larger fortune and higher title.”

Colette gave the King a sideways glance. “My nephew stands to inherit his father’s title once he passes.”

“I cannot marry Charles’ son.” Henry laughed at the irony, bed the father and marry the son. Colette, however, didn’t find the suggestion humorous.

“Lady Colette,” Henry paused, “what are your objections to Francis?” She shrugged. “Is he a man of honor?” She nodded. “Has he always been kind to you?” She nodded, again. “Then what are your objections?”

“I-I-I,” she stammered, “I don’t want to hurt Charles.”

The King took the young woman’s hands in his own, “Charles will deal with it. This was how it was meant to end. You cannot become an old spinster because of his affection. Your family would never allow it. I would be forced to make you marry.” She pulled her hands away. “And by then, Francis would most likely be married.”

The truth in his words hurt. She didn’t have much of a choice but to accept Francis’ proposal. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she dared not let them fall. She wasn’t about to make herself look like another foolish girl in court. She blinked them away and forced a smile upon her face. “In that case, I will accept Francis’ proposal. However, I want to be the one to tell Charles.”

“You are free to do so.”

“Thank you, your majesty.”

“No, thank you. You have been a wonderful influence on Charles’ overall mood. Even before when all you did was talk. I saw a glimmer of the young man I once knew.” Colette blushed at the King’s kind words. It was no wonder he was able to bed so many women. Even in his older years, he was a charming man.

“You are most welcome.”

Colette found Charles in the gardens with a few nobles. Their conversation seemed serious. However, it seemed to dissipate at her arrival. “Lady Gilles,” they all greeted her kindly. Charles seemed to avoid her gaze. He heard rumors about the young Frenchman and his purpose for being at the English Court. To deny he was jealous would be a lie.

“Good morning, my lords. The King wishes for an audience with the Duke.” They all stared at her. There were a few dukes in her presence. “Of Suffolk.”

“I wish the king sent beautiful women to retrieve me,” one stated.

“A much better alternative to the other servants.”

“There’s no better way to do as such,” Colette said cheekily.

“Beautiful and smart,” Charles snapped his head at the viscount who sounded a bit too flirty for his liking.

“Where did the King say he would be?” Charles asked.

Colette pursed her lips, “well, he didn’t say. Perhaps it is the last place you saw him.” Then she smiled with a nod, “good day, gentleman. I was amidst a stroll before I was sent this way. I believe I should continue it.”

“Good day, Lady Gilles.”

She gave the men a cordial nod as her gaze lingered on Charles. He glanced at her and broke away from the group of men, heading toward the castle.

Colette headed to their last rendezvous spot and slipped into the dimly lit dressing room. She anxiously paced as she waited for Charles. It felt like an eternity before the door opened. She held her breath until she saw him cross the threshold.

“Charles…” she moved quickly to take his hands, but he pulled them away. “What is wrong?”

“I heard your father talking about Francis De La Grange and his proposal.” Colette felt the color drain from her face. “If you’re here to tell me you’re going to accept, you have my blessing.”

Then her face turned sour. “I never required your blessing. I am your mistress, not your daughter.”

“Not anymore,” his bitterness masked his wounded heart. “Soon you’ll be Lady De La Grange. Tell me, will you be moving to France before or after the wedding?”

“We haven’t decided. I haven’t told Francis I am accepting his proposal, either.”

“Don’t let me keep you, then,” Charles stepped out of the way of the door. “Go and let your precious Francis know you want to be his wife.”

Her nostrils flared as anger took her over. A hand came across Charles face as her chest heaved, “why are you making me feel bad for doing what we knew all along would happen? This,” she motioned to the two of them, “was never going to be forever. You are married. Last time I checked; you couldn’t take another wife whilst still married to the other. Unless you plan on divorcing Catherine, you have no right to treat me as such.”

Charles pinched the bridge of his nose. He was angry and his cheek stung from her palm. He exhaled to gather himself. “I love you, Colette. The thought of another man having you pains me. I didn’t expect your betrothal to happen so quickly.”

“And you think I did?” She stepped forward with her fierceness written across her face. “Francis’ arrival and proposal were a surprise to me.”

“Do you love me?” Her brows gathered. “I said I love you and you continued to talk about the proposal.” Charles sounded hurt.

“I-I…” she sighed. “I do love you, Charles.” It was against her better judgement to admit her feelings. It left her vulnerable, but he needed to hear the words leave her lips.

Charles captured her lips by hungrily. The tension in his muscle released as he enveloped her body with his. A small moan came from her lips as his ventured to the tender bend of her neck. Kisses trailed toward her breast where he nipped gently at her flesh. “Charles,” she said with a breathy whisper, “please…” Her eyes pleaded with him as a delicate hand teased his arousal.

The Duke hoisted Colette off the floor, wrapping her legs around his waist. Charles swept the items off a small ledge and placed her down. With equal eagerness, Colette freed him from his trousers, and he gathered the skirt of her dress to slide between her legs with more ease.

The concerto of their passion played in that tiny dressing room. The tempo kept by their flesh as her moans sang the chorus. It’s crescendo came in a wave, crashing over their bodies in harmony.

Charles rested his forehead against hers, “I will miss this.”

“Is that all you’ll miss?”

His brow quirked at the tone in her voice. “I will miss every aspect of you that has invaded my entire being.”

#the tudors #fanfic #henry cavill #charles brandon #I'm planning on two more parts to this story...#I have a formula that I've been using for where and how I end each part.#the next two might be different #also idk who will read my tags #but i appreciate if you do!!!

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