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gingersnaaps · 3 years

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"yes" is conditional

the whorification of y/n, courtesy of one kuroo tetsurou and his special... talents <3

wc: ~2.4k

tags/tw's(PLEASE READ): dubcon, expicit n*fw, brainwashing/conditioning, mindbreak, bimbofication, mental aphrodisiac, exhibitionism mentions, uh implied sexual slavery(there's a cage at the end??), corporate!setting, fem!reader with inner genitals,

a/n: written for @sugawara-sweetheart and her decadence collab!

i don't want minors interacting with my content

The movies always get it wrong.

Kuroo thinks it’s hilarious how far off the mark they can be, honestly. He’s seen countless renditions of what people think mind control is like, and it’s always so corny and contrived - it’s not like he forces anyone to do things they don’t actually want to. He just… makes suggestions.

Nobody actually knows where their own thoughts come from, do they? So it’s almost too easy to place a suggestion or two in the back of someone's mind and pass it off as their own idea.

Most of the time, people are all too happy to comply with these suggestions.

And Kuroo’s more or less content with the free drinks he receives, the frequent raises his boss dishes out, and the one-night stands he easily gets as a perk of his little power. He really does enjoy the gifts other people seem to drop into his lap and the temporary flings he always finds himself in.

But he’s bored.

He wants more. He’s had enough of the short-lived gratification every time he persuades another pretty girl to come home with him.

So when he sees you walk by his office window, with your head always ducked low and your modest outfits all prim and put-together, it’s out of a passing curiosity - just a whim - that he starts his experiment. He wants to know just how far he can go in suggesting ideas and replacing thoughts, just how deep he can reach, and you’re perfect. You’re an unassuming and quiet coworker, you don’t attract attention, and he can tell that you’re one of those good girls just from the way you flush and avert your gaze when he talks to you.

Besides, he’s always wondered what your ass would look like in tighter skirts. Or, alternatively, with no clothes on at all.

Kuroo decides to make a project out of you.

As the days pass, he makes sure to time his coffee breaks so they sync up perfectly with yours. He makes sure not to do anything too overt, though - he doesn’t make you give him your number right off the bat, or ask you out immediately, or even drop any compliments. He wants to play it a little more subtle this time.

You find that you can’t help but take note of him, partly due to his constant presence, but also because you just can’t seem to tear your eyes away. Suddenly, there’s an insistent urge in the back of your mind constantly telling you where to direct your gaze, a little voice that whispers out how good his collarbones look, or how his back muscles ripple out under his shirt when he stretches. Your eyes seem drawn to his - and every time you make eye contact, you start flushing furiously, a tingling warmth spreading down your spine and into your cunt.

When you pass by his office, all he has to do is flash a cheeky grin, wink, and just like that, your panties are fucking soaked. You don’t know why you’re no longer able to control yourself around him, but it must be natural, right? It’s normal to have a relationship with a coworker go from completely platonic to you fantasizing about him stuffing your cunt full, right?

If he’s going to be honest, Kuroo likes seeing how horny he can make you every time he’s close by. He likes the way your face heats up, the way that cute body of yours seems to tense up, the way you cross your legs a little bit tighter when he walks by.

It’s not hard to make up fantasies to put in your mind, either - Kuroo thinks about you nearly all the time, after all. So when he finds himself drifting off in his office, thinking of the way you’d moan and scream and mark up his back if he were to pound you into the mattress, or maybe of how your pretty face would look dripping with his cum as he grips your hair and fucks your face, he doesn’t mind sharing them with you. And the look on your face when he does - oh, baby, it’s so precious.

You must be barely more than a virgin with how absolutely ashamed you act.

And slowly, of course, your wardrobe begins to change. When you find yourself at the mall, you’re no longer looking for conservative sweaters and cardigans that disguise the shape of your body. Maybe you’ve just lost interest in that style, especially with the way you find yourself drawn to the more… vivacious section. Now, you find it empowering to sift through racks of the tightest skirts, of v-neck blouses that give away your cleavage whenever you lean over.

When you show up at work, legs clad in tight stockings and your breasts pushed tight up against your shirt, you feel almost proud when Kuroo sees the way you’re dressed. In fact, when you find your gaze drawn to his, looking into his dark pupils blown wide with arousal, you feel that intense, throbbing heat in your cunt flare up again.

You feel good. You feel happy. You dress this way because you want to.

And when he finally asks you out to dinner, it’s easy - almost second nature - for you to say yes. Why would you ever want to say no when you’ve been so fixated on him for the past few weeks, when your mind has been filled with the dirtiest, unspeakable thoughts, when you’re so undeniably attracted to him?

On that date, you can barely think straight.

You’re just so fucking turned on the entire time, aren’t you? You can’t stop thinking about the way his cock would feel dragging up against your tight, wet, heat, about how his fingers would feel methodically taking you apart, how the flat of his tongue would feel flicking up across your clit.

You don’t care about the food. You barely even notice how much the bill for the dinner comes to. All you can think about is him.

Kuroo finds it almost endearing how tightly you cling onto his side during the taxi ride to your place. He can feel how warm you are, your shallow breaths puffing in and out, the way you tremble when he brings a thumb up to caress your cheek.

His experiment was so fucking worth it. You’re putty in his hands, a little plaything he can mold and shape to his liking.

That night, you are very much to his liking.

You pull him out of the taxi, whispering into his ear how much you’d like to show him around, but he isn’t fooled. You’ve invited him up not because you want to give a tour of your living area, but because you need him, because you don’t really have a choice with the way he’s been conditioning you for the past few weeks.

Barely five minutes have passed before you drag him to your bedroom, stripping off every useless item of clothing off. “Please,” you whimper. “Fuck me. Please. Please. I want it so bad.”

He knows you’re telling the truth, and as he grasps your thighs with his large hands and spreads you until you’re open and dripping, he’s only too happy to oblige.

Sucking gentle kisses along the crook of your neck, he bites at your soft flesh, running his tongue up along your pulse point until you shiver. He reaches down, trailing his hand over your chest and tummy until he arrives at your clit, and rubs slow, feather-light circles that leave you squirming and shaking, bucking into thin air until he grabs your hips and holds them down firmly in place.

He knows you want more. He can tell by the way your puffy clit pulses, swollen and tender, and the way you mewl whenever his fingers brush against your entrance.

“More,” you whisper, eyes wide and pleading. “I need more. Please.”

His cock twitches at the ragged desperation in your voice, and he almost wants to draw it out for a bit longer. You make such a pretty picture - he wants to run his hands through your disheveled hair, all mussed up and soft, wants to hold your face, glowing with sweat and flushed pink, wants to sear how depraved you look into his mind forever.

But who is he to deny you when you’re begging so nicely?

Weeks of pent up frustration have left you so, so sensitive - after all, your short, stubby fingers can’t reach nearly as far as his can, and the angle he’s able to hit every time he curls his fingers in a come-hither there motion isn’t something you could ever replicate. It’s so easy to make you cum when you’re desperate, and he indulges you, making you cream around his fingers as he thrusts them deeper and strokes at your walls.

And when he’s done prepping you, Kuroo finds that fucking into a needy cunt is so much better than just a willing one. Your pussy, slick and dripping wet, almost seems to suck his cock into your hole, and the lewd moan that falls from your lips as he bottoms out sends heat rushing to his core. He goes slow and careful at first - he wants you to enjoy this, after all - but your pussy feels so good, so warm and velvety, that he can’t help but speed up and ram his cock into you until you’re squealing like a bitch in heat. It might feel better without the condom he has on in the way, but that’s okay - he’ll save fucking you raw for another day.

After that night, you only grow more eager. You start doing things you never would’ve even imagined prior to his little interventions - you send him nudes from the work bathroom, slutty pictures that show off the curve of your ass and your tits covered in lace, candid shots of your lips wrapped around your fingers, sucking on them like you would his cock, even pictures of your cunt right after you’ve been touching yourself.

And just days after he’d fucked you for the first time, you find yourself at the pharmacist picking up birth control. You want to feel him cum inside you, to paint your pussy white and stuff you full until his seed is dripping out of you and dirtying the sheets.

Most of all, you want to please him. You want to make him feel good so that he’ll fuck you, offer you some sweet relief from the persistent ache in your cunt that gets particularly intense whenever he’s nearby.

You let him fuck you almost anywhere, anytime. He bends you over the sink in public bathrooms, running his fingers along your folds, or sprawls you out on his lap in his car, his cock deep in your cunt. You don't really mind if other people see the two of you - as long as he's gripping your hips tight, bruising your cervix until your skin blooms black and blue, sticky drool leaking from the corners of your mouth - he could be showing your naked cunt off in the middle of Times Square for all you care.

Kuroo can’t help but beam with pride at the way your demeanor has changed as of late. You used to blush whenever he would make eye contact with you, and now you’re begging him to get you off during rush hour on public transportation.

He likes this new version of you very much.

Months go by, and you find that it gets harder to focus at work. Early on, it was easy to ignore the heat curling in your stomach whenever your thoughts drifted to Kuroo, but now the artificial glare of the screen gives you a headache, and the numbers and letters on the spreadsheets all seem to meld and jumble together until you can’t tell which is which.

You don’t really care about your boss’s performance review anymore. The customers can scream all they like. The most pressing concern on your mind, the one that you just can’t stop thinking about, is the insatiable need for Kuroo to fuck you, to lift you up against the wall and bounce you on his cock like a ragdoll.

Why would anything else matter?

To be completely honest, Kuroo hadn’t anticipated this particular side effect, but he supposes it makes sense that the more thoughts he replaces, the less original ones remain. There’s no longer as much of who you were before left, and - oh, Kuroo really shouldn’t be doing this to you, should he? But he finds that he doesn’t really care, doesn’t really mind, because you look so much better in your tight skirts, so much happier being the slut he’s slowly trained you to be.

He did like you for your personality - he really did. It was nice seeing you cute and quiet, but there’s just no room left for who you were anymore.

We’re all shaped and molded by our environment, aren’t we? The people we surround ourselves with, the places we grow up and live our lives in - it just happened that for you, your environment was Kuroo, and he did the work that society probably would have done anyway - albeit a bit differently, a bit more extreme.

Of course, he’s not delusional. He knows he’s responsible for the way you are now, so when you eventually get fired, he takes you in and lets you live with him. This way, you’re safe and warm and taken care of, and in exchange, he gets easy access to your cunt whenever he wants. There’s no more need for midnight calls or texts, because his pretty little fuckdoll is always waiting for him when he comes home.

He doesn’t have a spare room, but that’s not a problem. He lets you sleep on a couch at first, but the nice, comfy cage he orders for you comes in after just a few days. After all, he doesn’t want all his hard work to go to waste, and besides - you’re content with the few amenities your new accommodations offer: food, water, air, and cock.

Kuroo often finds himself admiring your pretty face, an expectant, needy expression plastered on your features and your eyes glazed over, stuck between the dirty metal bars like a dog waiting for a treat from its owner. He can’t help but think that this is how you were always meant to be, that this is the perfect relationship that makes both of you happiest.

Considering the state you’re in, you really don’t know any better, do you?

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fortuositywritings · 3 years

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I Said No (Wanda x R): Pt 5

Pt 1, Pt 2, Pt 3, Pt 4, House Map

Summary: Movie theater, Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, and the county fair

“We can come back to get the rest. I don’t understand why you’re doing that.”

Wanda watches you struggle trying to carry everything you brought from the store but two bags that Wanda herself is carrying.

“Because, my young Padawanda, it is one of the most important rules of the Jedi Code. One must never make a second trip to the car lest he be a nerd.”

“Oh my gosh! Have you seen Star Wars?” You and Wanda turn your heads towards the porch where Sam and Peter reside. Peter runs down to you in excitement. “Which ones have you seen?”

“Only like all of them!” you answer, just as excited as Peter to have someone else here who likes the movies. Laura finds them boring, Clint thinks they’re too long, and Nat says she’s not a child. You tried watching them with Cooper and Lila but they fell asleep halfway through. So no one can blame you for getting excited. Unfortunately, the little bounce that accompanied your answer causes a few things to slip from your arms, but Peter, given his incredible reflexes, catches them all before they touch the ground. “The force is strong with this one,” you tell him.

“And a second trip is what makes you a nerd.” Sam mumbles under his breath on his way over to help by taking the bags from Wanda. “What’s on your neck?” He asks her. Her hand flies up to her neck only to find it sticky.

“It’s what happens when you mess with a Jedi,” you answer for her in a silly voice making Peter laugh. You also make Wanda blush as she recalls how it happened, but you don’t see this since you and Peter are already making your way to the house. Sam, however, does notice Wanda’s face and recognizes that look, leaving him stumped. Wanda only snaps out of her trance when the door closes behind you and Peter.

“I don’t get it,” he says to Wanda. “What is it about her? Is it the confidently flirty but still kind of geeky thing that does it for you ladies?”

Wanda, embarrassed at being caught, heads to the house ignoring Sam’s questions. She can still hear him as he yells after, “Don’t walk away! I need to know if nerds are the thing now!”

Sam catches her in the kitchen along with you and Peter putting things you bought where they’re meant. Instead of asking Wanda anything, he turns his questions to you and Peter, who you all find out has a girlfriend now. Sam guesses his “nerds are in” theory correct based on that and soon he is agreeing to watch Star Wars with you, Peter, and Wanda. He threw Wanda a subtle wink when neither you nor Peter were looking as if to say ‘you’re welcome’ for including her in those plans. Clint, coming in from the side door, catches the ending of that conversation and groans.

“No! Laura! Peter and Y/N found an interest they can both be annoying about,” he goes to complain to his wife. Later though, he as well as everyone else joins you to watch the movie. You and Peter thoroughly answer all of Sam and Pietro’s questions and hush everyone at your favorite parts, mouthing the lines along with the scene. Wanda ends up not watching the movie anymore but watching you and she begins to wonder if maybe Sam was right.

***

“How much longer?” you find yourself asking the next morning trying not to sound as out of breath as you are. You’ve been jogging for you don’t know how long now but it feels way longer than what Nat had promised it would be when she woke you up at six in the morning.

“Another mile,” she answers, no sign of struggle in her voice as if this is a cakewalk. You suppose it is for her since she’s had to slow down numerous times for you to catch up.

“Another mile?!”

“Hey, you said you would keep up today,” Nat reminds you.

“You know you can’t trust anything I say during my haven’t-had-caffeine-yet hours. Don’t I get points for trying?”

“Like your little green friend says, ‘Do or do not, there is no try’,” Nat retorts.

“I knew you were paying attention last night!” You increase your pace to jog beside her. “You can act too tough to like Star Wars all you want around everyone else, but I’ll always know the truth.” You can see her shake her head from the corner of your eye. You don’t say anything for a moment, but being one who cannot let the quiet linger too long, as Tanya would attest to, you speak up. “So, how’s your little green friend doing?”

You turn your head for a second to show Nat you were genuinely looking for an answer and in the next she’s practically running away from you. She went fast but not quick enough for you to miss the little redness creeping up on her cheeks. You have never in your years of knowing her seen her blush before. You have seen her sweat after a sparring match with Clint, get a bit of a sunburn, and get so angry she looked like she would pop a vein, but not one of those times were her cheeks turning a rosy color. Aww, Romanov’s in love. Once you’ve come to that conclusion, you go to tease her. Wait, where did she go?

“You asshole!” You yell at Nat who you finally find casually leaning on the car door watching you storm up to her. It took you an hour to find the car after losing the trail you were on trying to find Natasha. She doesn’t even flinch as she reaches over and pulls a twig out of your hair. “What happened to you?”

“You left me!” You huffed, walking around to the passenger side while Nat got in the driver seat unfazed. Truth be told, after 30 minutes without any sign of Nat, you thought she was putting you through some kind of test. You were getting paranoid, so it’s not surprising you took a tumble when you swiftly tried to avoid an attack from what turned out to be a squirrel running up a tree. But you’ll just keep that to yourself forever.

You head straight to the shower when you get to the house ignoring the morning greetings from those you pass on the way. “What’s up with her?” Sam asks Nat in the living room. “She hasn’t had her caffeine yet.”

You let the shower wash away your moodiness which, you can admit to yourself alone, stemmed for the most part from embarrassing yourself. Afterwards, you head to the kitchen ready to eat whatever everyone had for breakfast, but come up empty. You guess they’d finished all of it if the plates and pan left out to dry say anything. You open the fridge looking for something to eat. Maybe there is something in there you can heat up. Unlike Laura, Wanda, and self proclaimed chef Pietro, you cannot cook to save your life.

“What’s cooking, good looking?” Speak of the devil. Maybe he can make you something? You know all it would take is some batting of the eyelashes and a compliment. No, Wanda said no. But there is nothing in the fridge to heat up and you were hungry. Wanda would surely understand it was for the greater good, right? Already breaking the first rule, I see.

Caught red handed, you look over Pietro’s shoulder to see Wanda walking into the kitchen to join you two. She’s raising her eyebrows at you waiting for an answer.

“Okay, new rule,” you say. Pietro is confused at what he assumes is your response until he sees that you aren’t talking to him. “No more reading my mind,” you say sternly, pointing at Wanda.

Pietro smirks. “Yeah, I don’t need you to hear what goes on Y/N’s mind when she is thinking about me,” he says to Wanda. Both you and Wanda roll your eyes. “Sam is asking for you outside,” is all she says to him and off he goes with a groan.You groan as well, the chance of getting someone to make you food leaving with him.

“You could have just asked me, you know?” Wanda says, leaning against the sink.

“I thought I said no mind reading,” you remind her. She chuckles when you close the refrigerator door and hit your head against it in defeat.

“I wasn’t,” she defends. “I was serious when I said he can’t cook. I may have saved you from food poisoning.”

“Maybe, but I would have been full and happy for a moment. Since you chased away my shot at food, I think you should make it up to me by making me some breakfast,” you try, leaning against the fridge.

“Oh? I should, should I?” You nod confidently thinking it might just work, but she tears that thought away when she continues, “Cause I remember you still needing to make it up to me when you didn’t buy the ice creams.”

You frown, “I thought you’d forgotten about that.” She smiles, with nose scrunch and all, shaking her head. “Fine, you want to go to the fair? I’ll take you to the fair tomorrow!”

“A fair? I want to go!” you hear Cooper shout. He is coming in through the back door with Lila who looks just as excited and with Nat who does not. You ignore Nat’s face when you tell Cooper that you can all go to the fair. He and Lila run off in excitement to tell the others. Nat glares at you as she takes a seat at the kitchen table.

“See,” you turn to Wanda. “Now I have to take you for sure. Make me some food now, please,” you beg her, drawing out the word please. She squints her eyes like she’s thinking about it and then, “Only because you asked so nicely.”

“Thank you,” you throw her a huge smile at which Wanda rolls her eyes.

“But if you are going to be here,” she says pushing you away from the fridge, “you are going to help. You’ve got to learn how to cook for yourself.” And you do just that. You nod along intently listening to all her instructions, not wanting to miss a thing. Sometimes you’d interrupt to make a joke and when one is about her brother, she playfully punches you. You are so immersed in your little bubble, you forget Nat is not too far away watching your interaction with curiosity. She has you try the food first and you could almost moan. You notice a blush creeping up on Wanda’s face and suddenly she’s avoiding your eyes.The food is so good and you were so hungry that maybe you did let out a little noise of satisfaction. Before you could say anything, another voice interrupts, “What’s this I hear about a fair?”

You turn slowly recognizing the tone your cousin uses. It’s the who-made-these-plans-without-asking-me-first tone. You smile at Laura, mouth full of food. You see Nat point at you but Laura was already looking at you. “Yeah, I think she knows it was me, Natasha.”

***

A few uneventful hours go by and you are bored out of your mind. You have a sudden urge to go out seeing as the sun was still shining. You pull out your phone having an idea of what to do to kill some time. You scroll through your phone to see what movies are playing at the only movie theater in town. You see that the next showing is for a horror movie.

“Do you like scary movies?” you turn to the group playing Uno in the living room. Pietro gets up in excitement when you mention going to the movie theater. Sam agrees to come as well and drags Peter out the door when Peter wants to stay claiming it’s to keep the kids company. You are about to head out with everyone but you notice Wanda still sitting on the couch. You wait for her to get up when Pietro says, “Yeah, good luck with that. She’s too chicken to watch scary movies.”

Wanda, offended, gets up quickly from the couch, “Am not. I just think they’re boring.”

“Sure,” Pietro chuckles as he heads out the door.

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” you tell her. You think she is going to stay, but she starts heading out the door to the car.

“You sure that’s not enough butter, Y/N?” Peter asks you when he sees how much butter he’s already put in the bucket at your insistence. He can feel some of it through the bucket already.

“Fine, that’s good. You grab some napkins. I’ll hold the bucket,” you tell him after you see his eyebrows scrunch. You all go to the designated room and pick a row to sit in having pretty much any seat you want since it was practically empty. You sit down next to Peter and notice Pietro’s eyes falling to the empty seat on your other side. He aims to sit next to you but his sister who was sitting next to Peter before beats him to it. He throws her a confused look as he shuffles his way down to sit in her abandoned seat. “Real subtle there, Wanda,” you say, amused more than anything.

“I can see the screen better from here.” You let her bad excuse slide and turn to the screen as the movie begins to play. Between you, Peter, and Pietro, the popcorn is gone in record time. The jumpscares begin halfway through the movie. Peter holds the empty bucket as a safety blanket which you find adorable. You don’t even know if Wanda is watching the movie. She’s got her eyes somewhat hidden behind her fingers. You want to tease her, so you reach to take her fingers away from her face, but another jumpscare happens and she takes your hand in her free one. You feel her squeeze the life out of your hand in anticipation of another jumpscare.

Your palm begins to sweat and you start to feel uncomfortable with all the butter on your fingers, so you slip your hand out from hers. She turns to you in question. “Sorry, my hand’s full of butter,” you whisper. She reaches over you to ask Peter something. Without a word, she leans back in her seat with napkins in her hand and cleans all the butter off your hand before taking it in hers once more, this time interlacing your fingers. She turns her focus back to the movie. You feel you should just do the same, so you follow her actions. You let her hold your hand for the rest of the movie until the lights come back up.

Wanda shouldn’t have watched that movie. It is much too dark in the bedroom. It is much too quiet. She can hear Nat’s soft breathing from beside her. The silhouettes of various items around the room are creeping her out. She doesn’t think she is going to be sleeping any time soon. Maybe some tea will help. She gets up quietly trying not to wake Nat, but when she’s at the door, Nat asks, “Where are you going?”

“The bathroom,” Wanda lies easily. She’d rather not let Nat know that she couldn’t sleep because of some scary movie. What kind of superhero would that make her? As she heads downstairs, she wonders if you were still awake. She turns down the hallway to peek into the living room and sure enough you were still awake watching television. She walks over to you behind the couch. “What are you watching?” she asks. You feel your soul leave your body not having heard her approach. She giggles as she walks around to sit next to you. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, just warn a girl next time.” She turns her attention to the show. “It’s Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. It’s really good. I used to watch it with Laura when she would babysit while my mom was at work. Some of the jokes I wouldn’t even understand but I’d laugh ‘cause she was laughing,” you reminisce.

“You and her are very close.”

“Yeah, well, she’s practically the only family I have. My mom passed not so long ago and seeing as there was never a dad in my family picture, my aunt and uncle took me in. I don’t have any siblings and neither does Laura so, she’s kind of it.” You add, “Well, apart from Clint, Nat, and the kids of course.”

Another two scenes go by on the show before you ask, “Did you have a nightmare or could you not fall asleep?”

Wanda looks down embarrassed so you add, “I promise I’m not teasing. I’m just asking.”

“I couldn’t sleep. It was too quiet and dark and Natasha was already asleep, so I thought I would come down here,” she replies.

“Oh, so you thought I would definitely put you to sleep. Wow, I don’t see how this friendship is going to work if you think I bore you to sleep,” you tease. Upon seeing her tired smile, you take pity and pat your thighs and gesture for her to lie down. “Come here.”

When she lays her head on your lap, you begin running your fingers through her hair. You hear her yawn and a few minutes later you find her sound asleep. Careful not to wake her, you reach over to the blanket you were meant to use on you and throw it over her body instead. Another two episodes play before you fall asleep.

***

You wake up once again with a sore neck and you feel that your body might be as well, but when you remember the reason, you don’t find it in yourself to complain. You look around prepared to see Nat in gym clothes holding a coffee cup but you find the living room empty apart from you and Wanda. You look out the window and see the sun is barely about to rise. Surprised to have woken up before anyone else, you decide to make the most of it but you are quickly sidetracked getting distracted by Wanda’s sleeping form. “I can feel you staring,” she says, her voice husky which you try hard not to find attractive. She turns her head to look up at you with sleepy eyes. “Friends don’t do that.”

“I was not staring. I was admiring,” you respond. “And friends can admire their friends.”

“Well mine don’t the way you do.”

“Ain’t that a shame.” You boop her nose with your finger making her scrunch her nose.

“They do, however, let me sleep,” she jokes. She turns her head back as if she was to go back to sleep and you decide this might be the best time to get up. You gently lift her head from your lap and swivel your body off the couch. “Where are you going?” she whines, when you place a pillow under her head.

“I am going to wake Nat up for once in my life,” you reply with determination. You stretch and shake your legs trying to get the feeling back in them.

“Good luck with that,” is the last thing Wanda says before closing her eyes and going back to sleep. You head to the kitchen to start the coffee pot and then make your way upstairs. Luckily, the door was left open so you don’t make any noise on your way in. You tiptoed your way to Natasha and bent down so your face was eye level to hers. You honestly can’t believe you’ve made it this far since she is the lightest sleeper. This is the spy they chose for the Avengers? You giggle to yourself imagining the face Nat is going to make when you scare her. Oh, if they could see her now…they would be satisfied with their choice, you think as you try to choke out, “Uncle. Uncle.” Nat somehow has you in a choke hold and you are tapping furiously on her arm. Once she realizes it’s you she lets go.

“Y/N, what the hell! I could have hurt you!” she yells at you as you’re coughing. You stare at her unbelievably, rubbing at your neck, and once you can speak again you say, “Then what was this to you? Some light foreplay?”

Once you both settle down, she realizes you were up before her. You take some exercise attire out for yourself from your luggage. You might not like to exercise but gym clothes are sure comfy to lie around in. “You gotta keep up, Natasha. You don’t want the boss man to catch you slacking. Oh, I’m also making coffee so don’t worry about that.”

“What’s got you in such a good mood?” she asks, her eyebrows furrowing. You smile in turn. “I don’t know what you mean. I’ll catch you downstairs.”

You leave her to change and head downstairs with your clothes. You go to the kitchen first and make two cups of coffee. Then you go to the restroom to change. After she finishes changing, Nat goes to the kitchen and sees you were not kidding. Natasha takes her cup of coffee to the living room as she always does and finds Wanda asleep on the couch. She sighs as things start adding up. She guesses this is the reason for the lack of a grumpy attitude from you so early in the morning. She wants to say something but Nat would rather take a motivated Y/N over Y/N complaining every five minutes on their hike. So, she doesn’t say anything for now.

You actually keep up with Nat this time and to top it off you don’t talk too much like you always do. Nat thinks it’s because you're in a good mood giving you motivation, but the reason for keeping her pace and keeping quiet is your fear she’ll leave you again if you say something to set her off and lose her like yesterday. Nat even goes as far as giving you a compliment at the end. Well, semi-compliment, but her “Not too bad, Y/N”s are few and far between so you return to the house feeling proud of yourself.

This time you’re the one saying good morning to everyone when you enter. You see a few of them still eating breakfast in the kitchen. You hope there will still be leftovers by the time you come back down after showering. Knowing how some of the guys eat, it is going to have to be a quick shower. Laura sees you eyeing the food and says, “Don’t worry, we saved you a plate.” And here you thought Wanda was the mind reader. “Wanda told us you were grumpy yesterday from not catching breakfast so we made sure to make more.” That explains it. You smile, happy someone kept you in mind. Now you can shower in peace. You thank her and head upstairs.

“You saw that, right?” Laura turns to Clint and Nat who walked in not too long before you left.

“She’s been like that all morning. Not one ‘Are we done yet?’ or ‘Why do you hate me, Natasha?’ on our hike,” Nat replies in a hushed tone as if it’s so unlike you to be agreeable in the morning.

“Do you think it has anything to do with a certain somebody?” Laura felt the need to ask.

“Well she didn’t just find a love for exercise,” Nat sarcastically says.

Clint sighs, “Do you think we have to talk to her again?”

Nat goes to respond, but Laura cuts off whatever Nat was going to say, “No, if anyone is going to talk to her, it’s me. And it’s not going to be some crappy ‘no dating’ rule type of conversation. You two are great when it comes to getting someone to talk with your intimidation, but save that for your job, which speaking of, Wanda is your coworker, so you may want to talk to her as well if you had to talk to Y/N because last I remember it takes two to tango.”

Nat and Clint stare at Laura in shock, embarrassment and guilt rightfully taking over their bodies. “Are we clear?” Laura asks them though it’s more of a statement leaving no room for argument.

“Yes.” “Yeah.”

Upstairs, you make your way to the guest room to grab some clothes. Wanda is sitting on the bed reading her book. She is still dressed in her pyjamas, which makes you smile. The sound of her turning the page shakes you from your thoughts and saves you from staring a bit too long. Wanda smirks without bothering to look away from her book and you know she caught you.

“Morning, I’m just gonna get some clothes,” you explain as you move to where your bag is. Wanda speaks up while you zip your duffle closed, “I’m sorry for bothering you last night.”

“Come on, Wanda. You could never be a bother,” you say sincerely, giving her a smile that she shyly returns. “Alright, the shower is calling my name.”

“Yeah, I can hear it screaming,” she jokes and laughs when you take mock offense, “Hey!” She goes back to reading when she sees you heading out the door but you call her attention once more, “Oh! Thanks for telling them to save me a plate.”

“Of course,” she replies like it wasn’t even worth mentioning. You nod at her and then go to shower, closing the guest room door behind you.

A few seconds later, the door opens up again and Wanda amusedly says, her eyes never straying from the page she’s reading, “Did the shower call the wrong name?”

“No, it was definitely calling Y/N’s and mine too, I’m sure, but I wanted to talk to you first.”

Wanda’s head diverts to the door at Nat’s voice.

“And you needed back up for it?” Wanda looks over to Clint who awkwardly stands behind Nat.

Clint clears his throat, “Well it was only fair if Y/N got both of us, you did too.”

Wanda straightens her posture as she places her book beside her. “Ah, so this is about Y/N. I had a feeling.”

Nat and Clint come into the room, Clint closing the door behind him. Nat goes to sit on the end of the bed and Clint stands behind her. “Look, we were wrong to tell Y/N what to do or rather not do. She is an adult and has the right to do whatever she wants, but you have to understand she’s someone who tends to get ahead of herself and we didn’t- we don’t want anyone to get hurt,” Nat starts.

“So you’re saying she is getting ahead of herself with me? That what? Come two weeks, she’ll realize she doesn’t want me?” Wanda starts to get visibly upset.

“No, that’s not what-” Clint tries to speak but Wanda is not done talking. “Even if that was the case, it would be her choice. It would be my choice.”

“Wanda, you are not going to be here in two weeks. You are not going to be here in a few days,” Natasha calmly says trying to reason. “Look, we love Y/N, okay? But she often finds herself making mistakes-”

“So I would just be another mistake?

“No, you would be a dangerous one,” Nat says trying to get something through to Wanda.

“I would never hurt her.”

“No, maybe not intentionally,” Nat continues, and when Wanda looks like she is going to argue, Clint interrupts, “Wanda, just let her finish.” Wanda takes a breath to calm herself down and then nods for Natasha to carry on.

“Being in our lives more than she has to could get her hurt. Even this morning, I hurt her when she was probably just trying to play some stupid prank. Being around us is dangerous. Why do you think Clint kept all this a secret,” Nat motions around the room. “Why do you think I was so upset about her and Yelena? Why do you think we haven’t said anything to Y/N before? Those other girls aren’t you. Those other girls aren’t Yelena. I don’t even know where she is right now. We live different lives. Say things do work out with Y/N. Much like I don’t know where my sister is, there will be times she won’t have a clue where you are or if you’re okay. When Clint and I say we don’t want anyone to get hurt, it goes both ways.”

“Wan, have you seen my blue shirt with the buttons?” Pietro storms into the room like a man on a mission, not even bothering to acknowledge Nat and Clint are in the room as well. “I know I packed it.” Not until he reads the hurt in Wanda’s eyes does he read the room and like the protective sibling he is, he is quick to get defensive. “What’s happening here?”

Her brother’s interruption could not have come at a better time. Wanda didn’t know how to respond to Nat’s explanation. She was feeling herself choke up, Vision’s voice springing in her head again. She’s happy to have Pietro here so willing to jump in to defend her but she doesn’t want to drag him into it, so she clears her throat and says, “Nothing. We were just talking.” He still looks unsure, so she gets up from the bed and offers, “I’ll help you look for it.” Her eyes plead for him to let it go. Luckily, he does and heads out the door. Clint and Nat watch Pietro leave and Wanda stop by the door. “You don’t have to worry. Y/N made it clear to me that we’re just friends,” she says in defeat, then turns to follow her brother.

“Well, that went well,” Clint says sarcastically.

Wanda spends the next two hours helping Sam, Peter, and Pietro get ready. She helps Sam pick an outfit first seeing as he was the first to shower. She has to pry one of Peter’s t-shirts from his hands saying he’s twice Peter’s size and he cannot pull the nerdy look. She helps Peter next. It’s mostly just styling his hair he needs help with. At last she helps her brother after having knocked on the bathroom door four different times telling him to hurry up.

“How does the one with superspeed take an hour in the shower?” Sam asks rhetorically. Sam, Wanda, and Peter are on the bed in Cooper’s room watching Pietro straighten out his shirt.

“Hey, it takes time to look this good,” Pietro says as he fixes his collar. All three of them nearly roll their eyes. “Do you think Y/N will like this shirt?”

“Yeah, if it was on Wanda, maybe,” Sam snorts. Peter holds back a chuckle while Wanda tries not to react.

“You look nice,” Wanda says, not wanting to tear down her brother’s confidence. Everyone’s attention is drawn to the closed door when someone knocks. They hear you ask if you can come in. Pietro responds, “One second.” He goes to lean against Cooper’s desk casually and all three on the bed try really hard not to laugh. Peter has to shove his face in a pillow. “Okay, come in.”

You let yourself into the room, your eyes falling on Wanda immediately. “Not that you don’t look nice in them, but do you really plan on wearing your pjs to the fair?” you tease her. “I mean, you’ll for sure be turning heads, if that’s the plan.”

She replies, “I was waiting on the shower. Someone was taking their time.” She points her head in Pietro’s direction who gives you a nod in acknowledgement and a “‘sup?” Sam’s mouth forms a line trying so hard not to laugh out loud. Peter’s face stays hidden behind the pillow but you can see from the side of his neck his face was getting red. You feel like you walked in at the wrong time given everyone’s behavior. You tell Wanda, “You might want to hurry. Clint says we’re leaving soon.” With that you turn to leave wondering what you had walked in on.

When you shut the door, everyone in Cooper’s room excluding Pietro bursts out laughing.

“What the hell was that, man?” Sam asks between fits of laughter.

Peter gets up and leans against the desk to mimic Pietro, “‘Sup?” Everyone laughs again, Pietro leaning over to slap Peter in the back of the head.

***

They take the family car and Nat’s car to the fair. Sam and Peter ride with Nat while the rest of you ride with Clint driving. As you wait in line to buy tickets, you lean over Wanda’s shoulder, who is standing right in front of you with her back to you, and say “I meant to say this earlier but you look nice.”

She smiles and then turns around to face you as you take a step back. She jokes, “I thought I looked good in my pyjamas but someone implied it wasn’t appropriate for the fair.”

“Oh definitely not appropriate. It was way too sexy. We couldn’t have that around the children,” you reply making her giggle.

“You don’t look too bad either,” she returns the earlier compliment, taking in your outfit as you shuffle forward with the rest of the line. “Your outfit is very nice.”

“Oh, this. I just threw it together.” No, you didn’t. You took your time with it. “But thanks,” you wave her off. When you reach the ticket stand, you rush in front of Clint to pay for yours, Wanda’s, Laura’s, Nat’s, and the kids’ tickets. You explain to him when you are all walking together that you kind of owed Wanda for something and you were the one who promised to take the kids here much to Nat and Laura’s displeasure so you kind of owed them too.

You make it inside the fairgrounds. A giant banner that reads “WESTVIEW COUNTY FAIR!” greets you overhead. Everyone gets excited upon seeing the banner and all the lights in the background. Well, everyone but Nat and Laura, Nat not ever a big fan of fairs and Laura not a fan of taking care of kids at a fair. Out of all the lights shining on the fairgrounds, your favorite is the one shining through Wanda’s eyes as she takes everything in with wonder.

“So what do you want to do first?” you ask her.

She turns to you and almost looks embarrassed. “I don’t know. I’ve never been to a fair.”

“What?” you ask in shock. She shrugs not knowing what else she could say. “Well, it’s settled then. We are not leaving until you get the whole experience. Let’s go buy some wristbands for the rides. We are going on every single one.” Her eyes widen and the wonder in them from earlier shifts into nervousness. “It’ll be fun, come on,” you reassure as you drag her to another line, leaving everyone else behind.

You and Wanda get on every ride but the ferris wheel telling her you have to leave that one for last. You even ride some twice, but you get hungry and ask Wanda if she wants to eat yet. She agrees that she could take a break for food. You try various things the fair offers wanting Wanda to try everything. “You Americans like to fry anything you can,” she comments as she takes another bite of her fried oreo. She hums as she finishes it off. “I understand why,” she says, making you laugh.

You spot Laura and Nat sitting at a table near the stage where some band is playing music. You and Wanda head on over. Soon everyone regroups there, finishing off the food they bought and watching people dance. Clint pulls Laura to dance with him. You all sit at the table watching them with a smile when someone obstructs your view of them. You look up to see a tall guy in a black cowboy hat smiling down at Wanda beside you offering his hand out asking her to dance. She looks at you, unsure of what to say. You give her a smile that admittedly took you a second to form and nod encouragingly for her to accept. She smiles politely at him and takes his hand. You watch them dance, your eyes only ever straying when you see Wanda going to look at you. You watch when he leans down to tell her something in her ear and she laughs. You wonder what he told her that was so funny. Your eyes roam over him. He’s handsome, you’ll give him that. He has a nice face, good posture. You note he is also respectful with his hand placement when dancing, so you can appreciate that. It seems like Westview County has their own Steve Rodgers. The thought bugs you.

Someone blocks your view once again, only this time you are kind of thankful for it. You look up to see Pietro asking you to dance. “Why not?” you say, wanting to do anything rather than stare at Wanda dancing with some guy. He pulls you to the dance floor. You enjoy your time dancing with Pietro though you get dizzy from how quickly he spins you. You’re a little disappointed your dance is cut short when Lila taps your arm asking if she can dance with Pietro. You smile at her saying of course she can. With your distraction gone to dance with Lila, your eyes search for Wanda once more but you cannot seem to find her. You feel someone grab your hand and you are spun into that someone’s arms. Your eyes fall to familiar green ones and you smile, “Smooth moves, Maximoff.”

“Thank you,” she says with a smile as she starts to sway with you to the music. “You let me dance with a stranger.”

“You’re dancing with me now and we were strangers not so long ago,” you rebuttal.

“But at least we know each other’s names.”

“Did you not get his name?” you ask.

“I never asked for it,” Wanda returns simply, shrugging. You find it hard to believe that his name never came up so you say, “That was a lot of talking for him to not have given you a name.”

“You saw us talking? I would not have guessed you were paying attention. Every time I looked at you, you turned to look away,” she teases you.

You swallow, choking on the embarrassment of getting caught. “Doesn’t matter. His name’s probably Brad or something. He looks like a Brad.”

She laughs then catching on to your tone she asks, “Y/N, are you jealous?”

“What? Me, jealous?” you ask, astonished. She nods, smiling like she has her answer. “Wanda, I could never be jealous of some Brad. Dance with a Marcus and then maybe, but a Brad? Pfft. No.”

She just laughs and pulls you closer. You let yourself go and dance with her until whatever song the band is playing ends. “Let’s go play some games. I feel like shooting something,” you say, making her laugh loudly.

Everyone decides to play with you as well so you all head over to the different stands. Nat wins the shooting game, Clint coming in close. He wins the popping the balloons with darts game. They give their prizes to Cooper and Lila. Peter and Sam spend some time with the hammer and bell game; Peter hitting the bell every time garners some attention especially from some girls which frustrates Sam. Pietro wins a fish when he plays ring toss. It seems like everyone but you has been winning something. Even Wanda won a stuffed panda she gave to Lila after playing a water shooting game. You were getting frustrated trying to knock some blocks off a stool. You’ve spent a good $20 on this game already. Wanda catching your frustration decides to help you out. When you are down to your last ball, you try your best to focus and throw the ball. Two of the three blocks fall down. The last one is teetering on the edge. You think you’ve lost but a second later it falls over. You shout with glee. You ask the attendant for the keychain that has the letter W on it.

Wanda watches you with a smile as you approach her. “Thank you for that,” you say, and when she tries to play naive, you continue, “I know you knocked the last block.”

She gives you a sheepish smile. You hold out the keychain to her. “I figure this only rightfully belongs to you. May it proudly hold your keys until you lose it.” She tries to say no but you take her wrist and place the keychain in the palm of her hand. “It has your initial. You have to keep it.”

“I’m pretty sure the W is for Westview County,” she counters.

“A happy coincidence.” You don’t take no for an answer and she finally smiles and thanks you, putting her new keychain away so she doesn’t lose it. You look around to see the others still distracted with the games but you also catch your cousin yawn. You know this means you’re leaving soon so you grab Wanda’s hand and head over to the line for the ferris wheel.

You thank the attendant when he checks you have your belt on and pulls the bar to your lap. The wheel starts turning and when you are midway to the top, it shakes a little as two people get on the final empty cart. The shaking makes Wanda nervous. She grabs your hand almost protectively as her posture turns into one that looks ready for a fight. You turn your palm over to interlace your fingers and rub your thumb on her hand to try to soothe her nerves. “Hey, it’s okay,” you say. She turns to you and you see her irises are red. “They always do this. We’re okay. Just don’t rock the cart and we’ll be good.”

She takes a breath willing herself to relax. The red in her irises fade back to her green. She sits back and the ferris wheel moves again, this time not stopping for people to get on. You keep holding her hand squeezing it from time to time in reassurance. You can see Clint and everyone from the ferris wheel and point them out to Wanda. The only ones to see you are the kids who wave to you. You wave back.

“Do you come to the fair every year?” Wanda asks.

“Pretty much. There’s not much else to do,” you shrug. She ponders this for a moment and then, “So you’ve brought dates to the fair before, I’m guessing.”

“Yeah?” You say more like a question wondering where she was going with this.

“In the movies, people on dates always kiss on the ferris wheel. Did you kiss them?”

“Wanda,” you say her name but it comes out more like a warning.

“Sorry, I was just wondering,” she mutters, then turns to look back at the fairgrounds.

“No, I didn’t.” You answer sincerely. She looks back at you. You explain, “The two other people I’ve taken to the fair on a date were too afraid to get on the ferris wheel.”

“You said ‘other’,” she says smiling at you.

You look at her confused. “What?”

“You said ‘the two other people’ meaning other than me. So is this date?” she raises an eyebrow, an amused expression on her face.

“A friendly date,” you say, making her frown. She huffs in defeat letting go of your hand and hold the lap bar instead. The night had been going so well, you didn’t want this one thing to ruin it, so without letting yourself think it over, you wait until you get to the top of the ferris wheel. You lean into her space and look her in the eye to show her you are serious when you say, “Don’t tell Nat or Clint.” She looks confused but the confusion quickly turns into a pleasant surprise when you gently grab her face and lean in to kiss her. It doesn’t last long enough to give her a chance to kiss you back. You pull back with a cheeky smile and say, “I did promise the whole experience.”

The kiss may have ended too quickly for Wanda but it was long enough for a few people to catch it. One of them being your cousin whose kids were pointing to you and Wanda on the ferris wheel in excitement. She just shook her head in amusement when she saw you kiss Wanda. The other person to catch you was Wanda’s brother who, when seeing you kiss his sister, just whines, “No, Y/N.”

______________________________________________________________________

I'm sorry this took so long. I got sidetracked and then when I started I got stuck and in my true fashion, once I started writing, I couldn't stop and I couldn’t leave you without taking you to the fair. So, I hope the length of the chapter makes up for the wait. Oh, Happy Mother's Day to all the mom's out there doing their best to be good moms! I created a house map of how I picture the inside to look, you know without the fine details.

Next chapter bring your bug spray, you’re going camping.

Taglist: @madamevirgo @marvels-writings @gayarchnemissis @myperfectlovepoem @purplemeetsblue @magicallymaximoff @b0mbdotc0m @helloalycia @ironscarletwidowsoilder @cantcontroltheirfear @trikruismybitch @your-my-mission

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x you

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isolemnlyswearpevensie · 4 years

Text

Strawberry Jam Sandwich | Regulus Black x Reader

Warnings: Nothing :)

Time/Era: Marauders Era

Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: Y/N Potter and Regulus Black are a match made from heaven, even if other people didn’t expect it.

Request: hello first of all I really like your writing and hope you and your loved ones are doing well. could you write a regulus black fic? like reader is James’ sister and they get married (because regulus doesn’t die) and years later they meet Harry?

A/N: Thank you and thank you for the request! Let me know how you like it! Enjoy! I love Reg and I’m so excited to FINALLY write for him!! For anyone else wanting a fic; please request away!

masterlist | read on ao3

Y/N Potter and Regulus Black were a weird pairing in most people’s eyes. Both being the younger siblings of the two most popular guys in school, it made their peers raise their eyebrows. Not to mention, they were in rival houses and seemed to be on opposite sides of the war. But they just worked.

Y/N was a lot like her older brother, James; very loud and loveable. She was naturally talented on the quidditch field and loved to make friends. It was obvious that she had relationships with people of all the houses due to her outgoing attitude and warm sense of humor. While Regulus also played quidditch, he was much more introverted and shy. He didn’t have many friends, due to being categorized by his surname automatically, so he often kept to himself and spoke only when necessary. Y/N was the talker, Regulus was the listener.

Funnily enough, Y/N and Regulus met through the means of getting Sirius to make amends with Regulus again. Regulus had cornered Y/N in the library and begged her to help him come up with a plan to talk to his brother. They ended up meeting multiple times in the following weeks and grew to be friends.

Regulus adored her ability to be interested in small things; she once asked him what a necklace he wore meant. It didn’t mean anything in particular, but she sat and listened to him speak about his jewelry for almost 15 minutes. No one ever took the time to listen to what the younger Black sibling had to say.

To their ‘plan sessions” in the library, Y/N always brought a strawberry jam sandwich to munch on. They met after her quidditch practices, so James and Sirius wouldn’t find them, which meant she needed a snack to keep her energy levels up. She always offered him half, which the rather regal boy would decline nearly every time. Nearly. Regulus found her little snack absolutely adorable, especially when the jam got all over her face. It made her lips even pinker, and that much more kissable.

The sandwich became an inside joke between the two quickly. Even when passing in the halls, they would scoff and find the most outlandish way to mention the food. It wasn’t funny in hindsight, but it was something that connected the two in its ridiculousness.

Regulus paced back and forth among the bookshelves of the Hogwarts library, hoping to bump into his now best friend, Y/N. The library was near empty, as it was Friday night and very close to curfew, so even just looking for her held very little hope. She had mentioned something about having to finish an assignment she was procrastinating, so Regulus hoped she followed his advice to just get it over with.

The bookshelves were high and blocked most of the ceiling in the room, making the books impossible to read. Long, vertical shadows cast their darkness over almost every inch of the floor and offered very little light to allow him to navigate the maze of shelves. During the day, of course, this was a different considering the wall of windows that looked over the courtyards. The window seats were some of his favorite places to come and think. And the seats just happened to be his and Y/N’s meeting spot.

Regulus was about to give up on his search, but he noticed Y/N hunched over an astronomy book, sitting on the floor with her back leaning against a bookshelf. He casually slipped next to her, offering a shy hello.

“Hey, Black. What are you doing here?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing, Potter. Not exactly the best studying environment.” Regulus tilted his head back until it hit the books and turned his head to see her.

“Well, I’m trying to save myself from having to do this entire project tomorrow. I have a book, yet you appear literature-less. What’s your excuse?” Y/N moved so she sat with her legs crossed, the thick book laid open on her lap.

“I came to return this, you left it at our last meeting.” He placed a slightly toasted strawberry jam sandwich on the book. It was wrapped lazily in a green napkin and left an abundance of crumbs on her homework. Upon further inspection, the words will you be my girlfriend? were scribbled messily on the paper in black ink. Y/N’s jaw grew slack as she looked over at the highly attractive man next to her.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but I just wanted to ask.”

“Are you being serious?”

“Dead, Y/N.”

A smile crept over her features and she held out half of the sandwich. “Suppose we can start our relationship with a snack?”

Regulus accepted the food, making a subtle crunching noise as he bit into it. “I suppose I can make the exception to eat your exceptionally plain choice in snack food, just this once.”

“I’m sorry, you’re dating who?” James laughs, shrugging his younger sister off before grabbing his broom.

By this point, Y/N and Regulus have been sneakily dating for more than half a year and Y/N was tired of hiding their relationship. After Regulus and Sirius had failed to rekindle their relationship, Sirius shoved his brother even further away than they started. It hurt the younger black to the point of giving up, but even he was tired of hiding their relationship. He loved Y/N with his entire being, and his jerky older brother couldn’t ruin that.

“Have you ever even talked to Regulus before?” Sirius adds, grabbing his own broom to prep for quidditch practice.

“Yes, and I am dating him. Not sure what’s so hard to understand about that.”

“We understand it, just don’t believe it. Now, don’t speak about things you don’t understand.” James kicked off the ground and flew in the direction of the quidditch pitch.

“Don’t understand? Excuse me?!”

“He’s right. I know you were just trying to prank us, but joking about something that personal isn’t funny, Y/N.’’ Sirius mounts his own broom and flies off after James.

After practice, Y/N hurried to the library to meet her slightly anxious boyfriend. Regulus knew you were telling Sirius and James, and he knew they would react badly. Y/N saw Regulus sitting on the windowsill furthest from the door and hurriedly walked over.

“Hey! How’d it go?” He asked after Y/N pecked his lips and sat next to him. Regulus wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close.

“Not much to tell, really. They said I was trying to prank them and to not talk about things I didn’t understand. Honestly, I kind of wish they yelled.”

Regulus laughed and kissed her temple. “They’ll come around, I’m not exactly their favorite person so I can see why they don’t believe it. And I’m happy they didn’t yell because I know how you feel when people yell and I don’t want you to feel like that.”

“Holy shit! Get away from my sister!” James’ voice filled the area, Sirius quick on his heels. They must have been following Y/N after practice.

“Riddle me this, you want to spy for the order and potentially get KILLED?!” Y/N paced around the living room of Regulus and her shared flat.

It didn’t take long for Sirius to reaccept Regulus back into his life after seeing how he treated Y/N. At first, both older brothers thought Regulus was using Y/N to feed secrets and information to the opposing side of the war. They didn’t accept the couple and wanted Y/N to have nothing to do with the boy. But, after many feelings were hurt and various words were shared, they decided to give the boy a chance.

Regulus treated Y/N like a queen and made sure his girl knew how much he loved her. He wasn’t very good with words, but his actions spoke volumes. Flower bouquets were gifted periodically, as were small gifts that had a lot of thought put into them. During one of their study dates, he spent over an hour drawing a beautiful portrait of her. Not too long after, he gave her an entire sketchbook of drawings he knew she would love. Whether that was pictures of her friends, family, her favorite flowers, or something as mundane as the bench she loved to sit on, the gift had taken hours and hours of his time. It was obvious that Regulus was in love with his girl.

After graduating from Hogwarts, both Regulus and Y/N joined the Order of the Pheonix. Regulus still had heavy ties with Voldemort and his family, so Dumbledore asked him if he would consider being a spy for the Order. Even Sirius thought it was a bad idea. But, he had to prove that he wasn’t who he was raised to be. He had to prove himself to not only everyone around him, but to his inner soul.

“Listen, Dumbledore thinks that there’s a spy that infiltrated the Order and if I can find out who, maybe I can stop it. Think about it, James has a kid, a kid who is very valuable to you-know-who. We haven’t even spent a ton of time with him yet, but I know I can save him if I find the spy.”

“Yes, I realize that, Reg. But I can’t lose you in the process. We’re supposed to get married and have kids of our own and have a happy life-” Y/N takes a deep breath. “I can’t live without you.”

Regulus smiles a comforting smile, taking his girlfriend’s hands in his. “I know, darling. I’m not going anywhere. How about this,” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small ring box, presenting it to Y/N. “Let’s get married. I’ve never been a fan of the big white wedding...and all you need is a few witnesses and two signatures. I’m sure Sirius and James would be more than willing to witness. What do you say?”

Y/N gapes at her boyfriend. “Are you asking me to marry you?!” Regulus laughs and pecks her lips.

“I love you so much, Y/N Potter. You are the light of my life and I am so lucky to have you. You have brought me so much joy and really made me the best person I could be,” He wipes a tear delicately from Y/N’s skin. “I asked James for his blessing, too, after the last Order meeting. He said he was ecstatic for us. So, Y/N, will you marry me? We can eat strawberry jam sandwiches together for the rest of our lives.”

“Yes! A thousand times yes!”

“Hi, little one, I’m your uncle, Regulus, remember?- Ow! Not the hair!” Regulus sat in a suit in the parlor of Potter cottage with one-year-old harry in his lap. Y/N watched from the doorway, decked out in her white cocktail dress and heels. She couldn’t help but gush at the sight of her soon to be husband with a child; it felt so natural. Her heart swelled just thinking about watching him play with their own children.

“Yeah, he does that, keep him at a distance,” James responded, coming into the room. He was running late, as always, and was trying to tie his tie. “I can’t believe I’m witnessing my baby sister getting married!”

Harry gargled and reached his hands towards his father. “Dadadadada!!!!”

“I know, buddy, I’m right here. Hang out with your Uncle Reg for a while, yeah?” James responds, messing with his hair in the mirror. No matter how much he ‘fixed it,’ it all looked the same.

“It’s crazy how he looks so much like you, it’s like you copied your baby photos and made them come to life!” Y/N stated. Harry was almost an exact copy of James, but with Lily’s eyes.

Sirius came into the room, perfectly dressed with his hair tied back. “Well, are we leaving or not?” He asked, fixing the bowtie around his neck in the mirror for the 8th time.

“Pa’foo!” Harry squeals and squirms in Regulus’ arms. His grip tightens around the baby before pressing a kiss into his dark curls.

“No, not Pa’foo! Reg!” Sirius turned towards Y/N and whistled. “Damn, Reggie, not sure how you picked up this one! Look at the legs on her! Phew, lucky I don’t snatch you up myself!”

“Stop it! Can we please go?” Y/N swatted Sirius’s chest with her bag, embarrassed.

James plucked Harry from Regulus’ lap and hands him to Lily. “Yes, yes. Sorry, let’s go!” James kisses Lily’s cheek and disapperates out of his house.

Y/N walks over to Regulus and offers him a hand. “Ready to go get married?”

“I’ve never been more ready, my love. “

1K notes · View notes

pomegranates-and-blood · 3 years

Text

νοσταλγία (Chapter 41)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: The usual

A/N: This was difficult to write, burnout hit me hard. But I like the result, and I hope you like it too. Ik I said I was going to stray from Saturday updates, but here we are, I am apparently once again/still on Saturday updates

Also, remember Persephone is depicted as a woman almost-always wearing a red veil to cover her face, since it is symbolic of the veil brides wore in Ancient Greece.

You open your eyes, but all you can see is red. No, that isn’t right. Everything you see is tainted red, like you’re looking through a piece of stained glass.

Somewhere at your back there’s a laugh, melodic but cold, but you don’t bother turning, you know she isn’t there. Instead, you step forward, and the ground under your feet trembles, as if the earth is split in two.

There’s the faintest of touches on your face, the uncertain caress of hands not used to gentleness; and there’s the most familiar call of your name, even if it will forever sound foreign.

You see him past the red, you make out the shape of his lips, and the curve of his nose. But you miss the blue of his eyes.

And you lift the veil.

When you open your eyes you almost expect to have the world be tainted red, but you shake off those thoughts before you are fully awake.

You settle better in your place, feeling your hair uncharacteristically restrained. It is then that you remember the loose and half-done braid Ivar wove into your hair last night, that has surprisingly held through the night. These people and their damn braids.

When you turn around in your place you find your husband still asleep, turned on his side towards you, one arm stretched towards you.

Eyelids heavy, you find how easy it would be to just drift off again. But you don’t want to fall asleep yet, you want to linger in this world between worlds, between awake and asleep, for a while longer. For the first time, though, you realize that there is no reason to wish to live in that world between worlds.

For the first time, your dreams do not haunt you with the uncertain future that hangs by a choice that as time went on seemed less and less like a choice you could stand to make, and the world you wake up to isn’t stained with the ever-persistent reminder of the borrowed time you lived in.

For the first time, the dreams speak of a choice made, and the world around you -unchanged, even if it is so different from before- is the result of that choice.

Blinking past the daze that threatens to pull you back under, you focus on the man sleeping by your side, and you feel your lips pulling into a lazy smile.

You remember those first mornings you spent in the same bed as him, how you’d linger hopelessly on Ivar’s features, relaxed in sleep, eyes guiltily taking in what your pride didn’t let you while he was awake, categorizing each faint scar and angle.

From the slope of his brow, to the straight line of his nose, down to his lips -lips that on that first night spent as husband and wife you kissed, lips that you longed to kiss again each night since-.

You truly don’t want to wake him, but you cannot remain idle, and restless fingers trail over his own, tracing the back of his hand, up to his forearm and the arm-ring he wears.

Your eyes follow the wanderings of your hand, and your attention is drawn to the glint of your wedding ring in the low light. It has been quite a while you have worn it, and yet, strangely, it almost feels like the first time.

Maybe that is what it should have been, maybe this is what your first morning as husband and wife should have been. Quiet, and love, and peace. Even if Ivar always disturbs the first one and claims to detest the last one.

Your fingers continue trailing up, and you are done pretending you don’t intend to wake him when you reach his head, and let your fingers trail aimlessly through Ivar’s hair, down to his face, the ghost of a caress over his cheek.

With a low hum from somewhere in his chest, Ivar turns his face towards your caress, the hand previously stretched between you reach up to softly grasp at your wrist.

It’s the blind acceptance of your affection, the subtle seeking of it, that makes your chest pull tight. It’s the blue of his eyes when he blinks past the draw of sleep to focus on you that robs you of breath.

And, as usual, it is your name leaving his lips in a sigh that makes you want to thank the Gods for this, for him.

“Stop waking me up when you’re bored.” He grumbles, making a foolish smile pull at your lips.

“I am not,” You argue, “I missed you.”

His eyebrows raise, and the face he makes tells you he doesn’t believe you, but there’s still lingering softness in him when he moves the hand he trapped with his won against the side of his face and places it before his mouth, breathing a kiss over your knuckles.

“Missed me, hm?”

“I was bored of missing you, perhaps.” You concede finally.

You have missed him, if you are honest. Missed what it was like before you told him about the Greeks, when he didn’t stop himself from reaching for you, when those barriers you were once so interested in studying and crossing had become dust, when the fear of the choice you’d make was a distant one.

Even if it has been a couple of weeks since you told him, you have already found a certain routine, even in the wavering certainties, and you know that you never have to miss him for long.

Still, that is over. Once the words are able to leave your lips, once you are able to find a way to prove that your choice is him; then you won’t have to miss him for long, at least not like that.

“I didn’t tell you, last night. I tried to.”

Pulled away from your musings, you hum in question, “Tell me what?”

“You make me happy,” He tells you, a flickering smile that is so unusual, so young, that your heart skips a beat. Ivar’s eyes are unusually soft when he gazes at you, “Happier than I ever thought I could be.”

His father one told him happiness is nothing, and when Ivar told you of those words, he also told you he hasn’t really known what happiness feels like. It broke your heart then, and it still does, even if now it soars to hear these words.

“Is it nothing, then?”

His eyebrows raise, the smile is a tad more playful now, and tone light even if the words aren’t, “It is still terrifying.”

“Doesn’t that mean it is a good thing? Something worth keeping?”

“Weaknesses aren’t good things.”

“Not everything is about war.”

“Who said anything about war?” He retorts just as easily as you, the beginning of a smug smile on his lips, that you only roll your eyes at.

Ivar clears his throat, and when he speaks again his voice is quiet once again.

“It…keeps me awake, sometimes. Losing this. Kattegat, my brothers, the army,” A pause, and then, “You.

Your heart squeezes in your chest, because in all the things he did, he never made you doubt you had him. I am yours he told you last night, but you have known for a long time, since before he put a ring on your finger, that there were few things that could make you lose him.

“You already know that,” He states, voice soft, strangely muted. “I have told you so much already, sometimes I wonder if you really did bewitch me.

Your lips pull into a lazy smile, and you offer a non-committal shrug. Ivar’s mouth curves on one side, and he reaches for you, his hand rough but warm on the side of his face.

His thumb brushes gently -with a gentleness that is particular to him, you dare think, one that belongs to someone that isn’t used to much gentleness at all- under your eye when you lean into his touch, and you sigh.

“I…I never thought I’d have this, not really. Even if I had, I couldn’t have known it would feel like this,” For such a vague use of the word ‘this’, you find yourself understanding what he means, and yet you offer nothing but silence, expectant. “All my life, I would…I would watch them. My brothers, the other men. I had no choice but to watch. I knew I could never be like them, so I watched,” Ivar’s eyes fall from yours, and his gaze and his mind are lost in a place you weren’t fast enough to meet him at, in a life you were too late to be a part of. “And I would watch them with…with their wives, and how they would wait for them at the docks when they returned from a raid, and how they wouldn’t hesitate to touch or…” His brow furrows slightly, as if he is searching for the words, “-love them, and…it would feel like seeing a fire from afar. I knew it had to feel warm, I knew it had to feel…safe, and-…but I couldn’t know, not really. I couldn’t feel the warmth, I didn’t feel-…”

When his eyes focus on you again, you cannot help but hope the words he doesn’t say speak of how somehow you have been able to give the same he has you, and the warmth isn’t so distant just like the cold of Kattegat isn’t so biting for you.

You remember that first night as husband and wife, the faintest of trembles in his voice when he voiced a plea and tried making it sound like a command. Kiss me, he had asked you. You did, and now with distance your pride lets you admit you never quite forgot how he stilled under your gentle touch and how even then he leant towards the affection.

It would have been easier to hate him if the hunger would have been something he had no qualms about demanding be satiated. It would have been easier to forget he is human if out of all the things he could have asked for he hadn’t asked for softness.

Ivar continues,

“I would imagine it, sometimes. What it would be like, what it would feel like, to have a woman that would l-love me,” You don’t fail to notice the way his voice changes at those words, as if even saying it means something you could never truly understand. Your left hand reaches between you, fingers carefully tracing the side of his face. Ivar answers to your caress with a soft smile, but it turns rueful after a breath, “Pathetic, isn’t it? Poor Ivar, begging the Gods for someone to love him.”

Your chest pulls tight at his words, and you frown, affronted.

“There’s nothing pathetic about being human, you know,” You chastise, and Ivar meets your eyes, an anger that you know well, that you are familiar with by now, shining in his gaze. The anger of having shown more than what your pride wants you to, the anger of being more human than you would like to be. One of the first things you noticed about him was how he shared pieces of him as if he couldn’t do anything but, as if secrets and pain escaped his grip like sand, and left his lips as if you truly were what they say you are, and had bewitched him. That never changed, and you hope it never does. But the anger, the anger that looks a lot like apprehension, like pain; you hope that leaves. For now, you can do nothing but offer the beginning of a smile, “And I won’t let you speak of my husband like that.”

This time when his smile widens and softens, it remains that way. Ivar’s eyebrows raise slightly as he looks at you, defiance shining in his eyes in a way that makes a small chuckle leave your lips.

Gods, you love him.

His hand, rough and always warmer, grasps the one that cups the side of his face, and brings your fingers to his lips, kissing your knuckle right over your wedding ring. You have worn it for so long, and so many things have changed since he first put it on your finger, but you honestly can’t remember what it was like not wearing the gold band of engraved flowers you can trace with your fingers and engraved promises that aren’t so apparent.

“When I first saw you, in that field near Dublin, you…” His eyes lift to meet yours, before his gaze returns to your hand, and the gold ring that adorns it. “I saw you with that Greek, you were being so gentle towards him, so loving, so…warm. And then…” A short chuckle leaves his lips, still lost in the memory, “Then you took down a Viking with a shield that weighed more than you do, and one arrow.”

You chuckle, “I was lucky.”

“You were…” His eyes return to yours and the words die on his lips. When your smile widens as you wait for him to continue, his attention is diverted to your lips. You wonder if he is seeing in you the memory of that day. A little lost, a little dazed, he finishes, “A vision.”

Your heart does a strange thing on your chest, as if it were shocked off a regular rhythm by his words, and now stutters and stumbles to return to normalcy.

You offer a smile, and the faint squeeze of your hand on his as you tease softly,

“I am very much real, Ivar.”

A slow blink, and you wonder if he even heard you.

“You-…that day, you seemed like everything I ever wanted. Not just seemed like it, you were,” He confesses, a movement on his jaw to indicate he doubts whether he should continue. A few breaths go by until finally, his voice quiet, Ivar says, “You still are.”

“And you are everything I want.” You confess quietly, your heart suddenly beating a tad quicker, because the words you have known you have to say for a day now are at the tip of your tongue.

If we name things, we make them real, you told him once, the same words he reminded you of last night, when he jested you should remind him of your love more often.

But it is true, what you told him. The stories of your Gods, they were made real because someone spoke them, shared them. The vows you made, to take revenge against Stithulf, to accept Ivar as your husband; they made a promise real because they asked it to be spoken aloud.

And there is one more promise you must make real now.

You reach for the clasp at the back of your neck, taking off the pendant that has hung from your neck since you were old enough to remember. The twelve Olympians and the chthonic Gods in a small circle metal, with an inscription at the back, bend to the Fates, but don’t let them break you.

You lean up on one elbow, and hold the pendant between you, offering it to Ivar who only watches with curious eyes.

“When my father gave this to my mother, it was…a promise. They taught me that whatever promises are made before the Gods mean nothing if we aren’t willing to make promises of our own, on our own. This always meant a promise,” Your eyes linger on the engraving depicting the twelve Olympians and the chthonic Gods. When you speak next, your words are a promise of your own, even if under the fickle and transparent veil of speaking of the promises your parents made. “A promise to spend a lifetime side by side, and, if the Gods are merciful, an eternity after. I can’t…I can’t promise to find you in the life after this one, but I can promise to be with you for the rest of this life.

And now that you voice it, it is something so close to being true, to being real, that you think you may understand what he meant about that distant warmth.

Only this is different, this is a fire you can -and will, not Fate itself can stop you- get close enough to so you can truly feel its warmth.

“I-I want you to have this. My promise to you, my promise that…my choice will always be you.”

Ivar remains frozen, eyes on you as piercing as they were across a battlefield, yet as vulnerable as they were when you first told him you loved him.

Swallowing tightly, caught between assuming he doesn’t believe you or something worse, you take his hand.

Once, you stood next to him overlooking Kattegat, breathed past your hesitation and reached to put your hand over his, hoping and dreading the return of the hold. And now, just like then, he turns his hand to meet your own, pliant at your touch.

You place the pendant on the palm of his hand.

“Yo-You-…I don’t…” A breath that sounds somewhere between a gasp and choked inhale, “Y-You don’t have to choose yet.”

I am living on borrowed time as much as you are, you told him once. This is the first time you realize how true that was.

For as much as you usually babble on about things, now words seem to fail you, and with your heart beating wildly in your chest all you can offer is the smallest quirk of your mouth. One of the few times you are able to render him speechless, and you’re not allowed to enjoy it.

“I have made my choice. If Stithulf died today, nothing would change,” You tell him, as simply as you can put the choice that changes both your lives. “I want to spend the rest of my days with you.”

His eyes are wide, wider than you have ever seen them, and yet he remains deadly still. You dare think he isn’t even breathing.

Eventually, when Ivar speaks, it sounds rough and ragged, like he hasn’t spoken in a hundred years.

“They want you with them, they will come find you.”

“Again. They will come find me again,” You remind him slowly, “And just like I did before, I will say no.”

His eyes harden, “Why?”

“I love you, more than…more than anything,” At his silence, your heart stops and your brow furrows, “Do you not believe me?”

His eyes search yours, none of the franticness that coated his words gone from his eyes, where it only seems to simmer and heighten, where more than the search for truth you dare think he desperately looks for a lie.

Maybe believing you are lying would be easier, maybe believing what you say isn’t going to hold would be easier. Real things can be taken from you.

Past the clear tell of gritted teeth, Ivar insists, not answering your question,

“They will return to Greece when winter passes.”

“And I will still be here.” You reply, easily.

A breath, and the faintest of questions,

“You’re staying with me?”

“For as long as you’ll have me.”

“No matter what?”

“I would think I’ve proved I’m stubborn already.” You whisper, the jest a little lost in the way your voice swells with emotion.

Ivar holds your gaze, determined even if searching your eyes desperate for certainty, unwavering even if his brow trembles and so do his hands.

“Promise me.” He says. A dare, a command, a plea.

With your own left hand lifted to your lips, you press a kiss against your wedding ring, the closest you would ever have to a piece of jewelry where you are to vow something before the Gods themselves.

“I promise.”

His breath leaves him in something between a sigh and a gasp, a small, incredulous little smile curving his lips before it too falls.

You don’t have time to take in the way his expression falls, falls with something like relief, something like joy, something like love; because he leans forward, capturing your mouth with his in a kiss that makes everything but him disappear.

Your mouth moves against his with ease, not missing a beat in surrendering to the feel of him, your hands holding on to his shoulders with feather-light softness, while his grip tightly at whatever part of you he can find, a muffled sound that sounds a lot like a whimper when he presses closer, not accepting even an inch of space between you.

Before long you are on your back, and his arms cage you against the bed. His weight is a comfortable one over you, especially when your tongue teases at his and you make his strength falter, make Ivar pull away with something shaped like your name but that sounds like a prayer leaving his lips.

The shine in his eyes when he pulls back just a bit speaks of love, of gratitude, of relief; and it makes tears clog at your throat. How could there exist a world where you leave this, leave him, behind?

Ivar takes a breath, his chest expanding under your hands, reaching up with one hand to put your hair behind your ear, making your eyes flutter shut and the soft caress.

You barely have to tilt your head towards him when he is obeying the silent command, leaning down to kiss you again, this time letting you control the kiss, surrendering to the feel of you with a sigh that makes your stomach tighten.

His lips part from yours when the smile that curves at his mouth refuses to give way, and you breathe a little laugh at the still shocked joy written in his expression, from the faint red tint in his cheeks and ears to the way his eyes glisten and shine a tad more vibrant.

Ivar leans closer and kisses you again, a short press of his lips on yours before he whispers quietly, a secret even if it never was one,

“I love you,” You return the same, the words never more freeing as they leave your lips, and something in between a shaky sigh and a delighted chuckle leaves his lips. Holding your face gently in between shaking hands, he presses his brow against yours, “I-I’ll make you happy, I’ll-…anything you want, you’ll have it.”

The promises that leave his lips in between frantic kisses feel like vows that you won’t regret this, like reassurances that he will make sure the choice is worthwhile.

But it always was, just for this alone. For the feel of his arms around you, for the intoxicating taste of his lips, for the way your name sounds in his voice.

“All I want is you.”

“You have me.” There’s not a moment of hesitation, but the words -the certainty, the truth, the slight tremble in his voice and in his hands- make your heart pull tight in your chest.

Your eyes meet his and you promise, “And you have me.”

____ ____ ____

I hope you like this, and that I’m not too rusty after my little hiatus lol. Would love to know what you think!

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927 @toe-vind-ek-jou @xbellaxcarolinax @pieces-by-me @angelofthorr @samsationalwilson @peachyboneless @1950schick @punkrocknpearls @ietss @itsmysticalmystery @revolution-starter @chibisgotovalhalla @the-a-word-2214 @fae-sedai @crazybunnyladysworld @funmadnessandbadassvikings @stupiddarkkside @aprilivar @msrawog

#ivar the boneless x reader #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar the boneless #ivar #νοσταλγία masterlist

129 notes · View notes

ao719 · 3 years

Text

Full Disclosure: The Beginning

Full Disclosure: The Beginning (Part 13)

Characters belong to Pixelberry

Summary: A look back at Charlotte during the social season and engagement tour.

A/N: This is the last chapter for this little series (and it’s loaded - I’m so sorry. I just didn’t want to split it up into 2 parts). Thank you to @burnsoslow for prereading! And also @sirbeepsalot for prereading and taking your machete to it! And thank you for all of your wonderful comments, kind words, and love for Charlotte. I’m going to miss writing her story, but I’m sure some shenanigan filled one shots will occasionally pop up.

Catch Up Here

Tags: @leelee10898 @hopefulmoonobject @zaffrenotes @cocomaxley @gardeningourmet @blackcoffee85 @gibbles82 @annekebbphotography @sweetest-marbear @indiacater @liamxs-world @classylady1234 @texaskitten30 @thequeenofcronuts @custaroonie @moneyfordiamonds @the-soot-sprite @ladyangel70 @kate-mckenzie @emichelle @dcbbw @burnsoslow @bbrandy2002 @sirbeepsalot @choiceslife @debramcg1106 @gnatbrain @ofpixelsandscribbles @caroldxnvxrs @openheart12 @rigatonireid @callmeellabella @superharriet @seriouslybadchoices @aestheticartsx @forthebrokenheartedthings @kingliam2019 @indiana-jr @bascmve01 @rainbowsinthestorm @badchoicesposts @darley1101 @blackcatkita @charlotteg234 @alyssalauren @txemrn @neotericthemis @queenrileyrose @emkay512 @marshmallowsaremyfavorite

Charlotte watched the clouds blur by as the plane prepared to land. She was anxious about returning to where her and Liam’s story began … and where it could very well end.

Liam had told her a few nights ago that he learned from Bastien that Constantine was the one behind the scandal. The news left her trying to wrap her mind around why the former King sabotaged her and Liam’s happiness. Now that the court was arriving in New York, they didn’t have much time left to clear her name, but they had a plan: they would confront Constantine themselves.

****

Charlotte stood in her hotel room after getting ready for the welcoming luncheon at the hotel’s rooftop restaurant. She was on edge, knowing she and Liam would finally be confronting Constantine. She wanted answers as to why he did what he did, and she wanted him to clear her name.

A soft knock on her door pulled her from her thoughts. She opened it to reveal Liam on the other side; he quickly stepped inside, wrapped his arms around her, and leaned down to kiss her as the door latched shut behind him. “Hi,” he whispered against her lips as they parted.

Charlotte closed her eyes and smiled; being in his arms at that moment was the first time since leaving Paris she felt some sense of calm. “Hey.”

Liam looked at her, brushing his hand across her cheek. “Are you alright?”

“A little nervous,” she admitted.

“Me too. But it’s going to be alright. We’re going to do this together. And just think … all of this will be over afterward.” Liam smiled at the thought of clearing Charlotte’s name, ending his farce of an engagement, and being able to be with her, the woman he loved.

“So, what’s the plan?”

“We’ll get to the luncheon; I’ll be sitting at the table with my father and Regina. I’ll ask him to speak privately. When we get up to step out of the room, you follow.” Charlotte nodded as she let out a breath; Liam cupped her face in his hands and kissed her forehead. “It’s going to be alright, love.”

****

The restaurant on the hotel roof was encased in windows, giving an uninterrupted view of New York City around them. Charlotte sat at her table with Maxwell, Bertrand, Olivia, and Drake, but her eyes were fixated on Liam and Constantine across the room. Liam kept glancing over, meeting her eyes, while he waited for the right time to pull his father aside.

“You okay, Brooks?”

“Huh?” Charlotte tore her eyes away from Liam.

“You seem distracted, Lady Charlotte,” Bertrand noted.

“Oh … I’m fine.” Charlotte and Liam hadn’t told the others Constantine was the one behind the scandal or of their plan to confront him. Liam thought it would be better to wait until they got some answers.

“How’s it feel to be back home?” Olivia asked.

“Honestly, it feels a bit weird. Don’t get me wrong, I missed the city, but my life feels so different now than it did when I left six months ago.”

“It feels like just yesterday when we met you in the bar,” Maxwell grinned, and Charlotte smiled at the memory.

“Remember when Liam first came into the bar while she was taking our order, and she hit the table and almost fell over?” Drake laughed. “And the menus went flying all over the place.”

“And then she fell behind the bar,” Maxwell chuckled.

Charlotte giggled. “I fell a lot that night.” Literally and figuratively, she thought.

“At least you haven’t changed that much, Brooks,” Drake laughed.

Just then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Liam and Constantine both rise from their seats. She glanced over, meeting Liam’s eyes; he gave her a subtle nod before heading for the doors that lead to the private outdoor terrace. “I’ll be right back,” she said as she stood.

“Where are you going?” Bertrand asked.

“To talk to Constantine.” Everyone’s brows furrowed. “I’ll explain later. Just … act normal.” Charlotte walked towards the terrace, careful not to draw any attention to herself. She slipped out of the door and could hear Liam and Constantine just around the corner, out of view from the others.

“So, what’s this urgent matter you needed to speak with me about, Liam? So urgent that you had to interrupt our meal.”

Liam could hear Charlotte behind him. “The matter is this.” He stepped aside, revealing her to his father.

“Lady Charlotte? What are you doing out here?”

Charlotte’s eyes narrowed as she stared at him. “I’m here to make you face what you did to me.”

“I-” Constantine broke off, coughing. Liam instinctively took a step toward him, but he held out his hand; he coughed again before looking back to Charlotte. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Really? I beg to differ.”

“Liam, honestly, what is the meaning-” Constantine began to cough again, clutching his throat. He doubled forward, trying to take a breath before he suddenly collapsed to the ground.

“Father!” Liam shouted, both he and Charlotte dropping to his side.

Just then, Regina appeared outside. Her eyes widened when she saw her husband on the ground. “Liam! What happened?”

“He started coughing and then collapsed! Call an ambulance!” Constantine’s complexion paled; he continued to violently cough and gasp for air as Regina quickly pulled out her phone.

****

Liam and Charlotte stood in a private waiting room at New York-Presbyterian Hospital, listening to the doctor explain that Constantine was resting comfortably. “The coughing fit was due to the cancer. I wish I could say it would get better, but …” Liam nodded in understanding at his words. “We’re giving him some oxygen and fluids. You may go see him.”

“Thank you, doctor.” Liam shook the man’s hand before he stepped out of the room.

“I’ll let you go see him alone.”

“No. You’re coming with me, and we’re going to talk to him.”

“Liam, it can wait. Really.”

Liam shook his head. “No, it can’t. Because, as much as I don’t want to say this -- despite the horrible things he’s done -- who’s to say that we’ll get another chance? He’s dying, Charlotte. And I refuse to allow him to take the truth to his grave.”

Charlotte took a breath and nodded as she let it out. “If you’re sure …”

Charlotte and Liam walked down the hall and stopped outside of Constantine’s door; they shared a look before entering the room hand-in-hand. Constantine lay in bed and opened his eyes when he heard them come in. His eyes widened upon seeing Charlotte with Liam. “Father …”

Liam stared at him, feeling a wave of conflicting emotions. He was angry for what his father had done to him and more furious for what he had put Charlotte through. But despite that anger, there was a sadness he felt seeing his father that way. He was pale and connected to wires, IV tubes, and oxygen.

For the first time in Liam’s life, the former King -- someone he once admired, respected, and thought was untouchable -- looked weak. And in more ways than one.

“What is she doing here?” Constantine rasped.

“Your Majesty, I know this isn’t the best time, but we need to talk to you,” Charlotte answered as they approached the bed.

“We know what you did,” Liam added, looking down at him. “You set Charlotte up.”

“Liam …”

“You owe me an explanation,” Liam spat. “You knew how I felt about her … you knew, and yet you sabotaged her. Do you realize what almost happened to her that night?” Constantine struggled to take in a deep breath. “And you dragged others in to do your dirty work. Lady Penelope. Bastien.” Constantine continued to stare at them, and Liam shook his head in frustration. “You really have nothing to say for yourself?”

“I just want to know why,” Charlotte said. “What did I do to make you do this to me? To your own son?” Constantine’s breathing became slightly shallower, and he looked away from them, fixating his eyes on the ground. “You know, after everything I’ve been through because of you, the least you could do is answer me!”

Liam noticed his father’s hand waving as he stared at the ground; he followed his gaze to his and Charlotte’s feet. “Charlotte,” Liam pulled her back.

Charlotte glanced down; her eyes widened, and she cupped her hand over her mouth. She had been standing on his oxygen tubing, temporarily cutting off his air supply. She then snapped her gaze back to Constantine when she heard him inhale a relieved breath, and she tried to push the laugh that she could feel coming back down. “Sorry!” she squeaked, then her expression turned. “Actually, you know what? No, I’m not! Ok … I am, but only a little bit sorry. Not like, fully sorry. I do need you breathing.” For now. Liam nudged her with his arm, and she cleared her throat. “You owe us answers.”

“Liam, now is not the time,” Constantine replied, his words dulled by the mask he was wearing.

Liam’s jaw tensed as his expression hardened. “We are not leaving until you give us an explanation for what you did.”

Constantine knew Liam wasn’t going to budge, and he let out a defeated breath. “Very well.” The former King shifted to sit up a bit more; he pulled the oxygen mask away from his face just enough so his words wouldn’t be muffled. “After I received the cancer diagnosis, and my health began to decline, I knew I would be unable to rule much longer.” Constantine glanced at Liam. “The last thing I ever wanted to do was place the burden of the crown on your shoulders so soon, Liam. But I didn’t have a choice. I wanted you to be prepared because these are difficult times for Cordonia. We’ve always had our share of enemies, but throughout my reign, I’ve seen them grow bolder. Once I realized I wasn’t going to be around much longer to help you face those threats, I had to secure Cordonia’s future.”

“By sending a man into my room? By having a photographer invade my privacy? And by letting the press tell lies about me while you sat by, knowing the truth the whole time?!”

“It was obvious from the night of the masquerade ball how Liam felt about you. I saw the way he looked at you. As the season progressed, those feelings for you did too. I knew given a choice, he would choose you to be his Queen.”

“Why would you sabotage that for me? Do you not want me to be happy?” Liam asked.

“Of course I want you to be happy, Liam, but this is bigger than just you and the feelings you have for some girl!” Constantine looked back at Charlotte. “I must admit, you impressed me. While your behavior and personality are rather … uncouth, you proved to be resilient and intelligent. And both Regina and I noticed how happy you made Liam … how he smiled and laughed more in your presence than he has in a very long time. But still … you couldn’t compete with Madeleine. She has been preparing to become Queen her entire life. You are an outsider. Yes, you could have learned … but inexperience is seen as weakness, and weakness, even in appearance -- especially in appearance -- is fatal. And you, Lady Charlotte, proved to be my son’s weakness. I’ve already lost so much to our kingdom’s enemies, and when I’m gone, there will be no one left to protect Liam from them.”

“Did you blackmail Olivia as well?” Charlotte asked.

“Yes. She is far too rash to be sitting on the throne, but I knew Liam would choose her over Madeleine, simply because of their friendship and her friendship with you as well. I had to eliminate her from the competition to ensure Madeleine was chosen.”

Charlotte shook her head in disgust. “My name and reputation have been ruined. You tried to tear me away from Liam and my friends … but that isn’t even the worst part. You would have forced your son to marry a woman he doesn’t love just because you think you get to decide what’s best for not only Cordonia but for him. And if we hadn’t uncovered the truth, Liam would have had to live with that for the rest of his life!”

“It was my duty as Cordonia’s King!”

“You have a duty as his father!” Charlotte snapped back.

“And you’re not King! Not anymore!” Liam added.

Constantine looked at him, surprised by the tone in his son’s voice. “Liam, please … I know I’ve hurt you, but this is the price of wearing the crown. I couldn’t afford to put your happiness, or Lady Charlotte’s, above our people’s future. And one day you will come to understand when you have to make similar sacrifices of your own and-”

Liam squared his shoulders and held up his hand, cutting his father off. “No.” Constantine’s brows raised in surprise. “You sit there and act as though you didn’t have a choice. But you decided what you were willing to do, what you were willing to sacrifice. What kind of King -- what kind of father -- you wanted to be. So here is mine. I love Charlotte. And had you not interfered that night, I would have asked her to marry me. I would be on this tour with her right now, actually enjoying myself. I may not have been able to stop you from hurting her, but I can still try to make this right. As King of Cordonia, I am placing Charlotte under my protection. I will help her right the wrongs that have been done to her by you. And I am commanding you, as your monarch, to help us in any way that you can.”

Constantine had never seen his son with a more fierce look in his eyes, nor had he heard him speak with such promise. He let out a breath, knowing he wasn’t going to change his mind but also that he wasn’t going to be able to help. “Very well.”

Charlotte eyed him suspiciously, not trusting how quickly he agreed. “How do I know that I can trust you after what you’ve already done to me?”

“My word is all I have to offer, Lady Charlotte. But unfortunately, I’m afraid I won’t be much help.”

“What does that mean?” Liam asked.

“I can’t come forward to clear Lady Charlotte’s name myself.”

“Why the fuck not?” Charlotte bit out, ignoring the taken aback expression on the former King’s face at her language.

“Admitting my involvement would shake the Cordonian people’s faith in their rulers. Past and present. So while you may not care what they think of me, be aware that they will question Liam, his motives, and how far he would be willing to go, as I have, to protect his throne. So unless you want that to happen …”

“Enough,” Liam growled, knowing his father was trying to intimidate Charlotte with his words.

“Is he right?” she asked, looking at Liam.

“Yes, it could happen, but I don’t care about that, Charlotte. I want your name cleared. I don’t care what happens to my reputation because of it.”

“And you’ve just driven my point home that she is your weakness,” Constantine said; Liam snapped his gaze over, glowering at him.

Charlotte shook her head, feeling frustrated. As much as she wanted her name cleared, she wouldn’t do it at Liam’s expense. “No … I can’t do that to you, Liam.”

“Charlotte-”

“One of us being ruined is enough. I won’t take you down with me. We have to find another way.”

“The only way is to find Lord Tariq. You need to get him to come forward and make a statement admitting that nothing happened that night. But even I don’t know his whereabouts. I encouraged him to leave in light of his … disgrace. I’ve had no contact with him since.”

“Fucking perfect,” Charlotte scoffed.

Liam took her hand in his. “We’ll figure it out.” Just then, the doctor knocked on the door, asking to come in to assess Constantine. “We’ll leave you to it. I’ll be in touch if I need anything.”

“Liam … I am sorry …”

“I don’t accept your apology.” With that, Liam turned and led Charlotte from the room. As they walked down the hall, Liam pulled her back into the private waiting room they were in before; he shut and locked the door behind him. “Are you alright?”

“Are you?”

“Don’t worry about me, Charlotte. I want to know how you’re doing.”

“I’m … I don’t know!” Charlotte threw her hands up in frustration. “I mean … what the hell are we supposed to do now? He’s saying he can’t come forward, and we have to find a man that hasn’t been seen in months!”

“I told you I didn’t care what would happen if my father came forward. Let him do it! Let him face what he did to you.”

“I care, Liam! I am not about to let you go down for what your father did to me. No. It’s not an option.”

“Then we find Tariq.”

“How?”

“I … honestly, I’m not sure.” Charlotte looked down, shaking her head; Liam stepped forward and cupped her face in his hands, forcing her to look back at him. “But we’ll figure it out.” He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. “We will.” He whispered the promise against her lips before kissing her again.

*******

The following morning, Charlotte stepped out of the shower in her hotel room. She had the day free before she would need to attend the UN Gala that evening. She wanted to work on locating Tariq, but there wasn’t much they could do until they learned of his whereabouts. They had told Drake, Olivia, and Maxwell about their talk with Constantine, but even they were unsure how they were going to find Tariq.

Stepping out of the bathroom, Charlotte looked at her phone on the nightstand, seeing a voicemail alert from an unknown number. She hit play before bringing it to her ear.

“Lady Charlotte, it’s Countess Madeleine. I have an absolutely vital task I need for you to complete. I simply have no time to pick up mine and Liam’s wedding bands before our return to Cordonia. I must insist that you be the one to do it as a thanks to me for allowing you to remain present on this tour and in Liam’s life. I trust you will retrieve them and bring them to me later.”

Rage coursed through Charlotte’s veins as she pulled the phone away from her ear. “Who the fuck does she think she is?” She clenched her hand into a fist before hurling her phone across the room.

****

Charlotte took the elevator to the first floor, practically stomping through the lobby as she mumbled obscenities under her breath. “Whoa, where ya going, Brooks?” Drake asked, coming back from breakfast with Maxwell.

“Out!” she answered before pushing her way through the revolving door.

Drake followed, knowing that she was pissed off. He knew Liam wouldn’t want him to let her go off alone, at least not without figuring out what was bothering her. He quickly caught up to her on the sidewalk. “You going to tell me what’s wrong? And where you’re off to so heated?”

“Madeleine sent me on an errand to pick up her and Liam’s goddamn wedding bands,” she spat.

“Wait, what?” Drake asked incredulously. “You realize you could have told her no, right?”

“Yes, so she could cry to whoever will listen about how awful I am. Sure!” As much as Charlotte hated it, she found herself being much more cautious with so little time left to clear her name. She was on edge, picking and choosing her battles, not wanting to get worked up over trivial things when something much bigger was at stake.

“Alright, well, I’ll come with you. You won’t even have to look at the rings.”

“Fuck her and her stupid rings. They’re probably ugly and gaudy as hell, just like her face!”

****

Charlotte stood in the jewelry store with her arms folded across her chest as she waited impatiently for the jeweler to come back from the back where he was grabbing the rings. She just wanted to get them, bring them back to the hotel, and try and forget that she was ever asked to do this.

“Here you are, miss.” The jeweler returned, carrying two black velvet boxes. “Let’s take a look.”

“No need for that.” Charlotte would be lying if she said she wasn’t a bit curious, but at the same time, she didn’t want to see the rings, one that Madeleine would wear, one that Liam would wear, tethering them together. Forever.

“I’m sure they look fine,” Drake said. “Just bag them up.” The jeweler offered a curious look before placing them in a bag and handing it to Drake. “Thanks.”

Drake guided Charlotte out of the jewelry store. “You ok?”

“Peachy.”

Charlotte’s eyes kept glancing down at the bag Drake was carrying. He noticed. “You’re a little curious as to how gaudy they look, aren’t you?”

“No!” Charlotte scoffed. “Ok … maybe a little.”

Drake reached in the bag, blindly pulling out one of the boxes. He handed it to Charlotte. “Let’s see.” Charlotte took the box and opened it; it was Liam’s. It was a thick, plain gold band. “Well, that’s kind of bland. It’s very Liam.” Drake reached inside the bag and pulled out the other box, handing it to Charlotte. “How’s hers look?”

Charlotte held Liam’s and opened the other box. She scrunched up her nose. It was a thinner gold band with diamonds spaced out around its entirety, but nothing about it was appealing. “I thought she would have better taste than this.”

“It looks like a vending machine ring,” Drake chuckled. His eyes widened with a smirk when Charlotte plucked it from its holding spot and slid the ring onto her finger. She held her hand out to get a better look at it. “Yeah, you could do better.”

“I’ll say. Well, knowing she’s going to walk around with this ugly thing on her finger makes me feel a little better.”

“She’s only going to walk around with it if she makes it down the aisle, Brooks. We’re not going to let that happen.”

“I’m trying not to get my hopes up too high, Drake.” She plucked Liam’s ring from the box and handed it to him. “Here.”

“Aw, are you proposing, Brooks? Sorry, you’re not my type.”

“I’m blonde.”

“Too clumsy, though.” He took the ring and put it on his finger. “This feels weird as hell.”

Drake immediately removed the ring and handed it back to her. Charlotte hooked it onto the end of her finger while she slid Madeleine’s off. Suddenly, Charlotte stepped in a dip in the sidewalk, twisting her ankle, and her body lurched forward onto the hard concrete.

Both rings flew out of her hands.

Charlotte’s eyes were wide, watching as the rings went airborne, feeling like it was happening in slow motion. They both landed with a bounce and rolled … right into a sewer drain.

“Ohhhhhh, noooo!” Charlotte gasped.

“Brooks! Are you alright?”

“Drake! The rings! They … FUCK!” Charlotte shouted as passersby glanced down at where she was still lying on the sidewalk. She scrambled to her feet and rushed to the sewer drain where the rings had disappeared. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Oh my God!”

“Honestly … serves her right for asking you to get them,” Drake said calmly as he crouched down next to her. “Just think … there’s going to be some blinged-out rats strutting around New York.” He heard a sniffle, and his head snapped over. “Are you crying?”

“This is terrible, Drake! She’s going to say I did this on purpose! And as hideous as her ring was, it probably cost a fortune because Madeleine is nothing if not materialistic!” she wailed. She bowed her head, covering her face with her hands.

“Brooks, calm down. The rings can be replaced. Liam lives in a literal palace. That ring was probably pocket change to him. And Madeleine can most definitely afford another ring. It was an accident.”

“I need to call Liam,” she cried as her breath hitched. She pulled out her phone and dialed Liam’s.

“Hello, love. I was just thinking about-”

“Liam! The rings -- in the drain! They flew -- and now the rats have them!” she cried.

“Rings? Rats? Charlotte, what the hell are you talking about?” Drake took the phone from Charlotte, explaining to Liam what had happened. “Wait … Madeleine asked Charlotte to go pick up the rings?”

“Yeah, I figured that would be the only thing you’d be upset about. But Brooks … well, she is here kneeling in front of a sewer drain crying, and we’re getting some pretty strange looks, even for NYC.”

“Just get her back to the hotel. I’ll deal with Madeleine.”

Drake hung up the phone and tossed it into the now empty bag he was holding onto. “Come on.” He pulled Charlotte to stand. “Stop crying, Brooks. He’s not mad.” He knew the rings weren’t the real reason she was crying. It was everything else that was happening since her and Liam’s conversation with Constantine. The rings were just what set off the waterworks. He threw his arm around her shoulders and pulled her away from the sewer drain, guiding her back towards the hotel. “You’d make a terrible ring-bearer.”

“Shut up,” she sniffled.

****

That evening, Liam stood on the balcony of his room, nursing a scotch while he waited to leave for the UN Gala. His mind went through the events of the day before. He had told Charlotte they would find Tariq, but he honestly wasn’t sure how. Tariq hadn’t been seen in three months, but he made a promise to her, and he had every intention of keeping it. He had two days and needed a plan.

Liam still wanted to let his father answer for what he had done, regardless of what it would do to him. But Charlotte was entirely against the idea. She said she wouldn’t allow him to sacrifice his reign and reputation, and that was the end of it.

Liam tossed back the rest of his drink before heading inside. Just as he grabbed his suit jacket, a knock came on his door. He walked over and opened it, narrowing his eyes at his visitor. “What the hell do you want?”

“Sir,” Bastien bowed. “May I?”

Liam hesitated for a moment before stepping aside to let him in. “Whatever you’re here to say, say it, then get the hell out.” Liam turned to face Bastien; his eyes landed on his now-healing split lip, a reminder of what happened in Paris. “Well? What do you want?”

“Sir, I spoke with your father earlier after he called me to his room to reprimand me for telling you I was working for him. He told me about your conversation …”

“Ok? Is that all?”

“No. After what happened in Paris … I began to look for Tariq myself.”

Liam perked up at his words. “So you know where he is?”

“I’m still waiting on a few calls, but I wanted to come by and offer my assistance to you again. You don’t have to accept it, and regardless of what you decide, I will turn over anything I find, but … I just … it’s the least that I could do for both of you.”

Liam saw the guilt in his eyes, and he felt his anger begin to let up. “Look … I’ll accept your offer to help Charlotte clear her name. But it’s going to take some time for me to trust you again, Bastien. You’ll need to earn it, and it’s not going to be easy. Not after what you did.”

“I understand, sir.”

Liam eyed him for a moment before nodding. “What have you found?”

****

Charlotte stood in the ballroom at the UN Gala with Drake and Maxwell. Liam had messaged her just before she arrived to tell her he needed to speak with her about Tariq. The gala was almost over, and she had yet to talk to him. Madeleine -- when she wasn’t shooting Charlotte dirty looks for what she assumed was over the ring debacle -- had latched onto him and pulled him around the room all night to speak with different dignitaries and guests.

While standing at the bar to get a drink, Charlotte felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned to see Liam, offering him a smile. “Hi.”

“Hello.” He was fighting himself not to wrap his arms around her. “I’m so sorry I haven’t been able to get away until now.”

“It’s okay. What did you need to tell me?”

“Not here.” Liam glanced around the room. “Now that I’m free, I had a thought of sneaking out, getting some fresh air. Would you like to join me?”

“Like you even have to ask,” Charlotte chuckled.

Liam smiled. “I’ll slip out the back entrance and meet you outside.” Charlotte nodded, and Liam turned, casually making his way through the crowd to the back door.

Charlotte followed, making sure not to draw suspicion to herself. She slipped into the stairwell and made her way down the steps. She came to another door at the bottom and pushed it open, stepping into a small alleyway at the side of the building. She yelped when a pair of arms wrapped around her. She turned in Liam’s arms, and he leaned down, capturing her lips in his as he backed her against the brick wall.

“Have I told you how stunning you look tonight?” Liam whispered; Charlotte chuckled and shook her head. “You’re breathtaking,” he said before kissing her again. Liam moved his lips to her neck, and Charlotte softly moaned, feeling his teeth and tongue trail along her skin.

“Are we going to talk? Because if not, I have some really amazing ideas of how we could waste time in this alley.”

Liam laughed against her neck. “Care to share with the class?”

“Well,” Charlotte began, “one of them involves you hiking the skirt of this gown up and taking me right here, against this wall.” Charlotte laughed as Liam let out a low growl; he found her lips again, kissing her deeply before he reluctantly drew back. “So what did you want to tell me?” she asked. He began to explain how Bastien stopped by his room earlier, offering to help find Tariq, and that he took him up on the said offer. “Did he tell you what he found?”

“He knows that Tariq arrived at the airport the morning after the jamboree and flew to the States. He was waiting for a call to find his trail from there.”

“Does he have family here?” Liam shook his head. “Well … at least it’s something, I guess. It’s better than nothing.”

Liam watched Charlotte glance down at their intertwined hands. “What is it, love?”

“We only have two days,” she whispered. “What if … what if we don’t-” Liam’s lips cut off Charlotte; he kissed her slow and deep, making her head fuzzy and her knees weak.

“Don’t say it,” he whispered against her lips. “We can’t think like that, okay?” Charlotte nodded. She was still thinking about it, though. How could she not? Sure, they had something to go on, but that was merely a crumb at the moment. How fast could Bastien find what they needed?

Suddenly, the door they had snuck out of burst open, causing Liam and Charlotte to jump apart. Maxwell, Drake, and Bastien came barreling out. “There you are!” Drake called out as the three of them rushed over.

“What’s going on?” Liam asked.

“He went to LA, sir,” Bastien answered. “I have an address to the apartment building he was staying at.”

“Get the-”

“The jet’s already being prepared, sir.”

Liam and Charlotte’s expressions flickered with hope as they looked at one another. “Well, come on, kiss goodbye. We got a flight to catch, Brooks,” Drake chuckled.

“We’re leaving now?”

“Red eye, baby!” Maxwell grinned. “It’s a six-hour flight. We need to get there and back before the shower tomorrow evening. I’ll grab you some clothes, and you can change on the plane.” Charlotte nodded and pulled her room key from her clutch, handing it to Maxwell. “Meet us out front in a few.”

The three of them rushed back inside, and Charlotte faced Liam. “That was fast.” Liam grinned and leaned down to kiss her again, feeling the excitement course through him. “This is really it? Do you think he’s still there, in LA?”

“I’m hoping so, love. But yes … I think this is it.” They smiled at one another before Liam kissed her once more. They stayed locked in that kiss for a few blissful moments before Liam drew back. “You should head out front.” He cupped her face in his hands and smiled. “I love you, Charlotte.”

“I love you too.”

*******

After the overnight flight on the royal jet, Charlotte, Maxwell, and Drake had landed in LA. They had left New York at midnight, arriving at LAX at 3 am. They stayed on the jet in an attempt to get some sleep while they waited for a decent hour to look for Tariq.

Charlotte couldn’t sleep, however. She was feeling a wave of emotions. She was anxious, nervous, excited, and scared all at the same time. This was her last chance to fix this. The court would be heading back to Cordonia tomorrow, and Liam would be making the final preparations for his wedding to Madeleine unless Charlotte showed up with Tariq in tow to clear her name. Everything was at stake.

Maxwell had woken Charlotte up at 8 am; the three of them changed and went to grab breakfast before heading to the address Bastien had given them, where he learned Tariq was staying. “Ready?” Drake asked as they got out of the car.

Charlotte looked up at the building and let out a breath. “Yeah.” They entered the building and went to the elevator. Once on the ninth floor, Charlotte stepped off the elevator with Drake and Maxwell following behind her. Her heart was racing as she quickly made her way down the hall, scanning the numbers on the outside of the doors until she stopped in front of one. “This is it …” Her heart was now pounding as she raised her hand and tapped her knuckles to the wood.

A few moments later, a man opened the door; it wasn’t Tariq. “Hi. Can I help you?”

“Uh, hello,” Charlotte smiled tentatively. “Is … is Tariq here?”

“No, he’s not.”

“Oh, sorry. I may have the wrong-”

“No, he was here. This is my apartment; he was subletting from me while I was in Europe.”

Charlotte could feel the hope slowly beginning to dwindle. “Do … do you know where he is, by chance?” she asked.

“I don’t, I’m sorry. I got back about three weeks ago, and he left. I haven’t seen him since. He didn’t even leave a forwarding address for his mail.”

That sliver of hope she had been clinging to like a lifeboat in a storm was gone at his words. “Oh … okay. Thank you …”

Drake and Maxwell shared a worried look. They could hear the defeat in Charlotte’s voice, and both wondered the same thing: Now what?

****

Back on the royal jet, Charlotte settled into her seat. She hadn’t spoken a word since they had left the apartment complex. If she opened her mouth to talk, she wasn’t going to get out more than a few words before the tears would start, and she was trying like hell to keep herself together.

Charlotte stared out the window as the jet rolled down the runway and lifted into the air. Everything seemed to be crashing down on her at that moment. This was her last chance to find Tariq before it was too late. She had failed. And now she had a tough decision to make. The mere thought of it made her heart feel as though it was being ripped apart. As her mind became jumbled, she could feel the lump forming in her throat; the clouds outside of her window became blurred by the tears that began to well in her eyes.

“How are you holding up, Brooks?” Drake asked as he sat next to her. Charlotte didn’t respond; she continued staring out the window with her knuckles pressed against her lips. Drake decided to try and make small talk, although he was sure it wasn’t going to help. “I know it’s easier said than done, but try not to worry. We’ll talk to Liam when we get back and figure out what our next steps are.” He watched her subtly shake her head, and he knew exactly what she was thinking: What’s the point? Drake sighed, wishing she would say something. “Charlotte …”

At the use of her first name from him for the first time since her first night in Cordonia, Charlotte slowly turned her head and looked at Drake; the sadness in her eyes was palpable. She covered her face with her hands, and Drake wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her to his chest as he heaved a sigh.

She completely broke down.

“Brooks,” Drake whispered, rubbing her arm. He glanced up when Maxwell approached, and they shared a look before Maxwell knelt down in front of Charlotte’s seat. They watched her cry, knowing there was nothing they could do to make this better or right for her at that moment.

****

Drake, Charlotte, and Maxwell arrived back in New York with just enough time to get back to the hotel to change and make it down to the wedding shower.

Charlotte entered her room, feeling completely drained. She stared at the dress hanging on the door that she was supposed to wear to the wedding shower, and she let out a slow breath. She decided at that moment that she wasn’t going. She just didn’t have it in her to attend.

It would only make things more difficult.

A few moments later, a knock came on her door, and she turned to open it; Drake and Maxwell stood on the other side, both dressed for the shower and adjusting their clothing. “You’re not dressed,” Maxwell said as he looked at her.

“I’m not going to go. I think … I think it would be for the best. I need to get some air … try to clear my head.”

“Are you sure?” Drake asked.

“Yes. I’m just going to go for a walk. If Liam asks … you can tell him I’ll be in Central Park …”

****

After calling an old friend to make some arrangements for herself, Charlotte had left the hotel and walked through the city before making her way down to Central Park. She stepped onto Gapstow Bridge and looked down at the water below, seeing in it the reflection of the city behind her. She wasn’t there 10 minutes before she heard her name being called; she glanced over to see Liam making his way towards her on the bridge.

“Hi,” she said quietly as he approached. Liam immediately wrapped his arms around her, and she sank into his warm embrace.

When Drake and Maxwell arrived at the shower, they went straight to Liam to tell him what had happened in L.A. Liam tried to hide the heartbreak in his eyes when they told him that Tariq wasn’t there and how upset Charlotte had been on the plane. When they told him she had gone to Central Park, he snuck out of the hotel within minutes. He didn’t care if anyone was looking for him. Charlotte needed him.

“I’m sorry, Charlotte,” Liam whispered against her hair before kissing the top of her head. They drew back, and he cupped her face in his hands. “Are you okay?”

“I just feel … defeated and drained.”

Liam sighed as he leaned down and kissed her forehead. “I know it’s disheartening.”

“I’m sorry … about not coming tonight, I just …” Charlotte trailed off as she let out a breath.

“I know. I understand …” He moved to the railing and leaned against it.

“I just feel so lost, and I’m not sure what else there is we can do. He vanished. No one knows where he is …”

“I know,” Liam sighed. “We leave early tomorrow morning. Once we get back to Cordonia, we’ll figure everything out.”

“Liam, I …”

Charlotte swore she felt her heart stop as she cast her gaze downward, fighting back the tears that were already threatening to form over what she was about to tell him. It was a decision she’d spent the last three months coming to: what she was going to do should they not clear her name. Knowing what Liam was going to have to do when he returned to Cordonia left her with no other choice but to figure out her next steps.

Liam looked over at her. “What is it, love?”

“I … Liam, I’m … I’m not going back.”

Liam’s heart started to race, and he could feel the color drain from his face as he stared at her with his brows knitted in confusion. “What?” Charlotte stared at him, finding this conversation even harder to have than she already knew it would be. “What do you mean you’re not going back?”

“I mean … I’m staying here … in New York. I’m not going back to Cordonia with you.”

Liam shook his head vehemently. “Charlotte, no.” In one long stride, he was standing in front of her again. He slid his thumb under her chin, tilting her face up to his. When she met his gaze, a tear trickled from the corner of her eye; Liam leaned down to kiss her cheek, catching the briny tear on his lips. “I’m going to figure this out,” he whispered. “I’m going to find him. I’m going to make him come forward, and we’re going to clear your name and be together.”

Charlotte shook her head, her lip trembling as she spoke. “Not in time. I can’t … I can’t watch you parade around with her anymore. And I can’t go back … and watch you marry her.”

“Please, Charlotte, please give me more time. I promise you, I’m going to find him.”

“I can’t go back on a promise that you might someday find him.”

“But we’ve come this far … I just … I just need a little more time! Please … give me more time.”

The pleading look in his eyes and voice was slowly breaking her. “I need you to try and understand, Liam … and not make this harder than it already is.”

“Charlotte … you can’t give up …” Liam’s voice trembled. “We can’t give up.”

“I don’t want to give up … and I feel weak for doing it, because I love you, Liam. I love you so much … and you’re not supposed to give up on the people you love,” she spoke; her voice broke and rose an octave with each word as she tried and failed to fight back her emotions. “But I think it’s clear now that you were only mine to love … never mine to keep. And as much as it’s going to break me … I have to walk away … I have to let you go, Liam …”

Liam let out a shuddered breath as he looked away from her, attempting to blink back the tears, but like her, he failed to keep himself together. They came anyway. He didn’t want her to stay there. He didn’t want to give up on clearing her name or on them being together. He didn’t want to let her go or for her to let him go. But he knew it would be selfish of him to ask any more of her. Charlotte had been through enough over the past six months; first the Social Season and then the hell of the Engagement Tour. It had been hard on him, and he knew that whatever he felt over everything that happened, her feelings were beyond that. He couldn’t ask her to return with him on a possibility. She needed -- she deserved -- absolute certainty. He couldn’t put her through any more heartache.

No, Liam didn’t want to let Charlotte go … but he loved her enough to do it because he knew that she deserved better than him. She deserved a chance at a happy future, even if that meant that he wasn’t a part of it.

“Please … please don’t think this is a reflection on you, Liam. It’s not. I know that you tried. We tried. I know that you never meant for any of this, and it’s not your fault. I know who’s to blame … and it’s not-”

Charlotte was cut off as Liam cupped her face in his hands and leaned down, capturing her lips. They both tasted the salt from their tears. And they both felt their own hearts shatter just a bit more, knowing this was goodbye.

They parted, and Liam rested his forehead against hers. “I’m sorry,” he whispered as his breath hitched in his throat. “I’m so sorry that I failed you, Charlotte. I’m sorry that I couldn’t protect you … and that I couldn’t be the person you deserve …”

“Stop,” Charlotte cried. “You’re more than I deserve … and you didn’t fail me, Liam. I got to love you … and that means everything to me.”

Liam’s brows furrowed as he pressed his lips to hers once more. When he pulled back, he lifted his head and kissed her forehead, letting his lips linger there for a moment. Charlotte felt a tear fall from his cheek onto her own, and she squeezed her eyes shut as he wrapped his arms around her.

This was goodbye. And they weren’t just saying goodbye to each other; it was so much more than that. It was goodbye to the happiness and laughter they brought to one another. It was goodbye to their inside jokes and the ones they never got to make. It was goodbye to all of the what-ifs and plans they had made. They were turning this page, knowing they wouldn’t be in each other’s next chapter.

It fucking hurt.

After a while, Charlotte opened her eyes, still in Liam’s arms, as her tears continued to fall. “I want you … to try and be happy, Liam … because you deserve that. You deserve to be happy.”

Liam subtly shook his head as he looked up at the night sky. How the hell was he supposed to be happy with anyone but her? He wouldn’t be. Not ever. “You deserve that too …” he whispered. “Where … where are you going to go? What are you going to do?”

“I made some arrangements for now. But you don’t need to worry about me … I’ll be okay.” Hopefully. Maybe, someday. Liam’s arms tightened around her. After a long, tearful embrace, Charlotte finally stepped back and wiped her cheeks. “I, uh … I should probably go.”

If she didn’t go now, she wasn’t going to be able to walk away from him. Charlotte swore she could feel her heart break in two as she looked at him; the pain, hurt, and longing in his eyes matched that of her own. She reached up and pulled Liam down, giving him one last powerful kiss, pouring everything she was feeling into it as his arms wrapped tightly around her. They slowly parted, and she stepped back, looking up at him.

It took her a moment to utter the words, knowing once she did, that was it. It was over. This was by far the hardest thing she ever had to do. And the worst part of it all was standing there, watching his heart break as he tried to hold onto the shattered pieces of hers.

Finally, she took a breath and held it as she forced herself to say the words. “Goodbye, Liam.”

Liam looked down, unable to look her in her eyes as he replied, “Goodbye, Charlotte.” He heard her turn and listened to her footsteps slowly fade away. He glanced up a moment later, chewing the inside of his cheek, feeling more tears fall as he watched her disappear.

They parted with nothing but the memories and the solace that maybe one day their paths might cross again.

*******

•Four Months Later•

Charlotte sat in the living room of her apartment, staring at the television; the movie If Only was playing on Netflix. She had a plethora of snacks next to her on the sofa and a container of ice cream in her lap as she scowled at the screen. Why do I even watch these? It is such a load of crap.

The sound of her phone ringing pulled her from her scathing thoughts. She reached over, seeing her friend Sonia’s name flashing across the screen; she hit the speaker button before turning her attention back to the television. “Yello?”

“Hey, loser! Me and some of the girls are going out. Wanna come?”

“Oh, see, I’d love to, but I can’t. I have a date with sweatpants, Netflix, and a container of Chunky Monkey.”

“That sounds absolutely pitiful.”

“It really is,” Charlotte let out a sigh.

Sonia could hear the television in the background. “Whatcha watching?”

“If Only.”

“A sappy romance movie in your state?”

“My state is just fine, thank you very fucking much. Oh, here comes this part …”

“I have to tell you this, and you need to hear it. I loved you since I met you, but I wouldn't allow myself to truly feel it until today. I was always thinking ahead, making decisions soaked with fear. Today, because of you … what I learned from you, every choice I made was different, and my life has completely changed … and I've learned that if you do that, then you're living your life fully … it doesn't matter if you have five minutes or 50 years. If not for today, if not for you, I would never have known love at all. So thank you for being the person who taught me to love … and to be loved.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up!” Charlotte hollered, grabbing a handful of chocolate chip cookies and throwing them at the screen. She spooned a large portion of ice cream into her mouth as her eyes, stinging with tears, stayed locked on the movie.

Sonia chuckled, “And you say your state is fine ...”

“Hush.”

“You need to find an outlet for this pent-up anger and sadness. You know what you need? You need to get laid! It’s been months! Which is why you should come out with us tonight! We’ll find you a nice, suitable bachelor to take you home and just dick you down real good!”

Charlotte rolled her eyes. “I don’t need to be dicked down, Sonia.”

“Okay, well … write it out then.”

“Huh?”

“You’re a writer! You write something, get everything you’re feeling out. Then you toss it away. Hopefully, those pent-up thoughts and feelings will go with it.”

“Write what, though?”

“Whatever your sad little broken heart desires. A book. An article. A letter to yourself … to him. Whatever you feel like having it be. It’s not like it will ever see the light of day. You’re supposed to throw it away with all those feelings when you’re finished.”

“Look at you being all therapeutic.”

“Well, take what you will from it. I did have four glasses of wine already,” Sonia chuckled. “Okay, I’m heading out. I’ll be at Kismet if you change your mind!”

Charlotte ended the call and stared back at the television. She scowled again. Watching a movie about fate, destiny, and what-ifs was probably not the best idea. She had plenty of what-ifs, should-haves, and could-have-beens of her own.

In the four months since deciding to stay in New York, Charlotte had gone through what she assumed were the typical stages of a bad breakup … if that’s what she could even call what happened between her and Liam. She went with it.

First, she was sad. Just fucking miserable all the goddamn time. She cried a lot. Her heart physically hurt, something she didn’t even know was possible. She felt constant regret. She questioned if she made the right choice to stay behind and not to fight harder. But it was too late now. What was done was done.

And she missed Liam.

To create a distraction for herself, determined not to be a walking blubbering mess the rest of her life, Charlotte re-enrolled in school. She didn’t need but a few credits to finish; one semester and she would be done. Once school started, her sheer heartache turned to gloom. She was the walking, human version of Eeyore. That ass. She was still sad, but the tears had stopped. Mostly.

And she still missed Liam.

With her graduation on the horizon, Charlotte started interning at the Herald. Her gloom then turned to this. Charlotte had turned into a slightly angry, bitter, and salty bitch who ate her feelings in the form of various sweets and Ben & Jerry’s ice cream, generally paired with a few full-to-the-brim glasses of wine. She wasn’t angry with Liam, just the situation. She was absolutely angry with Constantine and Tariq, however, wishing them both very graphic and detailed harm inside her head.

And … she still missed Liam.

Charlotte let out a breath as her eyes settled on her laptop sitting on her coffee table; Sonia’s suggestion rang in her head. Write it out. She moved the half-eaten container of Chunky Monkey off her lap and grabbed the laptop, opening it up and going to a blank document.

The cursor blinked, taunting her for a good 30 minutes as she struggled to decide what to write. She had so much that she wanted to get out, thinking about everything that happened from the moment she stepped foot in Cordonia. She was the only one who came out of that experience damaged, even though she did absolutely nothing wrong. Her name and reputation were still tarnished. And the longer she let that sit with her over the months, the angrier she became. She had wanted to blow the lid off the whole story on more than one occasion, wanting to let everyone know who was really to blame, but thought better of it each time the idea arose. It wouldn’t help anyone. Not her. Not Liam. And it certainly wasn’t going to bring them back together.

Suddenly, that same idea struck her again. She could write that out. Her side. She could merely pretend to blow the lid off the story by writing her personal experience. She wasn’t sure it would release everything she was feeling, but it was worth a shot. She was just going to toss it when she was done anyway, just like Sonia said.

It would never see the light of day.

Charlotte’s fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment before she finally began typing. After a few moments, she reached over and grabbed the carton of ice cream, scooping another spoonful into her mouth as she read over what she had already typed out:

A nobility social season refers to the traditional annual period when it is customary for members of a social elite society to hold balls, dinner parties, and charity events. The social season has always played a role in the political life of the countries that host such events. But the season also provides an opportunity for once of age women to be formally introduced and presented before the men of nobility. Take, as an example, the small country of Cordonia that lies in the Mediterranean.

I was fortunate enough to be asked to travel to Cordonia to compete for a Prince’s hand during his social season.

Or so I thought …

**********************

If you want to see Charlotte and Liam get their happy ending, you can read it in the original Full Disclosure story.

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

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yee-fxcking-haw · 3 years

Text

•The Grey Area•

Part One: •Fallen Angel•

Summary: You're Enji Todoroki's prized possession, his Angel. Given this name because of your pure, white wings. Your quirk is truly unique, until you come face to face with Enji's new friend and hit man, Hawks. His presence shakes you, his abilities intimidate you. The roll he plays in your life? That's up in the air.

Pairing: Keigo Takami x FemReader, Endeavor x FemReader

Warnings: Violence, mentions of death, descriptions of death, sexual themes and implications, mentions of harassment, (Eventual smut, as well as other warnings- they will be at the beginning of each chapter.)

Word Count: 4,471

A/N: I'm gonna write this shit til I get sick of writing it. Not to suck my own dick but I am in love with this story idea so we're just gonna keep rolling til it feels right to end it lmao.

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Silk may be the worst material ever invented. It slips and slides and hides absolutely nothing. Your lungs deflate as you slide your hands down the front of the horrid thing you've been asked to wear. It was laid out on your bed for you, with a small note that said, "Get dolled up for me." It isn't signed, it doesn't need to be.

It's a note from the man that more or less owns you. He likes to say he takes care of you, you like to say he holds your leash. At the end of the day, coming to him was what you needed to do to survive, so you did it. You shake the thoughts of how you came to be here from your head, ignoring the dreadful remnants of a time when you were desperate enough to turn to him for protection.

Enji Todoroki lives one of the most complex double lives in existence. He’s a magnificent hero, topping the charts and staying there. He saves lives, lets his flames shine bright, he's a beacon of hope.

He’s also an incredibly feared underground crime lord. When the flames are off, he's no longer heroic, he's no longer honorable. He's bloodthirsty, his friends are few and his enemies are many.

Keeping these two realms separate is quite the task, but he pulls it off with his vast wealth and by calling in the seemingly limitless favors from those he’s helped out of sticky situations.

The supposedly heroic faces you’ve seen slinking around his estate were jarring at first. The mighty do indeed fall, and they tumble right into his lap. They’re always after something, a loan, various narcotics, maybe some illegal steroids to increase their performances.

Enji loves a bargain, he loves to string those poor saps along until they’re too confused to agree to anything that’s reasonable. It’s horribly entertaining, as backwards as it all is, you’ve grown fond of the way he befuddles every hopeless individual that finds themselves desperate enough to seek out his help.

Usually, you’re there by his side. You block out the conversation as you serve drinks, laugh at the bad jokes, and most of all, look pretty. Your job is to be his greatest manipulation tactic. Give the suckers something to drool at, get them drunk, stay out of the way so Enji can lock in whatever deal he’s making.

You ruffle your hair, straighten your dress, and take one final glance in your mirror.

There’s a familiar tightness in your chest when you acknowledge the real reason you’re used as something to gawk at.

Your wings.

Two broad, unruly, attention grabbing, white wings emerging from your shoulder blades. Little speckles of brown and black exist among the sea of white feathers that fall all the way to the floor. The feathers at the tips always look pitiful, since their entire existence is spent dragging the floor.

They’re useless things, heavy and cumbersome and completely nonfunctional. You could probably fly if you wanted to, if somebody would teach you. You never stood a chance at that though, your parents couldn’t even begin to do so, and Enji certainly won’t waste energy on it. No, he likes having you on the ground. Safe and sound, much more convenient to keep you without a cage.

The bones of them often ache, obviously needing to be used, desperate to do their job. They most resemble the wings of a Barn Owl. Along with the wings, your quirk provides you with exceptional vision and hearing. Sometimes it feels like a sixth sense, like you can tell when things are going to happen before they actually do.

This, of course, makes you invaluable to Enji during his meetings. You’re able to pick up on nervous ticks, listen to the whispers, and tip him off. He does love keeping you around for that, you’ve assisted him innumerable times, and he always rewards so generously. He keeps you comfortable, spoiled even, anything for his Angel.

Enji’s Angel.

It was never very official, he just started calling you by it, and you started answering to it. In your younger years it was almost affectionate, slightly comforting. Now, it’s a scarlet letter, a stage name, belonging to somebody who doesn’t quite exist.

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The meeting is absolute torture. Some schmuck is sitting across from you and Enji, blubbering his way through some bullshit about how he’ll have the money next week. You’re perched on Enji’s lap, reclining against his chest with your chin up high.

You’re all sitting around a large oak coffee table in Enji’s office, drinks in hands, guns in holsters.

“I swear, the guy I know, he owes me, he says he’ll have the money by this weekend, maybe even sooner!” The sniffling client begs. He’s a pitiful little man, all short and greasy looking, with bulbous eyes that sit above a large aquiline nose.

“Oh, how reassuring, my money is in the hands of a friend of a liar,” Enji sneers, voice low and menacing, “Doesn’t that put you at ease, Angel?” His hand snakes around your waist, making his claim on you evident to everyone in the room.

The client brought two goons with him, both sit on the lavish loveseat, watching with putrid envy as Enji’s hands roam across your middle.

You run your hand up his massive chest, making a show of adjusting your hips in his lap. You flash your eyes up to his and roll your shoulders, wings rippling as you do. The room is taken over by a heavy, consuming silence.

You survey Enji’s face, void of flames for such a serious event. You hear hearts beat faster, breathing quicken, idiots, every one of them.

“No, I don’t think it does, sir.” You purr, hand playing with the collar of his grey dress shirt.

This whole charade used to make your skin crawl, feeling eyes burn into your flesh, knowing that if Enji weren’t here you’d be laid out on the table while the pigs around you took turns.

You expressed this once, crying and shaking as you begged Enji to stop bringing you into them. His only response was to demand that you tell him whenever somebody was making you uncomfortable, and he would gladly take care of it.

It only took one client, one dense motherfucker who put his hand on your thigh. The second his hand was on you, Enji put a bullet in his head. You watched the blood splatter, and the body hit the floor, but ripped your eyes away after that. You turned into Enji’s chest, clutching him as you realised it was all your doing, Enji had killed for you.

Since then, you vowed to maintain a facade of confidence in these meetings. If Enji were to kill, it would be because of his own corrupted motives, not for you, never again.

You no longer let the bile rise in your throat, you don’t look away from any perverse gaze. You keep your nerves steady, and you stare the bastards down.

One of the goons shifts in their seat, making Enji shoot him a warning glance as you continue to fiddle with his shirt.

“I don’t think it’s wise to leave so much money up to ‘maybe’ and ‘this guy’.” You sigh as you slide off Enji’s lap, keeping your hand on his chest as you slink around to stand behind him. He gives you a knowing look, full of admiration and pride, he does love watching you perform.

Show time.

You flutter your wings out to the sides, stretching them, making a spectacle of them. All three of the men watch with comically amazed expressions. Their jaws may as well be on the floor, you slide your hands onto Enji’s broad shoulders so you can rub small circles into his muscles.

“I agree, I don’t like all this ‘maybe’ bullshit.” the energy in the room thickens as he speaks, falling into heavy silence in reverence of the power his voice exudes.

"Angel, will you grab us some more drinks?" You draw yourself up tall, ignoring the eyes that gorge on your decolletage.

"Yes Sir." You lean down to place a sweet kiss on Enji's cheek, flashing a little too much skin for his guests.

"Isn't she lovely, gentlemen?" He wonders out loud, looking up at you fondly.

No, not fondly, possessively, greedily. There's no loving tenderness that comes with fondness.

The men nod quietly, all afraid to cross a line, none willing to speak out of turn.

"Do a spin for them, sweetheart." He grabs your wrist and pulls you around to his side.

Your cheeks and ears run hot as he lifts your arm for you to spin, leaving space for your wings. You give a smooth twirl, feathers and dress flowing around you with a subtle woosh.

"Men would kill for her, don't you think?" Another round of silent nods, another wave of tense energy.

"I have." It's a warning, loud and clear.

He waves his hand in your direction, dismissive and bored.

"Go on, Angel. I have to have a private word with our guests." You glide out of the room gracefully, walking slowly enough so they can all watch you leave.

You swallow the terrible feelings rising in your gut, knowing damn well how rarely people leave that room alive after a "private word". You find your way to the kitchen easily, a tray of drinks already prepared on the fine granite countertop.

Enji's estate is nothing short of magnificent, all expensive foreign materials, gold fixtures and crystal chandeliers. All supplied by his mass of illegally acquired wealth.

One of the sweet little maids nods at you, gawking at your wings as always. You have a strange relationship with the staff at the house, they always treat you like some skittish animal. Afraid that you're unpredictable, even dangerous.

It's always seemed odd to you, but you've grown to understand it. None of them know where you came from, nor how you ended up in Enji's good graces, let alone a cherished prize to him.

On your way back down the hall, you hear the shouting of men, not an usual occurrence, but this time it makes your blood run cold. It sounds much more… painful, then usual. Cries for help mixed with curses and strangled yells. You freeze when the door rattles with such force, the only explanation can be that a body was thrown against it.

Then, there's silence. Silence, followed by sick laughter. You know Enji's voice too well, his rich tone fills your ears, but there's one other. Did he have an accomplice? It's not uncommon for Enji to have all his bases covered, so it's possible one of the goons was a double agent.

Your feet find their function again and you pad quietly towards the door. You take a second to breathe deeply, preparing yourself for the inevitable bloodshed you're about to witness.

You rap your knuckles on the door very quietly, wouldn't want to disturb the dead.

"Angel? Is that you?" Enji's voice calls as his laughter settles, the other man went silent as soon as your hand met the wood of the door.

"Yes sir." You say, trying to keep your voice soft but still wanting to be heard.

"Oh shit, get this out of the way."

A body.

You hear something slide then drop, and your chest squeezes with guilt. One day you won't have these feelings, one day seeing someone drop dead will evoke no more feeling than watching dead hair fall to the ground after it's trimmed. At least, that's what Enji tells you.

The door cracks open, a wall of a human standing on the other side of it. Enji beams down at you, the smallest amount of blood decorates his gray collar.

"Why do you always get so messy when I leave?" You tease, despite the sick feeling in your gut.

"It's a messy business." He counters, holding the door for you to step into the room. You expect the slit throats, the smell of blood, and the horrid joy in Enji's face. What you don't expect, is the creature poised in the corner of the room.

A creature with wings. No, not a creature, a man. With menacing, vibrant, crimson wings. His face is nothing but sharp serious lines, highlights of gold with intense shadows. He's covered in slim fitting black clothing, giving him a tactical and militant look.

He looks so powerful, and so beautiful. The only thing you can think to compare him to is a fallen angel, heavenly, but haunting.

In his hands, he holds a… sword? Then he steps further into view, and you see the blade shift. A feather. With a smooth, deadly twitch of his wrist, he flicks the rigid feather. It sends blood splattering across the floor where he stands.

His glowing eyes watch you, waiting for you to react, maybe waiting for you to scream, run away and hide. You can't, though, you're entranced. He has wings. Your own twitch behind your back, suddenly feeling even more cumbersome and useless after seeing how athletic and beautiful his own are.

As gruesome as the scene is, he's magnificent, stunning in such an overwhelming way. His eyes rake over your body, but it doesn't feel perverse, it feels like he's sizing you up, estimating your abilities.

Because he is.

"Angel, this is Hawks, he's a very good friend of mine." Enji explains, relaxing back into his chair as you and Hawks continue to watch each other.

You would never know it, but his breath hitched the second he saw you. Enji had told him about his Angel, but his description did you no justice. To Hawks, at least, you look capable, intimidating even. Your wings are equal in size to his, but compared to your smaller frame they look so fierce.

Neither of you has seen or heard of someone with a quirk like yours, or even remotely similar. So you stand there, amazed, in fear, sizing each other up.

"Isn't she something?" Enji's voice pulls you out of your trance, your eyes finally breaking from his friend's.

Hawks just hums, eyes still locked on your form as you set the tray of drinks down in front of Enji. He pours one for himself, then one for you, and one for Hawks. You take a glance around at the gore surrounding you, and shake your head at the drink.

"Not tonight, I'm tired." You try to sell it as best you can, but Enji sees right through you.

"Her stomach isn't very strong yet, sensitive little thing." He says to Hawks.

When you glance over to him, his reaction unsettles you. He grins, a broad, breathtaking thing. He's amused, embarrassed for you. How silly of you to be so bothered by a fucking murder scene.

Aside from the dead bodies, you can't stand another second under the predatory gaze of Enji's new friend. The whole scene makes you more uncomfortable than anything has in a long while. It's very apparent by Enji's lack of weapons, and by Hawks' feral appearance, that Hawks is some kind of hit man.

"Get some rest, then." Enji says dismissively.

You kiss him on the cheek, earning a rare smile from his usual straight lips. There's no affection behind your kiss, but there is loyalty, and he knows that.

Doing your best not to seem like you're in a rush, you keep your head down and walk steadily towards the door.

"Nice to meet you, Angel." His voice is like caramel syrup, dripping over you and heating you up.

You hate it.

You give him nothing but a turse nod then duck out the door, trying to keep your heart in it's cage, trying to keep your hands from shaking. What the hell was that?

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You spend some time in the library before heading to bed. The fireplace crackles and pops, casting beautiful, dancing lights on the dark oak bookshelves. It's not a massive library, but it's decent. Full of books that have been collected by Enji, but not read. You do the reading, he does the acquiring.

Not tonight, though. Tonight you just sit, you sit and overthink. You can't seem to shake the uneasy feeling this "Hawks" character gave you. He was so primal looking, so unhinged, so… beastly.

The contrast of his beauty is what keeps punching you in the gut. He was nothing short of stunning, like a marble statue brought to life by an enchantress. That's even without his wings. God, his wings. He must look spectacular in the air, so majestic.

You stuff the thought down, deep down. The longing in your chest is enough to make your eyes sting with tears. Flying. A feeling you've never known, but the instinct burns beneath your skin. You wonder if even knows how lucky he is…

You grab onto those thoughts before they run away, standing to your feet with a stretch and a ruffle of your own wings.

You just need sleep, you need to shake this off. Enji has plenty of "friends", plenty of lowlifes and murderers that he keeps close. Hawks is no different, he'll linger for a bit, then disappear under mysterious circumstances, and you'll never hear his name again.

The thought should bring your comfort as you travel to your bedroom, but as you wander through the halls, your chest aches. Somehow, the idea of not knowing all you can about this stranger makes you itch. Which in turn, makes you detest his presence even more. There's no reason for such a fascination… aside from your resemblance to him.

The sound of your bedroom door latching behind you does bring you some piece, lifting some of the weight off of your lungs. Until you hear the slightest ruffle echo from the direction of your window.

The hair on your neck stands on end as you draw your wings up to their full size. Your shoulders are rigid, fists clenched as you whip your head around to identify the sound.

"Do you always sleep with the door unlocked?" That sugary voice falls on your ears once again, raising goosebumps all over your body.

You don't answer, you only watch, inching backwards towards the door. There could be only one reason one of Enji's friends would corner you like this, the thought makes your heart beat to the point of nearly breaking through your chest.

He's perched on your windowsill, feet dangling into the room, wings relaxed behind him as the wind catches his scarlet feathers. The curtains away around him as they catch the cool breeze, the whole scene gives him an almost ghostly look, especially with the pale light of the moon as the only illumination in your bedroom.

"Easy, kid." He slides off lazily, arms crossed as he saunters towards you, "I just wanted to talk."

His lips quirk up into an easy smirk, something that makes your insides stir.

"Talk quick, then get out." You snap, pressing your back against the door, drawing your wings in around yourself protectively as your arms wrap around your chest. He stops nearly a foot from you, his own wings spread wide, almost like he's showing off.

The energy is thick, pressing on your lungs as you watch his face. He looks down his nose at you, not judging, but observing. His eyes are lit with a patient look, something soft but relatively unreadable. His proximity overwhelms you, even up close, you're hard pressed to find a single flaw.

There you stand, shrouded in scarlet, him in white. Both waiting for the other to speak, or move, or even breathe. Desperate for some evidence that you were both real and not some apparition sent to mock your poor mortal brain with an image of unparalleled perfection.

Wild, dazzling, gilded eyes search your face. Predatory pupils slit as he takes in every detail he can. His chest rises, and he speaks. He utters a simple, "They're beautiful." and everything shatters.

A cadence of feelings builds within your chest, tuning up like an orchestra. All unorganized noise, arching and mixing, impossible to focus on anything in particular.

Then the most beautiful part, the settling of the chaos. All of the instruments find their notes as they fade out. The anticipatory silence settles within you, preparing you for the moment when they all roll into the first cord of their symphony.

You don't feel right taking the name Angel, not after this, not after you've seen one. Your reverence for his beauty is short lived, though. As soon as you remember the way his eyes were wild with bloodlust, the way he had taken lives with his own feathers.

Admiration is replaced with apprehension. However, the strongest feeling is curiosity, morbid, forbidden curiosity.

You shove the compliment to the far corners of your brain, ignoring the fire it stokes in your heart.

"Talk or leave." You say shortly.

"Not a fan of flattery?" He asks, quirking a thick eyebrow.

"Not a fan of coercion." You reply, arms drawing tighter around your chest.

Hawks pauses for a moment, considering your answer.

"What are you a fan of?" His smile grows a bit more as he turns away from you on his heels, looking almost bored. You stay glued to your door, wrapped around yourself, completely frozen.

"Well, I'm usually a fan of not having my room invaded by murderers." You sneer, attempting to ignore the way his body moves so elegantly as he investigates your room with fabricated intrigue.

He scoffs a bit at your feisty retort, looking over his shoulder to give you quick up and down with his eyes. He wanders back to the window, back to you as he takes a look out.

"A murderer. That's a bold accusation, sweetheart." He turns around again, backlit by the moonlight.

"Can you use em'?" He asks, nodding behind you.

The question bites at your insides, it twists your guts up onto angry knots.

You shake your head, you can't say it out loud, you can't admit it.

His face falls the slightest bit, less amused, more aware. Perhaps he feels sympathy, imagining a life without the freedom of flight.

"I see." He says quietly, "A dove?" He wonders out loud.

His prying starts to eat at your patience, you already feel intruded upon by him sneaking into your bedroom, and now he wants to dissect your anatomy? Yet, you still find yourself drawn to the conversation, hanging on his words, hoping to gain information about him in exchange for information about yourself.

"Owl." You say simply, easing off the door a little so you can spread your wings some, "The markings give it away."

He nods, taking in the messy brown and black speckles at the tips.

"How did you do that with your feather?" You ask, works spilling out a little too fast.

Both of his eyebrows shoot up, surprised by your sudden engagement in the conversation.

His only reply is by drawing himself up by his shoulders. Then, miraculously, one of his feathers flies from his wing, darting straight for you until it pauses in front of your face. You flinch slightly before it pauses, then you stand transfixed, watching the small crimson blade levitate before you.

You want to reach out and grab it, find the string that's holding it up, find the answer to this magic trick.

"Pretty cool, huh?" He says, full of confidence as he sways back over to you, "You can touch it." He says gently.

So you do, you take it into your hand gently. The texture is shocking, it's soft and silky, much more pleasant than your coarse and textured feathers.

"How?" You ask, amazed by his abilities.

He shrugs and turns around again, pacing back to the window. You take a mental note of his inability to stand still for longer than a few seconds.

"I just… can." He says it so matter of fact, like it's the obvious answer.

Now that he's more relaxed, not holding a feather dripping with blood, he seems almost... Friendly? He certainly seems less frightening, less aggressive and formidable.

You hold the feather in your palms, waiting for the next trick.

"Keep it." He says as he settles back down onto the windowsill, sitting like he was when you first found him.

He stretches an arm around to brace on the outside of the window frame, leaning back into the open air of the night. For a brief moment you panic, knowing you're on the third floor, but then you just feel stupid for being concerned for a person with functioning wings.

"Why?" You ask, closing in your hands as you look up at him.

His smile is devilish, he rolls his shoulders back and lifts himself up to his feet. He crowds the large window, filling it with his lean body and those powerful wings.

"In case you need me." He winks and gives you a lazy, two finger salute before letting himself fall away into the sky.

Your chest lurches as you dart to the window, desperate to see him in action, desperate to see someone fly.

By the time you reach the window, though, he's nowhere to be seen. Evaporated into the stars, not even the sound of beating wings left as evidence.

You glance down at the feather in your hands, and notice it twitch to life before it floats up to hover in front of your face again. Your chest fills with an absolute mess of unorganized, chaotic feelings that you can't even begin to pull apart and make sense of.

The feather flicks under your chin, tickling the skin there with its pointed tip. You snatch it roughly, irritated with the teasing, perturbed by his nonchalance. You slam the window shut before huffing over to your dresser, you rip a drawer open and shove the feather between your clothes.

You slam it shut as the raging sea of emotions beats against your chest, drowning your lungs as well as any cognitive brain function.

You can't make sense of any of this shit, you can't imagine how anyone could have ever made it up to your room without Enji's knowledge. Unless… he was let up… but that doesn't make any sense. None of it does. It's all so cloudy, you feel thousands of questions swarm your brain, and you don't possess a single answer.

The only thing you know for sure, is that you have to find out more about this fallen angel, you have to find out more about Hawks.

#takami keigo #my hero academia #hawks #hawks au #my hero au #my hero smut #hawks angst #mha hawks #my hero hawks #keigo takami #Keigo #keigo x you #hawks x you #hawks series #keigo takami smut #hawks smut

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uponrightful · 3 years

Note

You brought this on yourself 🤣 I love how you give Crosshairs point of view so often, but I gotta admit, I was wondering what Dutch was thinking here…it’s all about the spicy longing for me… so

Carefully he wrapped his arms around her, and covered her hands with his own; Caging in her upper body to stabilize the little shake of the gun by taking some of the weight off her arms.

“Confident?” He asked with a hint of mockery to hide his weakening resolve.

She settled back against him tighter, and with a resolved breath she answered;

“With you…? Definitely.”

Such a good fucking girl. He sprawled over her hips with his own, and pulled himself tight against her. Steadying his breathing just long enough to make sure she could follow it easily enough.

“Then take your shot.” He ground out heavily against the shell of her ear.

Crosshair watched the shot leave his rifle, and could already tell she’d made a direct hit. It was actually perfect, and he couldn’t help but loose his concentration from the sensation of her body jolting back against him. She’d handled it flawlessly, but he didn’t miss the little whimper that escaped her when the gun rocked back into her shoulder once again. He wanted her to take one more shot, begging for another just one more excuse to feel her underneath him. To Cross’ utter shock, Duchess began laughing happily at the mere sight of finally hitting her target.

Commentary Track for Coriolis Effect

Copy 500 words -or more- of any of my fics and I'll give you my thoughts/rambles on what was going through my head -or the character's- when I wrote it!

* send one in here *

*cracks my knuckles* "Ask and you shall recieve my loveley" I say as I chuckle deviously. In no way does my fianceé send a worried look in my direction as I start typing furiously.

***

To begin, Dutch chose to lay prone for a reason. It's actually not the best position for herself -fundementally- and she chooses to ignore that because it's how she pictures Crosshair doing it. That mental image of his shooting like this is ingrained in her mind, and Dutch has too much interest in him to try and position herself any differently. His rilfe is longer than standard, weighs at least six pounds more, his trigger is softer, and the scope sits a little too high to see from it clearly at this angle. All of that comes within seconds of holding it, but Duchess ignores all of that against her better judgement. It's a taunt, as much as it is an impulse to put herself in his preverbial shoes. She can literally feel Crosshair watching her, and althought that's a very distracting thought, Dutch is set on impressing him.

Note: This choice -of positioning- was made not just for logistics, but also because it fits her personality. Duchess isn't shy, and she is certainly not inexpereinced. I thought about this being a "standing" scene but Dutch wouldn't let me. 😅 Although she is extremely independent, her character's biggest weakness is a strong desire to impress -or be accepted. This stems not only from her time with Phantom Squad, but also from the lack of times in her life that someone has told her "good job". When she chooses to lay down, she's literally opting out of the security she would have of making an accurate shot, just to take a chance on impressing Crosshair. That's a risk/guess... But Duchess isn't afraid to try anyways.

The whole time she's actually a lot more concerned with making her shots than anything else. Constantly checking her form and doing anything she's learned in the past to prove that her size isn't a limiting factor like Crosshair says it is. Her shoulder hurts, and although it would otherwise be enough to make her stop -she has her own career effectiveness to worry about- Dutch isn't leaving until dominates this gun. It's not until she hears Crosshair's sigh that it clicks in her mind that he's still watching her struggle, but not taken the oppertunity to stop her from continuing.

Note: Weapons mirror their users. And when I created Duchess, I made the serious decision that a lot of her ability to characterize others would come from their armor and weapons. That's just who she is, and what she knows best. So, in this scene... Dutch is literally equating Crosshair's rilfe, as to a part of him. If it's harsh, that means he is as well... If it's a sensitive model, that says something about Cross. If she can't control it easily, that's an indicator of the man who wields it. Really pay attetion to the way I compare Crosshair to his 'Puncher throughout the fic. I do it with extreme purpose, and although it's not always easy to spot, there are many times I allude to their symbiotic nature.

The moment Crosshair is close enough to touch, all of that subtle teasing about his weapon from earlier is gone. Ultimatley, Duchess can have a smart mouth, and know how exactly how to use it. But Cross presents a whole new kind of intimidation that she doesn't know how to handle. For Duchess, power only comes in two ways: Physical Prowess, or Rank -wheather that by government facilitated, or sibling rank due to the Phantoms. She's never experienced the way Crosshair acts twoards her. Duchess knows he respects her -because of he he listens to her seriously- but he also challenges her to do things she'd be otherwise criticized for with a hint of disbelief. (Like mouthing off, or betting that she couldn't shoot his rifle, despite that being against regulation.)

The moment he puts his leg between hers, Dutch is a ball of nervousness. Sex is nothing new to her, but that kind of confidence in particular, is completely foreign. Normally she's the one who initiates things like physical dominance in personal space. Dutch is so caught off guard, and her whole body freezes up, because she's realising that she likes Crosshair doing that. It's a release of power that she's constantly holding up, and that kind of vulnerability is hard to let go of after making such a habit of about being the strong one. After all, since Phantom Squad, she's had to depend on herself alone.

It's when he grabs ahold of her jaw and tells her to relax that she's really down bad. 🥵 She knows it should be nothing but a technical comment on her form, but he's commanding about it . Literally ordering her to let go, and release that tension. That feels fucking amazing to hear and feel, coming from a stoic guy like Crosshair. She knows his rifle is harsh, and occasionally he is as well; But that's becoming all the more desirable the more he directs her. Pushing her down against the floor, guiding her back against him... Doing simple things, but silently demanding she follow his orders. Duchess doesn't have to do anything -or think about anything- other than letting him take the lead, and she's daydreaming about if he's like that in other areas.

Note: Duchess takes a fully submissive role here. She's fully receptive to Crosshair's leadership, and it's because she enjoys being thought of as weak -or little- on occasion. Her background is full of war accolades, and confidential missions she knows to be successful. All of it culminating in this unspoken war register of a badass woman who fights like a clone trooper. But that's not realistic to uphold all of the time. Everyone likes to be taken care of sometimes, and Duchess just happens to really like someone taking control every once and a while. And with Crosshair, she feels safe enough to let that happen, and also enjoy the sexual aspect she's been thinking about all this time as well.

Duchess admits to feeling confident with him here for two reasons. Number one, she's still trying to be a little teasing. It's natural to have a little fight in her all the time, and with Crosshair, she thinks that flusters him. (She's right by the way...) But secondly, it's her desire to show trust. Crosshair might be fit right up against her, whispering sexual innuendos in her ear, but Dutch ultimately feels safe like this . The rifle isn't going to hurt as bad, she's going to hit the target, and Crosshair's weight is emotionally grounding. They might be attempting to do some target practice, but Duchess is literally getting the equivalent of a weighted blanket and reassurance that her true self isn't unworthy of attention. Plus, it's coming from a man who otherwise appears completely disregarding of anything with a noticable flaw... That's something Dutch will never forget. The best sniper in the GAR is helping her... And he's happy to do so, by getting as up-close and personal as a man could get.

His hands cover her own, rough and calloused, but they're unbelievably gentle. Cross is almost hesitant, and Duchess can tell he's actively trying to ease her tension. The way he speaks is soft, and quiet... Making her feel like jelly. Being asked to follow his breathing pattern, his arms tight around her, legs somewhat twisted into hers, his thigh tight against her core... It's all seductive, and essentially surrounding her body with him. And Dutch can't help but eat it up. She wants more. No one has ever done something so simple, but effective in drawing out her desire to think of herself as something worth coddling -in a sense.

Duchess might hit that target in the end... But the only reason she did was because Crosshair had relaxed her enough so he could aim . (She didn't make that shot. Crosshair did all the work, she just pulled the trigger.) It was the first time Duchess felt like she was being tended to fully, and that's that had her acting so lighthearted at the end.

***

I fucking love writing these. Please don't ever stop sending them in!😅🤍

#uponrightful #uponrightfulwrites #coriolis effect #crosshair the bad batch #crosshair #commentary track #saltywintersoldat

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ptergwen · 4 years

Text

last christmas

w/c: 2.0k

warnings: a few descriptions of dizziness

summary: someone might be able to get you back into the holiday spirit

a/n: hi hi hi i’m really excited about this :,) i’ve had the idea for a while and i like where it’s going! it’s based it off of the movie last christmas and this is only part one, so if it feels a little slow that’s why AND on that note i hope you enjoy

━━━ *:･。.

“you’re late,” harry comments as the coat room door bursts open. he’s not wrong, but he doesn’t have to announce it. you slip behind the counter while tying up your apron. “only ten minutes. besides, we’re never busy this early.” he presses his lips together and grabs a large cup.

that’s the face he makes whenever you say or do something stupid. you’ve learned a lot about harry in your year of working together. he’s a pretty laidback guy. funny, too. you’d consider him a friend and not just your coworker. the only time he isn’t chill is when your coffee shop has what you like to call its rush hour.

it’s in a pretty prominent area in london, and it gets packed every afternoon. people like to pop in for a muffin or some tea on their lunch break. with it being christmas time and all, the shop is way more chaotic than usual. the seasonal flavors clearly draw a crowd. you take that as a compliment since you came up with a few of them.

the point is, harry can get stressed and pretty mean. you’re afraid he’ll explode if you ask him a question sometimes. he turns super red. but, he also knows more than you do. he’s had to fix countless machines you’ve almost broken. you two make an interesting team. it’s just you and harry who work mornings.

your mouth drops open when you see the line of people squished into the shop. “oh, shit,” you whisper to yourself. harry hears it and hums smugly. “rush hour came early. get out there.” you quickly take your spot at the register. a man with a fuzzy red sweater and judgy look steps up. “hi, sorry for the wait. what can i get started for you?”

the rest of your morning is exactly the same. you deal with the crabby customers, harry makes the drinks. it gets better once your other coworkers clock in for the day. orders get done faster, and you have someone to joke around with from time to time.

you and harry eventually switch because he’s bored of making hot chocolates. you’re in charge of drinks while he rings people up now. it’s not too bad at first. all you have to do is dump some mixes into water and call names. then, everyone starts shouting at you. the drinks gets harder, you keep messing up, and customers aren’t happy.

harry is about to tell you off when he sees you stumble. he rushes to your side before you hit the ground. you grab his arm with an apologetic smile. “thanks.” “is it...” you nod, not wanting him to finish his sentence.

he’s your only coworker you told about your accident. it happened last year, almost a full one to date. you got this job a few months after. harry has always been understanding of it all, and he accommodates you however he can. you’re grateful to have his support.

“i’m just a little lightheaded. i’ll be fine,” you wave him off. he clicks his tongue. “you can’t stand if i let go of you.” you’d try to prove him wrong, but you don’t feel like falling on your face in front of all these people. “go take your break, y/n,” harry says softer this time. you give in, letting him take you to the coat room.

━ ❆

it’s finally the end of the day. your shift ended fine, and now you’re walking out with harry. you’re laughing at something he said inside. you pull your coat up around your face, smiling as you say your goodbyes. harry looks off to the car you assume is his before returning it. he waits until you’re out of sight to get into the passenger seat.

“who was that?” tom asks before harry can even shut his door. “y/n. we work together,” harry replies casually and buckles his seatbelt. the car engine is the only thing holding off silence. he raises an eyebrow at his brother.

“why do you ask?” “dunno. looks like you’re friends,” tom says quietly, pulling out of the spot he parked in. “you haven’t mentioned her.” “i have. you’re never home when i do,” he deadpans. tom drums his fingers on the steering wheel as they stop at a light.

there’s that void begging to be filled again. harry gives him a small smile. “thanks for picking me up, by the way. you’re cheaper than uber.” “does that mean i’m getting paid?” tom looks over at him. “joking. anytime, bro.”

harry can tell he’s waiting to bring you up again. all he did was look at you, and he’s falling. he’s never been subtle about his crushes. harry knows the two of you would get on well, but he’s not sure if you can handle a relationship right now. this year hasn’t been easy for you. you should be focusing on your health, not his tool of a brother.

at the same time, you could use some cheering up. you haven’t sang along to one christmas song playing at the shop. tom gets so into christmas every year, so maybe some of his festivity could rub off on you. it’s possible to work on two things at once, right? you’ll be happy and healthy for the new year. that’s all harry wants for you.

he wouldn’t mind the same for tom, either.

“she’s in all day tomorrow,” harry sighs. tom scrunches his face up in the side mirror. “who is?” “y/n, div. i knew you were going to ask.” there’s no denying that one. “right. i’ll stop in for a drink.”

he smiles about it the whole way home.

━ ❆

the next day is just like the last one. harry seems more on edge than usual, but you don’t know what that’s about. he does let you stay on register today so the chances of you passing out are lower. that all changes when your next customer walks in. you recognize him immediately, even with a scarf covering half his face.

what the hell is tom holland doing in your café? he pulls his scarf down and walks up to place an order. you sort of forget how to act. “you... you’re...” you stammer, eyes wide on him. smiling, he presses a finger to his lips. all he wants is a coffee, and you’re about to get him mobbed. you raise your hands in defense and focus on the register.

“sorry. can i get you anything?” you try again, lowering your voice. he’s still smiling. “sure, thanks. i’ll try an iced peppermint mocha.” a smile takes over your own face. “cool, i suggested that one.” you punch it into the register, keeping your eyes on tom. “i’ll bet it’s good, then. i trust your judgement.” he sounds genuine but teasing at the same time.

“hey, harry.” tom waves at him while he makes something in the blender. harry unenthusiastically waves back before getting to work again. you turn to harry with your eyebrows knitted together. “you know each other?” “really well. we’re brothers,” tom replies, your eyebrows now raised to the top of your head.

“what? how come you never told me?” you almost yell at harry. he awkwardly dumps the contents of the blender into a cup. “it never came up.” “you don’t talk about me, baby bro?” tom jokes, getting his card out. you give harry one more look before turning back to him. “oh, don’t worry about it. it’s on the house,” you dismiss him.

“he’s a multimillionaire, y/n. i think he’ll be fine,” harry chimes in. “family discount,” you decide. tom chuckles and shoves his wallet back into his pocket. “you’re a funny one. can i make it up to you somehow?” his eyes lock with yours. you feel fluttery, like your heart is going to jump out of your chest. there could be a few reasons for that.

“um, can i get your autograph?” you murmur out. “easy. do you have something to write with?” he watches you scramble to get a piece of paper. you pull a pen from behind the counter and hand them both to him. a line is starting to form, but you can’t even pretend to care. there are more important things going on.

harry starts making tom’s drink while he signs the paper. he leans on the counter, his tongue poking out. he’s so sweet for doing this. your alarm goes off before you can tell him that. you quickly shut it and peek over the register to see. harry comes up to you.

“isn’t that for your medication? you should probably go take it,” he says so only you hear. you shrug a shoulder. “i set it a few minutes early. i’ll be fine.”

“here we go.” tom grins and hands you the paper, then the pen. you put it down with another smile before looking over his signature. you’re confused when you don’t see one. instead, he wrote down a bunch of numbers.

it can’t be...

“it’s my number,” tom explains, glancing over at harry for a second. he scoffs and puts the lid on his drink. “i figured you’d like it more than my terrible cursive.”

your whole body feels hot. whether it’s from putting off your meds or getting hit on by tom holland, you’re not sure. you wouldn’t mind the latter, though. it’s the safer of the two. in all seriousness, the fact that he has any sort of interest in you is pretty insane.

“wow, for real? thank you.” you look at the piece of paper in your hands, then at tom. “does this mean i can text you?” he’s practically beaming at you. “or call.” “tom,” harry calls from the pickup counter. he rolls his eyes for good measure. “i guess your drink is ready,” you laugh out. tom adjusts his scarf again.

“i guess it is. i’ll talk to you later?” you hold up the piece of paper. “that’s what this is for.” he breathes out a laugh and turns to go. you’re about to call up the next customer, but he looks back at you. you shake your head. it’s going to be impossible getting through what’s left of your shift. “enjoy.” tom nods confidently. “i will.”

━ ❆

the first thing you do once you get home is call tom. your roommate is out with friends, so you’re spread out on the couch. all the lights are off to help the headache you got. with your luck, you’ll wake up with a migraine. you’ve become too familiar with nursing those. it’s given considering everything that happened.

tom picks up on the third ring. you hold your phone to your ear and sit up. “hello?” he asks sternly. you cringe at yourself for not texting him who you are first. “hi, it’s y/n. i probably should’ve texted.” his tone softens. “no, you’re fine. i was waiting for you to call.”

“were you really?” you lay your head back on the arm of the couch. he hums proudly. “tom holland was waiting for me to call him?” “he was.” you can hear the smirk in his voice. “he really enjoyed your conversation earlier.” sighing, you look at your reflection in the tv. “i did, too. i don’t think harry could say the same.”

“he hates having me around. i’m embarrassing, apparently,” tom laughs at his brother’s behavior. you press your lips into a pout. “is that why i’ve never heard about you?” “probably,” he confirms. it seemed weird that he wouldn’t want to tell the world his brother is spider-man. then again, harry isn’t like that.

“that’s nice, though. it’s like i’m the same me before the movies,” tom lightens the mood. “not that i know you, but i feel like you are,” you agree with a small smile. he’s grinning at his phone. “speaking of not knowing me, when are you free?” he smoothly transitions to the asking you out part. you were hoping you’d get there.

“saturday. why?” “i was wondering if you’d want to go out with me.” you hold the phone away from your face and silently squeal. tom didn’t need to witness that. “that would be fun, yeah.” “anywhere special you want to go?” he asks. he’s hoping there isn’t because he already has a place in mind. you actually don’t.

“surprise me.”

i made a new taglist form, so fill it out if you want!! the link is in my bio

#tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland imagine #tom holland x you #tom holland smut

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trulivin · 4 years

Text

Hands Off, Please

A/N: Hey everyone! This is my first fic that I wanted to share with you just so you could get a sense of my writing style and whatnot. Please let me know what you think and requests are open

Kaz Brekker X Reader, Six Of Crows

Warnings: Mentions of Abuse in the past but nothing too graphic!

*I also made this aesthetic so if you would like to use it please just tag me or give me credit for it! And yes I know my gif is janky, but it’s fine!*

Y/N sat at a table on the main floor of the Slat with Rotty and Specht, waiting for Kaz to get out of his meeting with whoever he had a deal with this time. As a long-time member of the Dregs and someone who was practically brought up by the notorious Dirtyhands, Y/N was held in high respect, partially out of fear, among her fellow Crows. Most of the time at least. Of course everyone teased her and called her ‘the bastard’s queen’ or ‘Brekker’s shadow’ because he had always left her in charge whenever he was busy, or she somehow was allowed to beat up anyone who was out of hand. People just listened to her since Kaz gave her so much power. Her reputation as the assassin of the Barrel helped as well.

It was surprising to people like Inej, Jesper, Wylan, and Nina to see Kaz get extremely close to someone, but he had let his guard down with Y/N. He could let his guard down with her. Though he would never admit it, Inej could easily notice the slight change in his demeanor when Y/N was around. Even Y/N showed a subtle difference in her eye when she was around Kaz. It was like they were the same person, always watching their own backs behind a mask, but when they were together all the disguises were disregarded. Jesper was also quite convinced the two were in a secret relationship because of how Kaz somehow always picked Y/N out in a room. On a job, Jesper noticed how he would somehow keep an eye on the dark-haired girl and make sure she was out of harm's way, especially during the raid of the Ice Court and the events following that nearly killed them all. But, sadly the two never showed any signs of physical or emotional connection. They were always together but out of each other’s reach in the slightest. However, there had always been an unsaid establishment that Y/N was Kaz’s and no one could have her.

Of course, that wasn’t known to all of the members of the Dregs. Mainly the younger boys and the newest members.

Rotty and Specht saw a couple of the new boys head over to their table and moved over a bit letting the newbies come and join them. Y/N smiled kindly and also scooted over allowing more room at the little table. “Well we did it!” a boy named Flynn said on Y/N’s right. “Oh did you now,” Specht smirked at Rotty and Y/N. Flynn and Riker were sent to shake up some filthy wannabe boss for the money he owed Kaz for getting him out of trouble.

“So you got the money then?” Y/N asked, bored already with this lot. The newbies smirked and plopped a leather bag on the table in front of her. She leaned back, slightly impressed these idiots actually did it. Of course she trailed after them, making sure they could actually get the job done. The guy may not have had a lot of people backing him, but he had two other guys that could easily take out two, arrogant teenagers.

“We sure did, sweetheart,” Riker smirked at her. Y/N raised an eyebrow at the boy. Rotty and Specht dropped their grins and their eyes went cold. “Watch your mouth,” Rotty snarled. Y/N was actually somewhat excited to see how this would unfold. No, she did not appreciate the little rat calling her that, but if a fight was about to break out she wouldn’t be opposed to that. “I didn’t do anything,” Riker said putting his hands up as if he were surrendering but Y/N could see a glint in his eye. She rolled her eyes. Boys she thought.

Y/N was undeniably a sight for sore eyes in the Barrel so she was bound to draw attention from people, but no one in the Dregs dared to make a move out of fear of what Kaz Brekker would do to them.

“So we got the money. What do we get in return?” Flynn asked. Y/N, Specht, and Rotty sent him a nasty look. “A place to crash and more jobs,” Specht snapped. “Surely we get something better,” Flynn pressed, winking at Y/N. Who the hell was this kid? It was cute at first, but the jokes were already getting old. Riker seemed content with sitting in silence and not pressing on with the jokes and almost looked as shocked as Specht, Rotty, and Y/N at his friend’s response. She glanced up at Per Haskell’s old office hoping Kaz would be finished soon, but the door remained closed. “Why don’t you keep your dicks in your pants boys,” Y/N snapped. If Rotty and Specht were dogs, the hairs on the back of their necks would be bristling. The two had been good friends of Y/N since they met, and if it weren’t for Kaz, they’d probably be the most protective of her.

“Oh come on, you’re the hottest one here,” Flynn said, “Surely you’ve shacked up with the other boys before, yeah?”. Y/N pursed her lips, “I think you hurt Anika’s feelings.” She ignored his other comment. Then Flynn did something no one was expecting: he rested a hand dangerously high on Y/N’s leg. Her cold eyes snapped to his smirking face. That did it. Rotty shoved Flynn off of her and swung. There was a definite crunch.

Riker being an idiot lunged at Rotty landing a solid hit before Specht launched himself into the fight. Everyone’s attention turned on the fight and a few of the younger members joined in trying to back up Riker and Flynn. Y/N somehow got shoved over as more people started taking sides. What the hell was happening in here? She huffed to herself before trying to tear Flynn off of Rotty. He turned and swung not realizing who was. Y/N took a hit to her eye and felt a little blood run down the side of her face.

His face drained and said, “Oh. Darling I am so sorry.” Darling? All the voices of the horrible men rang out in her head for a moment. Y/N glared at him before pulling her arm back and breaking his nose. She then kneed him in the crotch and managed to wrestle him to the ground. Everyone was practically fighting on top of each other. Y/N’s anger flared as she shoved him harder into the wooden floor and scraped his face to make sure some splinters would come up. “You ever lay your hands on me again and I will break both of your arms,” Y/N hissed in his ear digging her need further into his neck. “You crazy bitch!” He screamed in pain.

“You have no idea--” Y/N started, but a loud shot went off and everyone fell silent. “What the hell is going on here?” Kaz growled on the balcony holding a pistol in one hand and his cane in the other. I close my door for one second and this whole damn place falls apart. His eyes were darker than night, and when his eyes landed on Y/N’s partially swollen face his eyes somehow went darker. He was beyond furious. “Well?” He snapped as everyone stayed frozen where they were still holding on to their opponents. Unfortunately, Flynn had been the one to decide to open his mouth, “This psycho,” he gestured under Y/N to Rotty, “Attacked me!” “Yeah well why don’t you keep your hands to yourself then you filthy little perv,” Rotty bit back.

“All I did was flirt a bit with her! Like everyone else does!” Y/N dug Flynn’s face harder into the floor and jabbed him with her knee again. “There’s a difference between having a conversation with someone, flirting, and then trying to feel them up,” She hissed at the boy. She could feel Kaz’s hard stare on her as she seemed to be in the center of a circle now.

Y/N twisted his arm tighter and dug her nails into his skin. Flynn cried out in pain and his eyes went to Kaz. He stood there with narrowed eyes. After a bad childhood, Y/N had always been wary of a man’s touch. Much like Inej, she was picked up and taken to the Menagerie for a majority of her childhood on top of being raised by an abusive father with brothers who seemed to follow in their father’s footsteps. Kaz of course was the only one who knew about this, but Specht and Rotty had a faint idea of what happened after they found her in a closet puking her guts out, pale as a ghost after a job went awry with a nasty man who had a taste for young pretty girls.

“Well? Aren’t you going to help me?” Flynn begged Kaz. Kaz looked at the picture in front of him. Y/N was dangerous right now. He knew the boy laid a hand on her as soon as he came out of the office to see her practically smothering him. She always had that look in her eye that told Kaz when someone stepped out of line. He was screaming inside to just go and strangle the kid for laying a single finger on his girl, but he didn’t need to lose anymore newbies. They were useful for mediocre jobs that Kaz didn’t need to do himself.

Kaz pushed off of the railing and began making his way down to the main floor. “Y/N,” he said calmly, “Up you go.” She glared at Kaz but said nothing, releasing her grip on Flynn. The boy stood up and rolled his shoulders as everyone began picking things back up. Kaz didn’t even have to say anything and they all started cleaning up the mess they made. Rotty and Specht flanked Y/N’s sides as soon as she stood up. Flynn and Riker were still in between them and an approaching Kaz.

“Thank you,” Flynn scowled at Y/N. “What the hell is wrong with you?” He went on, “You’re crazy, bitch. Now I get why you didn’t acknowledge my other comment earlier,” Flynn spat, “No one would ever want to sleep with you, I mean they’d have to--” Kaz’s cane collided with the back of Flynn’s leg causing him to collapse. “Finish that sentence and I’ll let Y/N break more than just your arms,” Kaz growled quietly. He never shouted which made him more dangerous.

But Flynn ignored the pain and smirked again at Y/N. That did it. Y/N grabbed the two daggers in her belt and flipped them up before lunging at the boy. She didn’t care if she was going to kill him. Kaz wouldn’t kick her out of the gang and if he did then screw him too. Y/N knew boys like this. They’d only grow up to be monsters.

Rotty and Specht tried getting in her way because even if they didn’t like this kid, they weren’t going to let Y/N kill anyone in the gang. She easily slipped out of their arms hitting them hard in the face causing them to double over in pain. Just as she was about to slit the kid’s throat, strong arms grabbed her. She felt cool leather hands on her bare arms and a body blocking hers from the cowering boy on the floor. Just how it should be, she thought maliciously. “Let me go!” Y/N snapped, struggling to get to Flynn.

“No,” Kaz said calmly. “Get him out of here,” Kaz ordered Specht and Rotty. Y/N struggled harder against Kaz.

“You can’t just let him go! I will hunt you down and kill you!”

“No you won’t,” Kaz said coolly in her ear, but she ignored his comment.

“I will kill you if I ever see your face here again!” Y/N screamed after the boy that was being dragged out. “C’mon,” he muttered half dragging Y/N up to his room. He was considerably out of breath by the time they reached the top.

Kaz threw her in the room and stood in between her and the door. He knew she was heavily triggered by her past so he let her scream, shout, chew him out. Whatever she needed. “You’re letting him walk? You? Of all people?” She yelled, “You shouldn’t have done that! I know boys like that! They all turn out the same. Disgusting rats who find it fun to take advantage of young, helpless girls!” She hissed. Kaz watched silently observing all of her features. Even as angry as she was with him and beaten up, Kaz seemed to find Y/N even more beautiful. Practically glowing he thought to himself.

“Are you done?” he asked. Y/N stopped pacing and glared daggers at him. Yet, she let out a breath and nodded. The tunnel of red she saw was slowly fading and she came to her senses. It was simply just her and Kaz in the peace and quiet of his room. He looked at her before his gaze softened a bit. He wanted so badly to brush his bare hands across her face, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to. She was intoxicating to him, and he had been slowly working on skin to skin contact with her whenever it was just them. She knew about his brother and she knew how it felt to drown.

It was so easy for her to slip back into her rage and terror over a simple gesture of affection, and Kaz didn’t want to be the one that caused her to act like this. “What happened?” He asked calmly, peeling his gloves off. Y/N caught the movement and stared at his slender hands refusing to let her fascination with them get in the way of her still bubbling rage.

“That little boy thought it would be fun to get a reward for shaking up that guy who owed you money,” Y/N scowled. “And that reward being you?” Kaz quirked a brow. “Yeah,” she spit. “How are you so calm over this?” she growled a moment later. Usually he was more worked up about this and deep down it stung that he didn’t seem to care about her well-being right now. Of course she had no right to care about what he thinks of her. He’s not your boyfriend she scolded herself waiting for his response.

Kaz eyed her for a moment and sighed, “You can take care of yourself.” That wasn’t the answer she was really expecting, but what was it she wanted him to say? He approached her slowly, never taking his eyes off of hers. Y/N stood still, her heart skipping a beat as he stopped in front of her. She saw him take a breath before allowing his hand to brush up against hers. The pain in his eyes over the smallest touch made Y/N pull away. She didn’t want to put him through this. He didn’t owe her anything. “Wait,” He said when she moved her hand.

Kaz’s warm fingers grazed hers before he ran them up her wrist. Any left over anger had subsided as a chill ran down her spine. His dark eyes studied her face and he noticed how her eye now had a purplish tint starting to form, and then he saw where her perfect skin had split and a little blood ran down the side of her face. Kaz gritted his teeth, allowing his temper to begin to rise. In all honesty, he didn’t really know what to think when he saw Y/N on top of the boy digging his skull into the floor. And even worse, for a fleeting moment Kaz had wished it was he who was under her under different circumstances. But he quickly pushed aside any thoughts that weren’t relevant to the event of her killing one of the Dregs in front of everyone.

After a moment, Kaz slowly moved his hand to her face running his fingers lightly across the cut. He allowed his hand to trail down her face as she watched him trace her features. Eventually, his hand fell back next to hers as he allowed himself to intertwine it with her own small hand. Y/N watched as he took a moment to collect himself. She waited for his outburst, but it never came. It was always like this with them. The seclusion of his room, unspoken words that needed to be said, and the smallest touches that left both of them with a burning sensation.

Kaz was getting better at this. After the whole heist and everything, he was getting better with physical contact, but it was still a struggle for him. Even if it was Y/N. He longed to be able to run his hands through her hair, kiss her skin, and just be able to touch her. But somehow, Jordie seemed to slip in his mind as soon as he’d lay a finger on her.

“No one is allowed to lay a hand on you” Kaz murmured partially to himself. She was his and he preferably didn’t want to share. Those nasty little rats, he scowled.

“What is this?” Y/N blurted out softly. Kaz gave her a confused look as the sound of her voice caught him off guard. She even surprised herself. “I mean,” she started with a shaky breath, “What are we?” she finally asked. Kaz looked at her and saw the frightened girl he picked up off the streets as she had escaped the Menagerie. He thought for a moment. What were they? Kaz wondered the same thing. “I-I don’t know,” he said watching her face slightly fall. “But,” he started again, “It doesn’t mean we can’t be something,” he concluded. It was true, he had always wanted to be with her, but he knew she’d have to be patient with him, and he’d have to be patient with her. Kaz couldn’t tell her he would spoil her and shower her with hugs and kisses and gifts because he physically couldn’t. He didn’t want to do that to her and even if he could get over his fear, he didn’t want to push her either.

“It’s hard for me too you know,” she spoke again pulling him from his thoughts. He knew, but he let her talk anyways. “They beat me,” her voice wavered, “and left me in the freezing rain. They laughed at me--” “Don’t, Y/N just don’t,” Kaz stopped her. She didn’t need to explain herself and why she wanted to kill that boy. “You’re safe with me,” Kaz said more firmly now. And hesitantly he did something he didn’t expect himself to do. He pulled her into him and wrapped his arms around her. Y/N froze not knowing if she should hug him back. Timidly, she wrapped her arms around him and the two stood there in silence. Everything inside Kaz screamed at him and the bile rose in his throat, but he forced it away the best he could. She needed him right now even if he felt like he was drowning.

“Kaz,” Y/N mumbled, pulling him up from the cool water that he was slipping under. She could sense his uncomfort and knew it was time to let go. She unwrapped her arms from around him and slowly untangled herself from his body. Surprisingly, he missed the warmth her body brought, but he was also grateful she stepped back and gave him some space. A small smile played at her lips as he stepped back and put his gloves back on. “C’mon,” he spoke softly offering his now covered hand to her. Y/N took it with ease. It doesn’t mean we can’t be something played over in her mind. She was as happy as she could possibly be even if it would take time. She would wait and she knew it would take time not only for him but for her as well. Y/N was just happy Kaz was officially hers in some way, and she got the feeling he was content with that too. Although, she didn’t know she had always been his in his own mind.

They made their way back down to the landing above the Crows. For the most part, the room had been picked up but everyone was still cleaning the mess up. Specht and Rotty had returned with a very bruised Flynn helping pick up broken tables and chairs. As soon as Kaz and Y/N made it on the landing, everyone could sense their presence. All heads turned to them.

“The tables and chairs all better be replaced by tomorrow morning,” Kaz’s hard stare was back. “I didn’t fix this place up with my own money for a bunch of idiots to go and destroy it all.” Y/N stood closely next to Kaz, her eyes narrowed as she was watching the crowd. “And no one lays a hand on Y/N anymore,” he hissed. “If I ever catch any of you with your filthy hands on her, insulting her, or even looking at her without a single ounce of respect, I will break more than just your face.” That was a bit much, Kaz she thought to herself but smirked a little at how much he was actually riled about this.

“Got it?” he snapped. The crowd nodded and gave a terrified “yes” as he glared down on them with his usual Kaz face. Y/N scanned the gang below and found most of the young ones refusing to look at her and Kaz. Flynn was looking anywhere but her. “Did you get that?” she snarled at the newbies. “Flynn?” she spat. All eyes snapped to hers as her anger seemed to be returning. “Yes,” he mumbled along with the others before diverting his eyes. “Back to work,” Kaz snapped, and just like he pushed an unfreeze button, everyone jumped back to picking up damaged pieces.

Flynn, Riker, and a few others decided to head out and find more chairs and tables. When their backs were turned and they were walking out, a very sharp dagger whizzed by Flynn’s ear and hit the wall an inch away from where he put his hand. Everyone jumped at the thump and he turned, wide-eyed back to the landing. Y/N stood there with Kaz behind her. “Next time he won’t stop me from killing you,” she threatened. Flynn and the others recoiled in fear and simply nodded. “Off you go then,” she dismissed them.

Specht and Rotty watched as Kaz stepped aside and let Y/N go up the steps first and saw his hand hover the small of her back as they disappeared back upstairs. “All hail the king and queen,” they joked and went on with their cleaning.

_____________________________________________________________________

I hope you enjoyed this and again please send feed back! Request away my darlings! xoxo

#imagines #fandom imagines #six of crows #kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker imagine #inej ghafa #jesper fahey #six of crows imagines #kaz brekker fic #trulivin #multifandom imagines #grishaverse #grisha #crooked kingdom

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mrs-theirin · 3 years

Text

understanding.

so uh this originally started as “hating rebecca hours”, then it was loving nate hours, and then suddenly at the last second it became.......mutually respecting adam hours??? so here we are. @magebastard this one’s for you <3

calliope langford x nate sewell / calliope & adam du mortain, 2585 words. mommy issues paired with getting to know your stuffy leader better (also on ao3 <3)

The apartment is quiet.

Mind-numbingly quiet, actually.

“Stay home and enjoy yourself,” Tina had said, practically pushing Calliope out the door, a wide smile plastered on her face that said if you don’t go home right now I will end you. Even Verda came out from the lab to say goodbye, his gentle eyes hardened in a way that let her know there was no fighting him.

She needs something to do. The apartment just isn’t the same without Farah’s laughter, Adam’s groans of distaste, the irritating clouds of Morgan’s smoke—which still lingers on everything she owns. Honestly, she’s going to take Morgan’s cigarettes and shove them somewhere unpleasant—and Nate’s warm, calming presence. She debates sending him a text, maybe asking him for coffee, but the idea leaves as quickly as it came.

He’s probably busy. She’s sure he has more important things to do than—

Im bad at this texting thing. Coffee

Calliope laughs. Before she can respond, another text from Nate comes in.

That was supposed to be a question. I cant find the apostrophe or question mark. I would like to have coffee with you.

Another text, separate from the last.

Now, if you can. I heard you were sent home from work and I know how much you like the pastries there.

Her heart races at the thought of Nate frantically typing away at his phone, confused but determined to send her a text. She must admit, it’s a hilarious image, and she laughs as she sends her response.

relax and look for the “123” on the left of the keyboard. you’ll find all your punctuation needs there. and yes, i’d love to go get coffee. meet me there?

Ah! Found it. Thank you. And no, I’m outside your apartment.

Calliope straightens, deigning to push aside the curtain and peek out at the sidewalk. Sure enough, Nate stands awkwardly outside, staring down at his phone. His gaze flickers up as her hand makes the curtain dance, and he waves politely. She waves back. She mouths “be right there” and pulls away, cursing herself for looking outside in the first place. Did he just run here? Was he just outside her apartment when he sent the original text? Did he just assume she would say yes?

She rushes to her bedroom, ripping the nicest—and hopefully subtle—thing she owns out of her closet and throws it on, stopping in front of the mirror to undo the messy bun she has her bright orange hair in and tussle it into something appropriate. She glances at the panicked look in her eyes, and tries to calm down. What is she freaking out for? It’s just Nate.

I would fight through any form of technology if I knew you were on the other end.

Nate, who can make her face flush with just a few words. Nate, who towers over her, his warm brown eyes staring into her soul. Nate, who is patiently standing outside waiting to take her to coffee. She tries not to hold out too much hope that it’s a date.

“Hey!” she says when she finally makes it outside, unconsciously taking too large of a step and standing uncomfortably close to him, which she quickly rectifies by inching backwards. They both laugh nervously. “Did you—”

“I was in the neighborhood,” Nate rushes out, his face flushing. “It’s a beautiful day out.”

She accepts the obvious lie with a face full of heat. “Let’s go then.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She loves the way he laughs.

At Haley’s, he relaxes; his shoulders slouching, his gaze softening. He is no longer scanning every person on the street, trying to gauge if they’re a threat. He is talking and he is joking and he is smiling and he is laughing. And every time he throws his head back to laugh at some stupid sarcastic joke she makes, she melts.

He sighs dreamily, then faces her with soft, kind eyes. “I really missed you, Calliope.”

Her heart thumps in her chest. “I missed you too. You could’ve called, you know.”

His smile fades. “I wasn’t allowed to. The Agency thought it was better if we just...left you alone for a while.”

“So I could recover?”

Nate turns away, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah. That’s it.”

Before she can ask him to elaborate, she hears a familiar clack of heels behind her. Her body tenses. “Calliope,” her mother’s voice says, clear and professional, though surprised. She wasn’t expecting her daughter to be here.

Calliope doesn’t even turn. Her hand clenches around her coffee and she clears her throat. “Rebecca.”

Something in her dies when she sees Rebecca take the seat next to her. It is crushed to ash as she turns to Nate, who is smiling kindly at Rebecca, ordering another pastry for her, inviting her to stay longer than Calliope prefers. Her mother hums gently. “Coffee date?” she asks, though there is something else in her voice. Something resentful. Something...cautious.

“And what if it was?” Calliope mumbles into her coffee, as Nate replies, “Oh no, just catching up.”

“You should be careful about how much time you spend in the open, Agent Sewell,” Rebecca offers, and it’s obvious why she’s saying it. Calliope begins to shake, as she always does around her mother, and washes her resentment down with her coffee. The warm liquid contrasts the coldness of her bitterness.

It wasn’t always this way with Rebecca; there was a time where they laughed and smiled and shot each other with water guns. But eventually laughter dies out, smiles fade away, and water guns change to Glock 22s. Love changes to resentment. Dads die.

She understands why secrets were kept. She hates that Rebecca doesn’t understand why she would be upset by the secrets that were kept. The way Rebecca’s eye twitches when Nate leans into Calliope is sign enough on its own. Can’t even be happy with the circumstances she has, apparently.

“Of course,” Nate says, professional as always. “Understood.”

“Let the man...or, vamp, live,” Calliope retorts. “We’re just having coffee.”

Rebecca presses her lips together tightly. “Calliope. Do I need to remind you why you’ve been wearing turtlenecks for months?”

She chokes on her coffee, slamming the cup down on the counter, the paper crunching in her hand. Typical of her mother to remind her of trauma, trauma that deeply affects her, as if it’s just a statement she can throw out at any given moment, like a quick anecdote or conversation starter. How can one look at their daughter having her neck torn out by a killer vampire and think, “This will be good for future scoldings”? And her scoldings, well, of course they aren’t scoldings, they’re concerns. Worries from a concerned mother. A mother who was so concerned about her daughter that she left for years with no contact, leaving the local librarians to raise Calliope.

Calliope tenses as she feels a hand on her shoulder, but deflates when she realizes what side the hand is on. Nate squeezes her shoulder affectionately, and she cannot thank him enough for being a rock. If Rebecca is the storm—cold, predictable, unrelenting—then Nate is the hearth; warm, welcoming, reassuring. He smiles softly at her.

“Of course you don’t,” she finally speaks, subconsciously scratching at the scars. “But considering I’ll be working with the Agency again soon, getting coffee won’t matter much, will it? Or are you trying to say that I can only put myself at risk if I’m not having fun?”

Rebecca’s eyebrow twitches as she sighs. “I’m only trying to look out for you—”

“No, you aren’t.” Her voice is stern, but quiet. Don’t want to draw too much attention. That’s the way it’s always been, right?. “You’re looking out for yourself and your reputation as a ‘good mother’, but it’s all crap anyway. If you wanted to preserve that, you wouldn’t be begging me every 5 seconds to tell you you’re doing a good job.”

“Calliope,” Nate gently warns, and she slowly shrugs his hand off of her shoulder. Now is not the time for another one of those sad, soulful looks he gives her when she argues with Rebecca. She doesn’t have the effort.

Rebecca’s lips are thinned again, in that disappointed scowl Calliope’s seen so much of since this whole Agency business started. “Sweetheart,” she starts, and Calliope is already cringing away, already preparing herself for whatever pandering crap Rebecca is about to spew. “I want you to be safe.”

“But not happy, clearly.”

“Calliope Langford.” Rebecca’s voice is harsh, but it only manages to enrage Calliope more. Her mother isn’t stern often, usually grabbing for the ‘soft and meek’ route, but on the occasion she does show annoyance, it’s never a pleasant feeling. Not because it upsets Calliope, but because she knows it’s a ruse. If she holds out, her mother will give in, because they both know she can’t stand being the bad guy (despite making herself the bad guy in every single conversation they have). “This is dangerous business. I don’t want to see you hurt. I do love you, whether you believe me or not.”

Calliope stands abruptly, slapping a $20 bill on the counter. “Why don’t you concern yourself less with whether I believe you, and more with whether you believe yourself. Come on, Nate.”

She starts to walk away, but hesitates when Nate doesn’t immediately follow, out of his seat but hunched over, like a kicked, obedient puppy. A twinge of betrayal tugs at Calliope’s chest, but she waves it off, instead holding up her hand, exasperated. She leaves without another word.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The phone rings.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Calliope sighs in exasperation, about to hit the red ‘end call’ button, when the phone finally clicks, a stern, professional voice coming through as clear as day: “Special Agent Adam du Mortain. Is this something important?”

She rolls her eyes, unable to keep the smile off of her face. “It’s just me, Adam. You don’t have to answer the phone like that.”

“Is this something important,” he repeats, though this time it’s less of a question.

She gives in. “I was wondering if you wanted to spar. You said you were...less than impressed with my combat skills, so why don’t you teach me?”

The line is silent for a moment, before Adam lets out a small huff. “Where?”

She blinks. She hadn’t thought of that. “...Here?” she offers, uncertain.

He sighs heavily. “Open the door.”

The call ends and she is rooted in place for a moment before she springs up from her couch, opening the door and peeking out. Adam is standing on her stairs, looming over her, and he raises a single eyebrow, making the action of entering her apartment. She steps aside and watches him analyze the living room. “Move the table,” he says.

“You’re the one with the super strength,” she jokes, closing the door behind her. “Can’t you do it?”

He glares at her. “Are you serious about training with me?”

She straightens under his gaze, nodding sharply. “Yes,” she responds, though it comes out like a nervous question.

“Then move the table. And slide the couch away too. We need plenty of room.”

She salutes him, tying her hair back into a high ponytail. “Can do!”

He groans.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Why didn’t you call one of the others?” Adam asks, crossing his arms and staring down at the panting, sweating Calliope, who is holding onto her knees for dear life.

“Oh, you know—” she says between heavy breaths. “You’re starting to grow on me.”

“Your form is poor.”

“Oh, I know!” she wheezes. “You actually told me that, a bunch of times, like two seconds ago.”

If she didn’t know any better, she can swear she sees a ghost of a smile threatening to appear on Adam’s lips, then it’s gone as quickly as it came. He regards her with complete and utter disappointment. “They would’ve been nicer.”

“Ah, but nice isn’t what I need. I need to learn how to fight.”

This time Adam does actually smile, though it’s still not quite a full smile, more like pride over seeing a lesson learned. He cocks his head to the side. “It could also be that you’re fighting with Nate.”

She hesitates for a moment before scoffing. “I’m not fighting with Nate. Fighting would require words, of which there were none.”

Her two seconds of hesitation were enough for Adam, because he nods his head sharply, and scowls. “Figure it out. I don’t want you two at odds next time we’re all together.”

“Why?” Calliope drags the table back to its original spot, collapsing on the couch with a heave. “I thought I was a distraction.”

He joins her on the couch, his posture as formal as ever, the distance an obvious sign of something. “You are a distraction. But you’re more of a distraction when Nate is running through his mind trying to make up a list of ways he can make it up to you.”

“Make what up to me?”

“You’d have to tell me that.”

The two stare at each other before Calliope sighs, smiling. “Thank you for coming over. You didn’t have to.”

“I don’t have to do anything I don’t wish to,” he simply says, and she rolls her eyes.

“Loosen up a little sometime, huh? I think it would do you good.”

“Then you and I will have to have differing opinions.”

A knock sounds at the door, and Calliope starts to stand, but Adam takes the lead instead, gesturing for her to stay put. She doesn’t put up a fight, after all, her body is aching and all she really wants is a nap right now, maybe a 3 day slumber. When the door opens, she strains her ears to hear the soft mumbles of whoever is at the door. Adam’s voice is strong, and overshadows the meeker, much quieter voice of the person—no, woman, that’s a woman’s voice—standing at the door. A few more minutes pass until Calliope finally hears Adam say, “I think you should leave,” and shuts the door. When he returns, she gives him a curious smile.

“Who was that?” she asks, and he shakes his head.

“No one important. It’s late, I should leave. Goodnight, Detective Langford.”

She stops him before he can zip out. “Adam, honestly. You can call me Calliope. I promise you won’t implode.”

He hesitates, gears in his head clearly turning, then gives in, his shoulders visibly relaxing. “Goodnight, Calliope. You did well.”

“You’re lying to me!” she calls after him, and he says nothing as the door shuts behind him. She lets out a soft, incredulous laugh. Well, at least one good thing happened today.

She heads to the light switch, peeking out of the window just for a second to try to catch a glimpse of the woman Adam had sent away. Her heart drops into her feet as she sees the car she knows too well. Rebecca sits in her car, taking a deep breath, and eventually starts it up and drives away, shaking her head. Calliope is frozen at the window.

It was Rebecca at the door. Rebecca, who Adam...turned away? Told to leave?

She takes a moment to suck in a deep breath, letting out a loud sigh. Huh, she thinks, turning off the light and heading to her shower, eager to wash off the grime and sweat of training. Maybe he’s not so bad after all.

#just for you marty <3 #calliope langford #detective x nate sewell #detective x nate #nate x detective #detective & rebecca #detective & adam du mortain #nate sewell #rebecca #adam du mortain #the wayhaven chronicles #wayhaven chronicles #wayhaven #twc #fic #quill's writing

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undergrounddweller89 · 3 years

Text

More random thoughts on if Killian and Walter lived together some time after movie events, still au and ooc and Killian is I dunno how to describe it in love a little obsessed secretly with Walter and this is one ramble where there's no admittance of love between them as It's a time prior to that, anyway I throw sense out the window I'm literally too tired to get everything right and wrote this on the spot so bleh on mistakes and stuff.

Killian was rifling through his draws, where was it, he'd wanted to wear it last night for bed, he was sure it'd been put back, he sighed wearily, maybe it was at the bottom of the wash basket still.

He went down the stairs for breakfast where Walter was munching on toast, Lovey on his shoulder.

Watching tv, amazing really, especially as Beckett was usually jotting some new idea down.

Aaaand then he saw it.

"Walter."

Killian's voice was a soft growl as he quirked a brow and folded his arms.

Walter looked up at him like a guilty puppy who knew he'd done something wrong but hoped the look would let him get away with it.

"Yes, Killian?"

He asked trying to sound innocent as possible.

"I was looking for that shirt last night, care to tell me how it ended up on you?"

Walter looked at Lovey and then at Killian

"Ummm well it was in my drawer, I dunno it just looked really comfy and...I'm sorry I won't borrow your clothes anymore..."

"Borrowing would imply that you asked for them, you Beckett are a certified low grade criminal...stealing a man's clothes could imply something else though, I expect that shirt back tonight."

Killian returned walking past the couch and going to the kitchen, it was sweet Walter had rearranged the room so he could actually have surfaces to make himself meals and the likes.

The first time he'd arrived he'd been more than expecting to not feel welcomed, sure it was Beckett but people could seem one way out in the world and another behind closed doors.

No, Beckett wore his heart on his sleeve and for a while he'd wanted to place his claws around it and watch that sunshine attitude leave him as he realised the world was not a little wonderland that could be made better with a hug.

Then again, it was a hug that saved him so to speak...irony.

Killian though at this point might have just gone crazy if Walter wasn't so naturally affectionate with people he trusted, why he trusted him was still beyond his understanding but here they were, living in what had always been Walters home since childhood...

Walter's natural ability to be affectionate meant he could get away with ruffling his hair, having Beckett leaning on him during a movie and just casually placing an arm around him.

Sometimes Beckett would just sit on his lap like it was completely normal and Killian had tested the boundaries by placing a chin on his shoulder and Walter had, had no reaction like this was just typical interaction...was it so typical that he just would also let him put his arms around him to and nuzzle his neck...

Then again he might have lied a little and just said he had an itchy nose when that happened.

Of course he'd have murdered anyone else who dared to sit on his lap, just because he was behaving here didnt mean he wouldn't still straight up murder someone if he thought he could get away with it.

Lance had tried sitting on his lap once as a joke, Killian recalled letting out a literal growl, he'd even been somewhat surprised at the near primal sound, Sterling of course never tried that again.

He made his morning coffee, thankful that Walter also knew not to talk too much until he'd had it.

He walked back in and found Walter ass up in the air and nearly spat his coffee, he hadn't seen it before as his shirt had been covering it, not only was wearing his shirt but his boxers to.

Beckett who had been reaching for a magazine under the side table hit his head when he heard the sharp tone in Killian's voice

"Beckett!"

Killian winced slightly, even he felt that thud.

Walter sat up holding a hand to his head

"Yes Killian?"

"Nothing, just wanted to see if I could startle you, seems like it."

He decided not to chew him out, because perhaps he liked that he was wearing them.

Killian sat in the arm chair and put a leg over the other, hiding the subtle interest that showed his body agreed with that statement.

"You're evil."

Walter pouted rubbing his head.

"Hmm perhaps but you already knew that when you let the big bad wolf into your home, little red."

Walter was about to argue but...eh fair point.

"Still mean."

"You like it Beckett or you'd have given me your puppy eyes by now."

Killian sipped his coffee and sighed contentedly, god coffee made existence just a little easier and some days he swore he'd marry whoever made it.

He sat there half watching what was on the tv, one of Walters soap opera's which he would die before admitting he actually was invested in it.

"I swear Walter, if you were bigger than a tooth pick I would steal your clothing though I might wager I could just about put that yellow jumper over my arm."

Walter looked him over and shrugged

"Wouldn't mind if you did, I have a pair of baggy Unitee pants that might fit you though they might ride up to your knees considering our height differences."

Killian's eye twitched as he grumbled

"Id sooner be dead."

Though he was never going to admit he might have been a creep one time after Walter had slept in them and done something involving his hand just because he knew Walters cock had been right there, they'd still been warm.

Killian half buried his face into his coffee mug hoping that Walters comment hadn't been one hinting that he knew what sordid thing he'd done.

"Also not my colour Beckett."

Was all he responded.

Walter shrugged and went back to his show, flicking through his magazine, Lovey was nesting in Walters hair and glaring at Killian, oh she knew, she knew what he was doing, her look though was not one that told him to stop it.

No it was one that said HURT MY BABY I'LL PECK OUT YOUR GOOD EYE.

Killian's cheeks puffed out as he exhaled, sheesh who knew a pigeon could scream murder louder than him with just a stare.

Later that night Walter showered before bed, returned the shirt back to Killian who went back to his room, the boxers placed in the basket just under a few things prior to said shower, the basket was usually left out on the landing.

After his shower and wrapped in towels Walter had been wondering something, for a while now.

He quietly looked where he'd placed the boxers he'd worn that day in the basket... Uh-huh, just as he'd expected, they were gone, he couldn't help but smirk, oh Killian thought he was being sooooo sneaky.

Heh, no, he wasn't as quiet as he thought he was either, he could hear the subtle creak in there and soft whine no doubt into a pillow... Or biting his fist, honestly if he had metal claw he'd definitely handle himself with it to.

The first time this had happened it'd been a surprise, now it was just enticing to see how long it was before Killian would break and climb into his bed and plead for him.

Oh Walter might seem naive to the world in so, so many ways but there were somethings he was not so ignorant on either, he could walk right in there and offer a helping hand but for the time being it was far more pleasurable to hear the quite whines and play pretend Killian was begging for him, on his knees a desperate man who desired to the point of pain.

After all who didn't want someone to pursue and crave them like that.

He dried off and climbed into his own bed smiling.

Especially when the feeling was apparently mutual.

(I don't tend to go deep on my stuff I guess, what you get is what you get.)

#killian x walter #Tristan x Walter #Lime #spies in disguise #Au

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wlw-lovestruck-fiction · 4 years

Note

bless us with your thoughts on Helena and "I thought you didn't want me" from the Super Sappy Lines prompt?

Written by @evoedbd

Her lips trembled as they framed the scar, tip of her tongue tracing the line of a shooting star across infinity. Smooth. Warm. Alive beneath her touch. Tamed only by the desire to be seen, for a goddess to gift herself to her directionless devotee. Kya’s lips lifted, leaving the damp imprint of her kiss to echo across Helena’s senses. Gods, it hurt. To part even that little bit pierced Kya’s heart so suddenly she whimpered. Only Helena’s calm breath guided her pace, allowing Kya to remain gentle as she dipped down to the Mage’s shoulder blade. A slice, the line stars had travelled, a new mark across the constellation, one which birthed a love story to echo for the ages. A story that bypassed the borders of reality, which overcame the challenges of the Universe and defied the very concepts of reality. Their story.

Kya’s lips lingered, drawn by Helena’s very soul to pay homage. The concept of a kiss or the flick of a tongue faded. Kya’s lips framed the old wound, caressing it between focused pecks. She knew there were so many scars to tend to, old wounds to soothe, yet that required her to break contact. The thought had her fists clenching, gathering the white sheets between snowy knuckles. Never had she felt so torn, even during the war. She craved the feeling of Helena’s muscles twitching beneath her touch, the sounds of contentment she could draw from her Mage… yet to do so meant she had to stop touching momentarily.

Her lip curled upwards, leaving her teeth grazing across Helena’s flesh. Her lip left a trail of delightful warmth, dragging down to the next scar before Kya’s bottom lip joined to deliver the next kiss. No longer could she let her mouth break away, not even to move to the next scar. With her eyes peacefully closed, she drifted on the tides of her memory, dragging her lips and tongue across the space between until she was positive Helena’s back would have been turned into a pool of residual saliva, if not for how swiftly each kiss dried.

“Mhhhmm…” Helena practically purred, the sound of her contented moan rumbling in her chest. A shiver worked its way down her limber body like wave, causing her to arch up into Kya’s loving attentions. The Sorceress felt her lover’s smile against the small of her back, just as she felt the heat of Kya’s breath turn her last kiss chilly for just a moment. Temperature. It was so… Helena was quite aware of it, even when she had no need to be. For so long, the feeling of a subtle chill on the air was enough to warn her to silence herself. To shrink from the Queen’s abuse, or beg for her attentions to avoid something less predictable. Now, Kya used that knowledge in such small ways. Ways most wouldn’t think about. Like how a kiss could become cold, then warm, then cold again within a single tick of the clock. How Helena could feel the patterns of scattered kisses or licks to paint a tapestry. Sometimes, it was the beauty of the scars across her back, the unique constellation Kya had begged to lay claim to like a deity of legend. Other nights it was messages, words of encouragement driven into her flesh in ways that would never mark. Never hurt. A quick peck could dot an i, whilst a slow, sensual curl of the tongue might carve hearts over the wounds of old.

“Enjoying yourself?” Kya questioned; tone laced with a smugness that Helena couldn’t help smile at. It was THEIR smugness. Kya’s inability to hide her own pride in what she could do to the tortured soul beneath her. And why should it be hidden? None had ever given Helena a reason to feel valued as even a human being, yet Kya made her feel all powerful. Helena knew her magic could destroy worlds, yet that was so insufficient when held to Kya’s love. Kya’s giving was more power than Helena knew how to handle. It burned and consumed her, until she had to touch lest the fire destroy her mind.

“As always, my Gentle Heart, you touch my soul.” Helena’s gentle, earnest praise drew heat to the tips of Kya’s ears, flooding from the deepest regions of her racing heart. Lord, Helena wasn’t even trying, and she took the wind from Kya’s sails. She locked the poor American in a place between fantasy and reality, where a blink could be a thousand years of the most romantic of memories, or the most heated of encounters. Where possibilities and everything Kya wanted to do were laid out, paved roads for her to speed down if only she dared pick her route. Instead, she froze, gaping, jaw flapping like a fish at the view before her.

Helena’s bare back almost glowed in the moonlight filtering through the window. Pale skin, scarred beyond reason, held such unspeakable vulnerability. Her body swelled with each deep breath she claimed, each a defiance against a lifetime of abuse. Her muscles shivered and twitched, reminding Kya of the waves of the ocean at night, crested by the gleam of lingering kisses and smoothed scars. Hair of winter gold was gathered to the side, spilling across the pillow in a glimmering pearlescent stream. The darkness of shadows embraced every curve of Helena’s body, delicately shading the swell of her partially obscured breast, the dips of definition in impossibly powerful arms, the exposed line of a once ravaged throat.

Kya felt hers constrict.

Trust. This is what trust truly was. A back exposed freely, a sleepy body offered, laid prone, without any trace of tension despite a tapestry of reasons to be fearful. Here, with a Siren lounging so comfortably in her bed, a vision of realistic perfection and dreamlike seduction, Kya was elevated to the clouds by the simplest of truths. Helena trusted her completely. Every image of lust Kya could summon to her mind felt pale in comparison, like the ghosts of true and lingering emotions. Here, she had every chance to take, to sate whatever desire could come to mind. Helena’s silent offering was not merely a chance to indulge, it was an offering of her entire self. She did not shy from Kya’s gaze, did not conceal a single weakness. To hide had been beaten into Helena, yet she so boldly defied every harsh lesson when it came to Kya. The realisation made Kya cling even tighter to the sheets bunched around Helena’s plentiful hips. Her fingers itched to reach out, to trace the lines she had just soothed and once more learn the constellations of her galaxy. From the dotting stabs and grazes, down to the savagely delivered whip lashes, and lower. The wounds she knew existed only because Helena had given her those stories, had let Kya see beyond the walls of General Klein. A gash down the inside of her thigh, delivered twice. Once with a knife, once with a curse. The thousands upon thousands of burns down Helena’s ankles from where she had fought, or where the Queen had bound her too harshly. Alchemy and magic had preserved the image of flawless skin, yet Kya could not help but question the purity of such things. The scars no longer existed, yet all that did was erase the crime from the world. The deed only existed in murky depths. Tangles of traumatic flashes across Helena’s memory. Had they ever happened at all? Were they just a night terror? Their only acknowledgement was the words Helena gave when her shoulders caved beneath the pressure of horrific memory. Worlds might forget, yet for Helena the deed still stood so stark, still drove her mind to the depths of conceivable hell. To places where communication was screams and pleading for mercy, and mercy was merely a more violating touch.

Never. Again. Kya’s body thrummed with the silent declaration, as it did a hundred times a day. Never again would Helena’s trust, body and soul be violated. God, she had somehow earned this beautiful woman’s trust, and she vowed to protect it until her dying breath. Never would she stop striving to earn the blessings Helena gave, or stop appreciating everything that Helena was. How two worlds could miss it, she had no clue. Helena was a goddess, and Kya was all too happy to offer her soul in devotion.

“You’re… I don’t have the words, Helena.”

That was true. What words could ever sum up everything Kya could see painted across a single body? Ten thousand words may compose the weight of Helena’s crimes, yet a million could not begin to grace the essence of her. What words could explain a young girl growing from an abused daughter to an abused possession? What words could bare the weight of how Helena had been tortured, twisted into an image so terrifying that nations whispered in fear? Could anything explain the gravity of Helena’s fight? Of every defiance torn from her humanity? Of how she had continued, spent over thirty years fighting just to be seen as a human? What words could sum up her gentleness? How tenderly she touched despite the power of pure destruction running through her veins? Kya knew no way to express the simplest of things any more than a traumatic story. The mischief twinkling in sapphire blue eyes. How she possessed both the grace of a dancer and the power of a stallion whilst also withholding the gentleness of flower petals. How, even holding Kya’s hands down, Helena’s grip never became too tight. How her thumb would always seek out Kya’s pulse, as if reminding herself that the war was over. That Kya was alive in her grasp. The relief Kya often saw flood Helena’s eyes when their gazes met. Admiration for Helena’s struggles continued to claim Kya’s breath, even as she watched the Sorceress lift her head.

“You’re crying. Hav-“

“No!” Kya interfered, refusing to let the words of self-blame escape Helena’s lips.

“Helena, Christ, no. It’s just, sometimes everything you’ve been through just hits me. Its… I am so fucking furious for you, like I could go and bomb the Queen’s castle. But I’m also so insanely proud of you! How you fought, how you managed to face everything you’d endured.” Kya confessed, letting her forehead fall back to the small of Helena’s back for a moment. She couldn’t resist leaving another loving kiss to the bump of Helena’s spine, followed by another, and another, all as her tears fell.

“You are so beautiful, Helena. I love you so much my body can’t always contain it.”

“To think,” Helena began, pushing up onto one of her hands so she could turn enough to gaze down at Kya. All at once, the Sorceress’ breath caught in her throat, stolen by the sincerity in Kya’s otherworldly eyes. Grey, but not the type of grey that mimicked storm tainted clouds, nor the type of greys reminiscent of steel. No, Kya’s eyes were the grey of of stone, flecked with little slithers of blue which reminded Helena of diamonds before they were cleaned. Always, the images were of Earth. Grounding. Afterall, Kya was the grounding force in her life, the bedrock she had rebuilt herself upon. Kya had moved her to defy the Witch Queen, to embrace her own fears and rediscover who she was as an individual. Kya had moved an entire world, shown them one of the most horrific figures in their history, the fearsome General Klein, then made them see a hero. The Curse breaker. The slayer of the Witch Queen. Made them see Helena Klein in lights none dared dream.

“there was a time I had been convinced you could never truly want me. That it was my obedience you truly craved.” Helena’s confession earned a quiet yet sharp hiss from Kya, along with a literal flinch. Kya understood, boy did she ever, yet her body rebelled against the notion. She attempted to press closer, scattering more patient kisses up Helena’s back. How? How could any power that be, any god which may exist allow such a beautiful soul to be tormented to the point of worthlessness? The injustice of it all was a fire in her heart, causing her to tremble with the effort of keeping those flames contained.

“I hate that you ever felt I did not want you. I never wanted to force my wants onto you, but, Helena… have you seen yourself? Before I even knew your name, I was imagining things.”

“Things?” Helena enquired; brow arched playfully.

“You. Me. A bed. Alone and safe. How your arms around me would feel on cold nights, holding me close. How comfortable your chest was to lay my head on when you first hugged me. How that would feel to sleep on every night.” Kya’s response drew a rare flush to Helena’s cheeks.

“Then, I got to know you. The more I got to see, the more I wanted. I got to see a woman who is the best artist I have ever met. A woman built for peace, not war. A woman who has the element of destruction in her veins, but the power of endless growth and love in her heart. Not to mention the things just looking at you does to me. I could watch you draw for decades and never get tired of it. You make me appreciate the little things in life, even when I miss them because I am too busy watching you enjoy them. I don’t think I’ll ever stop wanting you, I doubt I even could.” Kya spoke clearly, leaving no room for misinterpretation. God, she already knew she would never stop wanting Helena. It was carved into her soul by carpenters of universal renown. Yet, it was only a shallow mind who would associate Kya’s desires to something carinal. Lust was simple, easy. What Kya wanted was so much more; a mountain compared to a pebble made from the droppings of a rabbit. After all, lust could be so fleeting, an experience of touch and taste to drive someone to the brink, then watch them drown and plummet beneath waves of momentary bliss. Sensations which would fade before a turn of the sun. Kya’s desires were so much more than that. Already, she welcomed the pain of overworked hands, even as she moulded each brick from the clay of understanding and sincerity. Her own blood played the mortar she offered as she tried to help Helena piece herself back together. The tower of Babylon, possibly, yet Kya was committed to continuing to build. To rebuild and repair, each time sturdier and aiming higher. Did Helena even have limits? If so, Kya wanted to help her find them, to reach the stars she’d always looked towards. Then, to shatter the ceilings of what ancient civilisations considered Heaven. The moon. The sun. Blackholes galaxies away. All challenges Kya believed Helena could conquer.

“Kya…” Helena couldn’t force more than the most reverent whisper past the lump in her throat. She felt the truth of Kya’s words, just as she felt everything Kya never voiced. Sheets tickled the swell of her hip, prickling along erased wounds and violations. Helena couldn’t help but feel how Kya trembled, only allowing her dark hair to brush Helena’s skin. A dry brush whispering across a plain canvas, held by an artist who was pleading to birth delights for the world. Even driven by such powerful emotions, Kya held herself back, silently waiting for invitation. Such power brought a smile to Helena’s lips. If she were water, she knew Kya would die of thirst before claiming a single droplet… And oh, she felt Kya’s thirst. It shouldn’t amuse her as it did, to feel how desperate Kya was to touch. To love. Even now, it was mystifying how Kya could love her. She was a murderer, a general of a genocide, something more dangerous than any creature within any world of fantasy or reality. No dragon could destroy the world on a whim, not as Helena could, yet Kya approached her as if she were a lost kitten. Where the Queen’s hands had tortured Helena into a weapon, had tried to erase her imperfections, Kya longed only to feel them. To understand.

“I would not mind… more…” The Sorceress finally admitted, her mind clawing for the words she so desperately wished to say. A small smile dawned at the small whimper which escaped Kya. It was a sound Helena now understood meant Kya was holding back her tears, drowning in emotions too pure for Helena to touch. Yet, touch she would. Again, and again, until the concept of individuals faded. If magic could not combine them, then Helena was greedy enough to claim every other closeness… and Kya was too.

“Helena… please. Can I touch your back?” The level of desire in such an innocent request punched the breath from Helena’s lungs, tore the concept from her body, just as it would tear her heart to refuse.

“Touch as you desire, Gentle Heart. I surrender myself to you, for tonight.” She granted her permission with a soft sigh. Her head sunk to the pillow once more, eyes closed. She waited, searching for the feeling of dread that often swelled beneath her breast when she invited such things, gave such power to another, yet it did not come. Worlds did not collide within her head, nor did her heartbeat begin to wage war against her veins. Instead, there was unity. The way her breath picked up fell in gentle pace with her heart, with Kya’s heart. She felt Kya’s body trembling above hers, skin whispering across her own as Kya audibly swallowed. Then, fingers, the lightest touch against her shoulders. A soft sigh of wind over fields of peaceful wheat. Loving rains over meadows green. Kya’s fingers were so careful, so gentle, so… reverent.

“I’m just going to touch your shoulders, maybe lay over you, ok? You have complete control, even with my weight on you, I promise, if you don’t like this, I’ll stop.” Kya whispered; voice thicker than molasses. Helena only hummed in response. Kya’s promises were branded into her soul, then upon the world as Kya birthed them to reality. The Sorceress trembled, allowing herself to feel every touch. Lips had branded every scar, time and time again. Every disgusting moment she could recall, and many she could not, had thrown themselves against Kya’s reassurances; foot soldiers laying siege to a temple. If pain acted the aggressors, then Kya’s words played the role of Goddess.

“I want you to enjoy how I love you.” Kya’s words were the fires she cast upon shame. Helena sighed softly, feeling that unique, unspeakable fire beginning at her core. It was an ember, a brief spark, nothing as shocking or frightening as the Queen made it. This was so very different. Kya was different. With the Queen, if Helena did not offer flame, she was punished. She was trapped, burning too brightly, too painfully for her soul to endure unscathed. She was made to destroy in order to survive. The Queen had tried to take that ember and destroy the world with unholy fire. Kya held that ember within her cupped hands. She spoke gently, sacrificing her body to shield that little ember from a world of storms and rain. Kya fed that flame with gentle words, coaxing and praising with nothing but the purest of intentions and utter patience. The Queen had set that flame across the world, only to punish it for burning. Kya sought only to see that flame grow as it would, to revel in it’s beauty without turning it to her own whims.

Above the Sorceress, Kya flushed brilliantly, the goofiest of grins forming across her lips as she slowly moved to lay herself across Helena. The way her hand touched Helena was nothing short of worship, tracing the lines of her muscles with delicate fingertips and gentle palms. The weight of Kya’s body over hers did not intimidate, even when Helena felt Kya’s hand push that little bit harder. Instead of fear, she was flooded with a sense of contentment. This was warm. Safe even, despite being so unknown. Her brows furrowed in curiosity for what Kya had planned. She had been taken like this before, punished by strap and spell, or a third party to entertain. She had accepted this position in exchange for food when she had been weak and starving. But this wasn’t them, this wasn’t a violation from her hideous past nor torture for her crimes. This was Kya. Gentle, caring Kya who had nothing but smooth skin pressed to Helena; hips rocking slightly against Helena’s rump. No, not rocking. Fidgeting. Wiggling. Trembling.

Kya was trying not to apply pressure, even at the sacrifice of her own comfort. That made the warmth in Helena’s heart intensify. It radiated through her muscles, soothing her until she allowed herself to give in. On a soft breath, the Sorceress released the tension in her body and finally allowed herself to melt into the mattress.

Kya waited, watching the pinch in Helena’s brows, searching for anything beyond curiosity. Helena remained calm, her cheek pressed into the pillow, lips parted to take small gulps of air. Beautiful blue eyes were closed, relaxed, save the occasional flutter of eyelids. Unable to resist, Kya allowed herself to fall forwards, only to catch herself on an outstretched hand lingering beside Helena’s. Kya’s free hand came to Helena’s brow, light fingers tracing each delicate line of Helena’s expression. Her curiosity. Her contentment. Her smile. Oh, how that gentle curve of lips could undo Kya a thousand times over. It was strange, feeling such pillowy softness beneath her thumb when she knew lips had a thousand grooves, each leaving a unique print behind to mark a kiss. It was a gentle kiss to the pad of her thumb which drew a soft gasp from Kya, even as the Sorceress beneath her let out a soft yet playful hum.

“You seem relaxed. Is this ok?” Kya questioned; her tone filled with tender concern as she let a little more of her weight rest across Helena’s scarred back. She watched, trying to decipher the slow blinks and twitch of Helena’s brow.

“I am completely at ease, Kya.” The realisation that her words were entirely true was enough to make Helena’s heart swell. She reached into herself, scouring the further most regions of her conscious in search of her fear, only to find nothing save contentment and passive curiosity. Not only did she not fear Kya’s touch, she welcomed it. Helena longed for such gentle contact across her wounded body, across every foul memory. Kya could wash away the shame Helena had carried for her entire life. Kya could wash away the ugliness of abuse. Kya. Kya was everything Helena wanted, every salacious desire and tender comfort she could comprehend. Acts which she knew brought her shame and agony suddenly intrigued her when paired with Kya. Situations that had left her scarred were now potentially enjoyable and safe, if Kya was there. If Kya was the one leading. Surely, if it was Kya behind her, she was safe.

“I can feel that.” Kya breathed; voice strained. Thick, like molasses and honey dripping through a sieve.

“I can… gods, Helena.” Kya’s voice broke, hitching on an all-encompassing sob that rocked her entire being. It was true, she could feel the honesty in Helena’s words. Helena was just so soft. So warm, so close and so relaxed. The Sorceress was liquid muscle beneath her, as if lacking a skeletal structure. It was enough to have Kya’s eyes stinging, for tears of pride and joy to flow down her cheeks and onto Helena’s skin. The raven-haired woman rested her forehead between Helena’s shoulder blades, sobbing softly as she wrapped an arm underneath Helena’s torso. Kya squeezed gently, cuddling Helena as close as she could. She lost herself in Helena’s scent, earthy and magical. Parchment, herbs and a unique smell no human could categorise. Nobody was ever allowed close enough to Helena to notice that little underlying note.

“I’m so proud of you. I love you so, so much. I wish you could feel how full my heart is.”

“Show me.” Helena found herself whispering. Pleading, even. It shocked her. How her body reacted to Kya’s mere presence, the weight and warmth plastered across her back. Lust had always been stoked, something brewed with intention. It was Kya who’d shown her spontaneous, yet even those situations had a logical formula Helena could follow. This… this was something entirely different. It was not the roaring inferno, or even the trickle she was used to. It was a sudden yet gentle warmth. Something spilling from her overflowing heart that slowly warmed her veins. A radiant glow peaceful bliss.

“I surrender myself to your guidance, my love.”

“In that case…” Kya began, voice wavering beneath the weight of Helena’s words. Thunder echoed in her chest, rocking her overflowing heart to the very last molecule. Suddenly, there were immense possibilities, many of them mistakes. What if her touch inspired fear? What if she scared the Sorceress with her eagerness to please? Or worse, if she tempered her desire, would it seem as if she did not appreciate the gift so lovingly offered? A gentle kiss placed to the curve of Helena’s shoulder bought Kya a few moments to collect herself, to remind herself that this was her Helena. Helena was not her destination, not a goal to reach or an objective to meet. Helena was not a journey to take, nor was she an adventure to best. Helena was the path. Even when there was no clear trial to follow, Helena was the direction Kya took. She was the golden pavement and gravel both. She was oceans and forests, storms and sunshine. Helena was everything. The fact Helena trusted Kya with her physical self was just a sweetener to the fact Helena existed at all. Kya could do no wrong, not if she followed as she always had. If she was honest, if she loved as she wished to be loved in return. Whether the night unfolded into seduction or laughter, it was with Helena. That was all that truly mattered.

Reassured by her realisation, Kya leaned closer, allowing her lips to skim the shell of her Sorceress’ ear as she whispered the first of many less wholesome requests for the night.

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