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thefloorisbalaclava · 3 years

Text

the grand tour pt. 3

Pairing: Javi Gutiérrez x F!Reader

Words: 6.5k (I have nothing to say for myself lol)

Warnings: This part is QUITE EXPLICIT and dialogue heavy and includes a little bit of everything. Here goes: SMUT - oral sex (m and f receiving), some foodplay, kinda sorta angry sex, unprotected sex, creampie, squirting, swallowing, dirty talk, woman on top, semi-public sex (because it’s on his balcony...), clothed sex, spooning sex, doggystyle, praise kink, slight size kink, tummy loving. OTHER WARNINGS: Angry Javi, a weapon is almost used, unwanted advance and grabbing, confessions, some jealousy, a little cliffhanger-y.

Summary: When you wake up in Javi’s bed, you have no idea what the day has in store for you. Your emotions are at an all time high and so are Javi’s which makes a particular decision very hard to make.

THE GRAND TOUR: [ONE] [INTERLUDE] [TWO] [FOUR]

Javi G masterlist

You rolled over in bed and realized something felt different. This was not your bed. Your sheets definitely didn’t feel this nice. You stretched then sat up, looking around to get your bearings.

Oh, that’s right…

You spent the night with Javi.

You spent the fucking night with Javi!

You shifted slightly and felt a pleasant soreness between your legs. It made you smile. The sun shined into the room through the huge windows and door that led to the balcony. You got out of bed and looked around for your dress which was nowhere to be found. What you did find though was Javi’s brown button down with the stripes from last night.

“This’ll have to do,” you said to yourself. Now, where was the owner of said shirt?

You wandered the halls of his house, coming across a room where you heard an angry voice saying something in Spanish. You waited for the conversation to be over before walking in and finding Javi pacing the floor. He turned threw his phone across the room and you pressed yourself to the wall although it was nowhere near you.

“Shit,” he cursed lowly as he made his way over to you quickly. “I am sorry! Are you okay?” He checked you over in a panic.

You smiled. “I’m fine, Javi. It was nowhere near me. I just got a little scared and--. You stopped when you noticed him staring at you. “What?”

“That is…my shirt,” he pointed out.

“Oh! Yeah, I couldn’t find my dress so…” You shrugged. “Is-is that okay?”

“More than okay,” he said, his voice changing already. “Your dress is, uh, I had someone take it to be cleaned.”

“Really? Thank you,” you said breathlessly as he pressed himself against you.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, and you never thought a simple question could sound so hot, so suggestive.

“Famished,” you answered, totally taking in a different meaning.

“There will be breakfast in our room. Come.” He moved away from you, taking your hand, and leading you back to the bedroom.

Then it hit you, he said our room.

You were about to say something about it when you rounded the corner in the bedroom and saw that the doors that led to the balcony were open and a table and two chairs that were not there before seemingly appeared out of nowhere. The table was covered in food—fruit, breads, muffins, bacon, eggs, more food than you had ever been offered for breakfast. You reached for a strawberry and bit into it, closing your eyes at the taste.

“Good?” Javi asked and when you opened your eyes, he was looking at you, grinning.

“Yes. Would you like one?” you asked playfully, picking up another strawberry.

“I would.” He sat in his chair as you walked over to him and sat on his lap before feeding him the fruit. “Hmm delicious.” Then he was kissing you and the flavor of strawberries filled your mouth again but seemingly sweeter this time.

“Mmmm,” you hummed against his lips.

“Want to know my favorite?” he asked, and you nodded. He reached for the fruit, but your eyes were glued to him, your fingers playing with the zipper of the burgundy and white jacket he was wearing over a ribbed tank top. You were able to pull your focus away from his neck and chest long enough to see the piece of pineapple he held in his hand.

“Want some?” he teased, and you nodded. He held it up higher and you tilted your head. He only brushed it along your lips. “Say please.”

“Please,” you breathed.

“Open.”

The sweetness of the pineapple hit your tongue as he let you bite off a small piece.

“Good, no?” He was about to finish it off, but you took the rest from him.

“Allow me…” You held the fruit up to his lips but instead of putting it into his mouth, you dragged it across his lips, squeezing it a little. You watched the juice drip down his chin, his neck, his collarbone…

Then you went for it. You started at his chest then licked your way all the way back up to his lips, licking along them before he grabbed the back of your head and kissed you hard.

Your hands went for his pants, quickly unfastening buttons and whatever else to get to him. You wrapped a sticky hand around him and he grunted.

“What are you doing, hm?” He looked down at your hand.

“I want to suck your cock,” you told him confidently.

“Oh?” He throbbed in your hand. You slid off his lap to kneel in front of him. He watched you eagerly, tracing your lips before putting a hand on the back of your head and gently urging you closer. You looked right into his eyes as you swirled your tongue around him.

“Yes,” he hissed. “I have not forgotten how lovely that mouth is. Ah, good girl,” he moaned as you began taking him into your mouth. You moaned around him then took him deeper. When you pulled off of him, he tilted your head up to look at him so he could kiss you then slowly pushed your head towards his cock again.

“I think I will finish in your mouth this time,” he said, carefully pumping his hips up. He slid down a little in the chair, spreading his legs a bit more.

You pulled off of him with a pop. “You taste like pineapple,” you joked, and he smiled. You wrapped your lips around him again and he groaned—it was a sound you loved to hear.

“How did I get so lucky?” he asked breathlessly, his hand helping to move your head up and down. You pulled off of him again and pushed his jacket up out of the way so you could get to his stomach. While stroking him, you press little kisses along his soft tummy, biting down playfully in some spots.

“How do you feel, Javi?” you asked before kissing his stomach again.

“Like I’m in a dream I never want to wake up from.”

You placed your hands on his stomach before taking him into your mouth again.

“You want it in your mouth, don’t you?” he asked. Your response was taking his cock as deep in your throat as you could. He growled, grabbed the back of your head, and filled your mouth. He was loud. You were sure some of his staff had heard.

He finally let your head up as his arms fell limply to his sides. You sat up but he stayed slouched in the chair. He took one look at you and found the strength to pull you closer and kiss you. Your mouth was a mess, but he obviously didn’t care. When he pulled away, he grabbed one of the cloth napkins and gently wiped your lips clean.

You eventually stood up and walked back over to your chair to eat breakfast as if nothing had even happened. You bit your lip as he cleaned himself off the best he could and tucked his cock back into his pants. He went to pull his jacket back down over his stomach but stopped.

“You left something behind,” he said, and you looked, spotting a small hickey on his tummy. Just then, one of the security guards stepped onto the balcony. Javi pulled his jacket down slowly as if he had nothing to hide.

“Yes?”

The guard walked over and said something in his ear. The lines that were softened for you were immediately hardened again as his guard told him whatever it was. He clenched his jaw and stood quickly.

“Don’t leave,” was all he said before storming inside. You shrugged and ate some more fruit.

After waiting about twenty minutes, you walked inside and wandered the halls again. You came across a room with a huge TV surrounded by every movie you could think of. You looked on the shelf below the TV and found a DVD case that was open, and you assumed it was the last thing he watched. It was something you least expected but also something that didn’t surprise all that much.

“Paddington,” you whispered. “Aww…”

“It is my favorite,” Javi said, and you nearly jumped to the ceiling.

“God! You have to stop doing that,” you scolded while putting your hand over your heart.

“Sorry,” he said, smiling though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Is everything okay?” you asked walking over to him.

“It is nothing to concern you with,” he said. “Why don’t we take a shower, hm?”

“Okay,” you said happily. He held your hand and led you back to the master bedroom with the huge shower.

His mind was occupied the entire time and he didn’t look at you the way he did last night. You were too afraid to ask about it again, so you stayed silent.

All you had were your clothes from last night to put on, sans panties. As you dressed, you were about to speak when Javi did first.

“My driver will take you home,” he said, and you looked at him.

“Oh…okay.”

He walked over and you thought he would kiss your lips, but he only pressed a quick one to your forehead.

“I will see you soon,” he said as he buttoned up his orange shirt and walked out of the room.

“Bye,” you whispered to the empty room. You made your way to the front door where your shoes were waiting for you. You slipped them on and opened the door, finding the car waiting for you.

“Good morning,” the driver said as you climbed in.

“Morning,” you responded quietly.

Back at your place, you took your clothes off again and climbed into bed. You hoped everything with Javi was okay, but you were also pissed by how he sort of just brushed you off.

“You should have known, you idiot,” you said to yourself tearfully, willing yourself to sleep. Maybe you would feel better when you wake up.

A few hours later, your friend came in and shook you away. You groaned and pulled the blanket over your head.

“What?” you mumbled.

“Why are you still in bed?” she asked.

“I had an…early morning,” you said.

“Well, it’s almost 2 pm now.”

You threw the blanket off and sat up. “Let’s go out tonight,” you suggested. “I wanna get drunk. So drunk.” You realized this was just your way of dealing with how upset you were over Javi.

“Okay…are you alright?” your friend asked.

“I will be.”

The music was too loud, and the place was too crowded, but you paid that no mind as you downed shot after shot with people you didn’t even know. Even your friend looked at you with concern etched in her expression.

“You need to slow down!” she yelled over the music.

“I’m fine!” you shouted back before downing another shot. Suddenly, you were grabbed by the arm. You looked down at the hand then up at the man who it belonged to.

“Dance with me!” he yelled, and you looked at your friend then back at the guy.

“Okay!” You let him pull you out to the dance floor. At first, it was just an innocent dance, he kept his distance, and you had your fun. Then his hands were on you, and you had become uncomfortable. You pushed at his hands to get them off of you. You looked over to see if you could get your friend’s attention, but she wasn’t there. You tried just moving away from the guy, but he wrapped an arm around you and pulled you against him. No one paid attention. You could only close your eyes until suddenly, the grip on you was gone and you seemed to float out of the club into the fresh air outside. Only then did you realize there were tears in your eyes.

A man in a suit and dark glasses stood off to the side while you gathered yourself.

“Who the hell are you?” you asked, not realizing that you knew exactly who he was.

“Mr. Gutiérrez –” the man started.

“He had you follow me?!” you asked angrily. “He needs to stop doing that! I do not belong to him!”

“He would like to see you,” the guard said, walking to the car and opening the door for you. You hesitated for a moment before rolling your eyes and getting into the car. The guard got in behind the wheel and you sat up, resting your chin on his seat as he started to drive.

“Does he pay y’all extra for keeping tabs on me?” you asked but the man didn’t respond. At some point during the drive, you must have fallen asleep. You remembered getting into the car and that was it.

You woke up in a comfortable bed—too comfortable to be your own. You squinted and groaned against the light. No one was beside you. You rolled over and found aspirin and a glass of water waiting for you.

“Oh, thank God,” you mumbled. You sat up slowly and took the pills as you got your bearings straight. “Javi…” You stood carefully and made sure the room stopped spinning before walking.

You found him out on the balcony in the orange shirt you saw him in before. The wind ruffled it gently, pulling the material taut against his tummy—the same tummy you had been kissing and nibbling on…

No.

You stormed out there, but he didn’t even turn to look at you.

“How dare you?” you asked bitterly. “I don’t need to be followed. I don’t need to be rescued and I certainly don’t need it from you!” His back was still turned to you. “Javi!”

He turned but he seemed to look past you. He walked over but went right past you to grab something that was sitting against the wall. When he turned back around, you stumbled back, tripping over your own feet.

“Javi…” you said nervously. “Wha…what are you doing?”

He cocked the shotgun angrily and you swallowed hard. “You do not need to be rescued? What would have happened if my guard were not there when that…man…started grabbing on you?” he asked, staring into your soul.

“I…” You began backing away. “What are you doing with that shotgun?”

Even in his big hands it looked huge.

“I’m gonna go find the bastard and kill him,” he answered as if he was only telling you he was going for a walk.

“You what? You can’t do that!”

“I can do anything I want!” he snapped. “All I can think about was what could have happened if no one had been there to help you!”

“I can take care of myself! I…I…”

“Go on, say it!” He was close to you now, eyes full of anger and…tears?

“I am not yours!” you finally yelled, your own tears finally spilling over. “I am leaving tomorrow, Javi. That’s it. This will be over. I will be gone.”

“I will not listen to this,” he murmured.

“Oh, no, I can’t expect the big, bad millionaire to care about what I say,” you said bitterly.

He scoffed. “What do you want me to do, hm? Want me to give all my money away? Because I’ll do. I’ll do it for you. I would leave all of this behind for you. Just say the fucking word.”

All you could do was shake your head. “No.”

“I would go to the ends of the earth for you, mi amor. Don’t you see that?”

“Why Javi?” you cried.

“Because in the short time I have known you I have fallen in love with you,” he confessed, and you cried harder.

“How…” You watched as he put the shotgun down carefully then walked over to you slowly. The sun shone brightly but you could only see him. He was brighter than the sun. You could see his chest heaving with each breath he took; you saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. You could see the lighter tones of brown and even some grey in his hair with the sun shining on him that way.

You hadn’t noticed you were backing away until you hit the glass door behind you.

“Are you frightened of me?” he asked, and you shook your head. “You should be…”

“Why?”

He caged you in with his strong arms. “Because of how much I love you and how badly I want you. You have taken over my mind.” He was so close now that his nose brushed yours. “I wake up thinking of kissing your lips. I go to bed thinking of being deep inside of you. You are even on my mind when I sleep.”

“Do I frighten you?” you asked, and he nodded.

“Yes,” he answered then kissed you hard. “I need you.” You nodded once and he quickly hiked your dress up your thighs and slid your panties aside before licking his fingers and rubbing your pussy.

“Ah fuck!”

“How does that feel, hm?” He put two fingers inside you while clenching his jaw, pushing them deep. You shoved your hand down his khaki pants and found that he wasn’t wearing underwear. He grunted then buried his face in your neck, biting and sucking as you both just touched each other.

“May I fuck you?” he asked, and you nodded. “Say it to me. Tell me.”

“Yes, you can fuck me.” You took your hand from his trousers then pulled his from between your legs immediately bringing his hand to your mouth so you could taste his fingers.

“Fuck,” he said through his teeth as you sucked on his fingers, tasting yourself. He pulled his fingers from your mouth then kissed you. Soon it turned into you two just playing with each other’s tongues.

He pulled his pants down and let them fall the rest of the way before grabbing your leg and wrapping it around his waist. You pulled your panties out of the way again as he lined himself up and slammed into you, making the glass door shake. His pace was relentless almost immediately, your skin squeaking against the glass with each thrust.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he growled but you could only moan. Suddenly, he was moving, and you were moving with him down to the floor of the balcony. You were on top of him now and he pumped up into you. You put both hands on his chest for balance as you bounced on him. He put his hands on your ass and helped you bounce.

“Javi…I…I…”

“Yes?”

“Fuck…I’m yours!” you cried out.

“Yes!” He grabbed you and flipped you onto your back so that he was on top now. He made sure to put his hand behind your head so he could place it down gently against the hard floor. That was the only gentle thing he did. The sun shined down on you both as he pounded into you. You heard something tear and realized it was your dress. Javi was gripping it so tightly that he tore it. He was so lost in pleasure that he hadn’t noticed.

“I’m going to come,” he moaned. “I’m going to come in your pretty little cunt because you are mine, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Javi.”

He grunted loudly with each of his last few thrusts then shouted as he began to come. He laid over you, making sure to keep most of his weight off you.

“I want to stay like this forever. Close to you, inside you.” He kissed you sweetly then slid his hand down between your legs. He was softening inside you, but he wanted to feel you come around him. It didn’t take long to make you come. The feeling of being full of him, the way his body covered yours, his filthy yet encouraging words, it all helped you along the way.

“Come for Javi. You are close, I can feel it.” When you cried out, he moved his fingers faster on your clit. “Let me feel that pretty pussy come on me.”

Your eyes rolled back and with a cry of his name you came undone.

“Ahhh yes, what a good girl you are. Look at you.” He finally moved his hand away and pulled out of you so he could watch you clench at nothing, pushing some of his cum out.

“No, no. We can’t have that.” He pushed his cum back inside you with two fingers, licking his lips as he did. Then he spread your lips just to look at you. Your eyes were closed so you didn’t notice him dipping his head between your legs. You felt his tongue on your pussy and you whimpered.

“Javiiiiii…”

“Sorry, I just…” He licked you. “…wanted a little…” Another lick. “…taste.” He sucked on your clit then pulled away to give your pussy a sloppy kiss.

You laid there limply as he stared down at you. He didn’t understand he were still able to look so beautiful and sweet even though you were disheveled from a round of nasty sex. You gave him a small smile and his heart skipped a beat.

“I’m sure you would like a shower, no?”

“Yes, please. Will…you join me?” You tried not to get your hopes up.

“Of course.” He stood then helped you to your feet. You looked down and he followed your gaze, finally noticing how badly he tore your dress. “I did that, didn’t I? I’m sorry. I will take you shopping.”

In the shower, you both took your time bathing each other, sneaking kisses in here and there. Afterwards, he wrapped you in a cozy robe which was most likely his because it was too big on you.

You laid down and he followed, lying on his side so he could look at you.

“Were you really gonna try to find that guy and…kill him?” you asked.

“In that moment, yes.”

“But then you would go to prison and…”

“I know but I did not do it…” he started but you cut him off.

“And what would happen to me, huh? You go to prison, and I’d be left all alone, Javi,” you sobbed. “You can’t do that to me.”

“Never, mi amor. Never. I’m sorry.” He wiped your tears and pulled you close. Neither of you realized what you had said, the way you made it seem like you were staying by saying if he went to prison, he would leave you there all alone.

“Why did you want to get rid of me earlier? You seemed so angry about something and then you sent me away.”

“The work I do…sometimes it takes so much out of me. It makes me angry and irritable, and I do not want to take that out on you. But never look at it as me pushing you away. I want to keep you as close as I can for as long as I can.” He knew what was coming next, what you were going to say.

“I leave tomorrow, Javi. What’s going to happen to us?” You looked into his eyes.

“Do you have to leave?” he asked, brushing his nose against yours.

“I told you I do but…I think I’ve fallen in love with you, Javi. It’s not fair,” you cried. “Why’d you make me fall in love with you?” You sobbed against his shirt. You hadn’t come to Spain with the intentions of falling in love with a millionaire who got his fortune through not-so-legal means.

There was nothing he could say right now so he filled the silence with a kiss, letting your tears wet his face. He couldn’t let you go, not now, but what could he possibly do?

As he kissed you, you were hoping that he had some sort of plan in that brain of his because you had nothing. You hoped he wanted you bad enough to do whatever it took to make you stay.

Later that day, you went for a walk in town. Javi had given you his credit card, but you hadn’t planned on spending anything. You stopped in front of a toy store and smiled before walking inside. You had an idea for a gift that you would spend your own money on.

Half an hour later, you practically skipped out of the store with the biggest smile on your face.

Back at Javi’s place, you could see how curious he was about the bag as you handed him his credit card. “I send you out with this and you come back with one bag. You are unlike any other woman I have ever met.”

“Oh, I spent my own money on this.”

He looked at you. “Why?”

“Because it’s a gift…for you. I can’t spend your money on a gift for you.” You rocked back and forth on your heels excitedly.

“Why are you getting me gifts?” he asked.

“Your birthday was the other day, and I didn’t have a chance to get you anything,” you pointed out.

“You did not know. We did not know each other then.”

“I know but still…close your eyes.” You watched him squeeze his eyes shut then dug into the bag. When you looked up to check on him, he had one eye open. “Javi!”

“Okay, okay, sorry,” he chuckled.

You pulled the red bucket hat out of the bag and walked over to him to put it on his head. “Okay, there’s one.”

He opened his eyes and looked around then felt his head. “A hat?”

“Yup. A red one to match a friend,” you told him.

He thought for a moment. “I do not recall having any friends with red hats.”

“That’s why you have to close your eyes again,” you said, and he did.

This time you pulled the teddy bear out. “Put your hands out.” When he did, you placed the bear in his hands. “Open.”

He opened his eyes and looked down; his eyes lit up. “Paddington?” he whispered.

“Yeah, do you like him?” you asked.

He looked at you and smiled, nodding his head. “I love him. How did you know?”

“I did some snooping in your TV room…theater…thing.” You weren’t sure what to call it.

“You must think I’m childish for this, no?”

You shook your head. “Not at all.” Though he did look downright adorable with that red hat on his head to match the bear.

He eventually took it off and just looked at you for a moment. “I just realized something.”

“What?”

“I do not have any pictures of you.” He took his phone out of his pocket.

“I don’t have any of you either.” You sniffled as you reached into your pocket. “If it’s our last day together we…we…better…”

“No.” Javi took you into his arms in a flash, letting you cry on his shoulder. “The world can be so unfair.”

“What am I supposed to do without you, Javi?” Why did you let this man into your heart like this? What started off as a fling had become your lifeline. He had become someone you couldn’t live without—your oxygen, your sustenance.

“You will not be without me. I will make it so.” He pulled back and lifted your head so he could cup your face. “I told you I would go to the ends of the earth for you. Never expect less of me.”

You had no idea what ideas were swimming around in that head of his.

“I will think of something because I will be damned if I let you get away. I always get what I want,” he said. It wasn’t threatening. It didn’t scare you. You wanted him to want you.

After a quiet lunch together, you both cuddled up in his home theatre to watch Paddington. You smiled at how excited he was to share his favorite film with you. You made sure to take pictures of his smile.

Later, as the sun began to set, he took pictures of you staring out at the sea on the balcony. You were wearing one of his shirts with nothing underneath.

“Javi?” You looked over your shoulder at him.

“Yes?”

“Would you ever keep any secrets from me?” you asked.

“No, I can’t think of any.”

“I mean, like, is there some angry ex-girlfriend or ex-wife somewhere that I need to know about? Any kids or anything?”

His heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to tell you, he just forgot. “I, uh, I do have an ex-girlfriend.”

“Oh? What happened?” You were looking at him now.

“She left me,” he admitted.

“It was amicable?”

“No, I loved her,” he said. It hurt but at least he was being honest. “I still…I still see her.”

“You do?”

“Yes, we are friends.” You could tell he was feeling a little uncomfortable.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” you asked.

“I don’t know…” He saw the look on your face and knew he had upset you. “I know I should have told you sooner.”

You shook your head. “Don’t worry about it.” You turned around and walked inside. “I should go home. I need to get packed for tomorrow.”

“Wait what? I thought you wanted to spend the rest of the day together.”

“I’m just a little tired,” you lied.

“Wait, is it about the ex-girlfriend thing?” He stood in front of you.

You shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”

“You’re the one who asked if I had any secrets. You should not ask questions that you are not ready to hear the answers to,” he said.

“So now it’s my fault?” You scoffed and walked around him. “I’m going. Call your ex to keep you company.”

“Jealousy does not look good on you, mi amor,” he called out behind you.

“Okay, you know what, maybe I am jealous, but I think that shows how much I actually love you. I’m not angry or anything. What you do is your business but, I will not lie, I am hurt.” You stormed upstairs and found a pair of leggings that you had left the other night. You took his shirt off and threw it on the bed then grabbed your torn dress to put back on.

“You can keep the shirt,” he said quietly as he watched you from the door.

“I don’t want it,” you snapped.

“I don’t want you to go,” he said quietly.

“Well, I have to…” You walked to the doorway, but he stayed there, blocking your way. “Move Javi.”

“Why are you doing this? You asked me a question and I told you the truth. Would you rather I lie to you?”

“Of course not. I just…I’m tired,” you told him.

“Then sleep here.” He was almost begging now.

“I have to pack, Javi! My friend is probably wondering where I am.”

“I don’t care about that!” he shouted. “I care about you. You don’t have to be jealous of my ex because I want you and you only. I don’t want you to leave.”

“I still should go…”

“Fine, I will take you to get your stuff then we will come back here. Let’s go.” He turned and walked away, and you followed as quickly as you could. You put your shoes on at the door and followed him outside.

You were quiet the entire drive over. He parked in front of the place where you were staying.

“I won’t be long. I –” You stopped as he got out of the car and waited for you.

“I will go in with you.” He looked up at the building. “This is no place for you.”

“It’s fine for me.” You started to walk ahead of him but he grabbed your hand so you could walk together. “Javi…what if there are paparazzi around or something? They’ll get photos of us together.”

“So what.”

You led him inside and opened the door to your apartment, finding your friend in the kitchen.

“It’s about time you got home. None of your stuff is—holy shit.” As soon as she turned around, she dropped what she was holding. “You’re Javi Gutiérrez! That’s Javi Gutiérrez!”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Is this the person you’ve been…oh my god!”

“Nice to meet you.” Javi held out his hand for her to shake.

“Y-You too, Mr. Gutiérrez, sir. I can’t believe this.”

“My stuff is back here.” You walked to your room and Javi followed. “Can I just pack here?” you asked.

“Okay. I will stay and help.” He waited for you to tell him what to do but as soon as you opened your bag you started to cry. “Amor? What’s wrong? Is it me? I’m sorry I upset you today.”

“No, no it’s fine. I should not have snapped at you that way. I really have no right to be jealous. It’s just that I’m gonna miss you so fucking much. I tried to pretend something else was bothering me but it’s gonna hurt so much for me to leave you.” You cried into your hands.

“Come here.” He sat on the bed and pulled you onto his lap. “If you want to stay, I will figure something out, pull some strings. You can finish school here online or something.”

“But my family, my friends. I can’t just decide to stay in Spain,” you cried.

“Of course you can. You just have to be brave enough to do it. And just because you stay here doesn’t mean you can’t see your friends and family anymore. We can always visit.” He turned your head so you could look at him. “I want you to stay but it does not mean I will keep from those you love.”

“Javi, I just don’t know. I…I…” All you could do was kiss him. You ran your fingers through his hair and kissed him deeply, passionately as if it were the last time you ever would. You pulled away, breathless. “Make love to me, Javi. Please.”

“Whatever you want.”

You undressed each other and he took his time kissing you and exploring your body. He even took his time between your legs, licking and tasting you as if he wanted to remember your taste forever.

He moved behind you and spooned you before lifting your leg and entering you from behind. He made love to you while holding you and tears streamed down your cheeks. You turned your head to kiss him, and he wiped your tears away with his thumb.

“It is okay,” he whispered, thrusting into you a little harder. “I will always be here no matter what you decide…but I hope you stay.” He kissed you again before gently pushing you onto your stomach and straddling you from behind. He slipped inside you again, lifting your ass a bit so he could get deeper. After a few thrusts, he put all his weight on you—his chest was against your back, his stomach in the arch of your back—as his hips slapped against your ass. You pushed back against him, crying out as he hit your spot over and over again.

“Right there, Javi. Don’t stop,” you moaned.

He kissed the back of your neck and licked at the sweat on your back. “My beautiful girl. My beautiful, beautiful girl.”

“Ah, shit, fuck!” You reached back and pushed him away as you started to squirt. Your entire body trembled as you reached between your legs and played with yourself as you finished squirting. “I’m…sorry.”

“I don’t know why you are apologizing.” He stroked himself with the wetness you left all over him. He hummed happily as he bent to taste you.

“Fucking hell, Javi! I’m so sensitive…please…”

“If this is the last time, I’m going to have you then I’m going to enjoy every bit.” He sucked on your clit, and you reached back to grab his hair. You moved yourself against his face and he groaned happily.

“You’re gonna make me cum again, Javi. You’re so fucking good.”

“I am?” He sat up on his knees and touched himself. “Tell me again.”

You looked back and smiled at what you saw. You turned around and crawled to him. “You’re so good, Javi. You make me feel so good.”

“Yeah?” He stroked himself faster, closing his eyes.

“I’ve never wanted anyone as much as I want you. I am yours and you are mine.” You looked up at him and he looked down at you.

“Put it in your mouth, please. It’s coming…”

You kissed up and down his length before taking him into your mouth. He was coming in no time, crying out and whimpering your name as he did.

“So good.” He stroked your head as he filled your mouth. You pulled off of him and swallowed, looking up into his eyes the entire time. He smirked and wiped your lips off with his thumb.

“I…I love you, Javi.” You sat up on your knees to kiss him and he laid you down slowly.

“I love you, my little firecracker.” He smiled against your lips as you giggled at the nickname.

“Are you hungry?” you asked.

“Yes, a little, but I am not sure that it’s for food,” he teased.

“Will you spend this last night with me?” you asked.

“Don’t say it like that…”

You shrugged your robe on. “I’ll make us something.”

After eating and having Javi answer your friend’s a hundred questions, you went back to the bedroom. Javi’s back was to you, and you played connect the dots with the freckles along his shoulders, crying quietly as he slept. You pressed a sweet kiss to his back and laid your head against him, trying to memorize the way he feels beside you and in your arms. You played with the curls at the nape of his neck then moved your fingers up into the soft curls that covered his entire head. With one more kiss to his back, you rolled out of bed and started to pack your bag.

He had told you that all you had to do was be brave if you wanted to stay but you weren’t brave, you weren’t as tough as he was. You cried even more as you tiptoed around the room to gather your things. You stopped in front of him and looked at how relaxed he looked as he slept. Carefully, you bent to kiss his cheek.

“I love you, Javi. I’m sorry.” You took the note you had written out of your pocket and put it on your pillow. With one last look at him, you walked out of the room trying your best not to look back at all. Your friend was at the door waiting for you.

“Ready?” she asked.

“Y-Yeah,” you lied, putting your sunglasses on to hide your watery eyes. “Let’s go home.”

#javi gutiérrez #javi gutierrez #pedro pascal #the unbearable weight of massive talent #tuwomt #headcanon

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marvelsunderoos · 3 years

Text

Grand Prix - Tom Holland

AN: for the sake of this story, and me being a fangirl, y/n is Dutch lol. In terms of the whole VIP Formula 1 situation, it makes no sense at all that they would just watch it on a TV but I don’t care.

Also, Tom’s arms made me feel a certain type of way.

Warnings: shitty storyline, smut

Word count: 1385

“Monaco baby” Tom cheered as you were getting of the plane. It was Grand Prix weekend in Monaco and Tom’s connections had made it possible for you, him, Harrison and Tuwaine to join the race as VIP guests. The weekend had begun very nicely, the four of you chilling on a yacht and just enjoying the moment. That was until the race started and you had made your way back to your hotel and your differences in terms of favourite racers started to show. The British men were all rooting for Lewis Hamilton while you, a proud Dutchie, were rooting for Max Verstappen.

“Oh, I’d totally do him.” You said laughing while taking another sip of your wine.

This comment seemed to get Tom’s attention as his arm was wrapped around your waist in a second and his lips touched your ear.

“Bet he won’t make you feel like I do.” He whispered. The effect this man had on you once again became clear after he spoke those words into your ear, a familiar tingling feeling taking over your body. Tom could sense this and as he placed a few kisses in your neck, just below your ear you let out a shaky breath.

“Hey, get a room you two!” Harrison spoke from behind you. You were just about to laugh it off when you heard Tom say something along the lines of ‘gladly’ before taking your arm and dragging you away from the huge tv in the main area of your suite.

“Hey!” You protested as you walked through the hallway, still wanting to watch the rest of the race.

“I was watching that.”

“Oh, as I recall we have a lovely view of the track from our bedroom darling.”

As you made your way into the bedroom, Tom’s arm was wrapped around your waist while the other placed a chair in front of the enormous window in your room. Luckily, you were pretty high up so Tom was right, you did have a nice view.

Tom didn’t hesitate to rip off your dress, leaving a trail of kisses all over your body. Sucking, biting and kissing his way from your ears to your neck, to your breasts, leaving marks everywhere. While his right hand unclipped your bra, the other pulled it off your body and his lips soon found your nipples where his tongue lightly sucked and licked until they were left sensitive and hard.

“Sit.” He demanded as his strong arms sat you down on the chair in front of the window. He kneeled down in front of you, getting ready to pull of your panties when you beat him to it and removed his shirt. His beautiful body never failed to leave you like a mess, his mess. His hands roamed all over your body until they took off your panties in a painfully slow pace. You pulled him in for a messy kiss, soon finding his neck and leaving your marks there as Tom let out some shaky moans. You sucked a little harder, never not having been turned on by the sounds he makes when you make him feel good.

But Tom hadn’t forgotten your statement and was determined to make you feel good and before you knew it his head was in between your legs, teasing you with light, feathery kisses on your inner thighs, just not quite kissing you where you wanted him to the most. The tension he had built up was killing you until at one point your hands pulled his hair and guided him towards where you needed him. And as soon as his lips connected with your heat, you let out a content sigh and when his tongue licked a stripe up your cunt, collecting your juices before landing on your clit, you let your head fall back and closed your eyes. Tom immediately stopped when you did however, and your eyes met his briefly before he spoke.

“Thought you wanted to watch the race, baby” and you nodded as your eyes fell in front of you, watching the track and seeing racing cars pass by. Tom traced his fingers over your lips, and a small tap on them caused you to open your mouth and you slowly sucked his index and middle finger, never breaking eye contact with your man. His fingers softly circled your clit, and a whiny sigh escaped your lips when you noticed he was not going to pick up his speed anytime soon.

“Please, more Tommy.” You whined.

Tom looked up and softly licked his lips.

“You want my fingers baby?” He asked, a soft smirk on his face telling you that he already knew your answer.

“Please.” You didn’t have to tell him twice as his index and middle finger entered your heat, curling up and hitting your g-spot with every move he made. His fingers were already making you feel like you were floating, and soon his mouth made contact with your clit, softly sucking and circling his tongue around the sensitive bud.

“Tastes so good darling” Tom softly moaned.

You were a trembling mess, having a very hard time with keeping your eyes open and focused on the window when Tom was making you feel so good. Your moans were unsteady as you could feel you were approaching your high, scratching your nails over his back, begging Tom for more until you came undone all over his fingers.

A soft giggle escaped your lips as you came down from your high and you softly pulled Tom in for a kiss. Your hands found the button on his jeans and you quickly helped him get out of the, undoubtfully, uncomfortably tight jeans. The two of you stumble around in the room, before landing on the bed. You straddle his waist, capturing his lips in a messy kiss before hooking your fingers in his boxers, pulling them down. Your hand finds his cock, slowly pumping it a few times before lifting your hips and you let yourself sink onto his familiar body. You moan as you settle there, your walls stretching around his cock completely.

Tom loved this view, the sight of your naked body straddling him and giving him everything. The way you arch your back when you slowly start to move back and forth on his cock, the way your hands are placed on his chest to steady yourself and your face that radiates pure pleasure. He could look at this all day. Remembering he had promised to make you feel good, he flipped the two of you over and the shift of position allowed him to find a pace in his deep, hard thrusts.

“Wanna make you feel good baby” Tom moaned as your fingers pulled on the strands of his hair. Your moans were enough to confirm how good he made you feel, the way his cock filled you up just perfectly made you a sweaty mess in the hotel bed. His fingers on your waist, digging into your skin in such a harsh way that they were sure to leave some bruises, but that didn’t matter right now. You could only think about the pleasure you were feeling and the noises that came from Tom’s mouth were enough to distract you from everything else in the world.

You sucked on your fingers and brought them down to your clit, helping yourself get to the edge and you could tell Tom was close too by the way his thrusts were getting slower and less even. Moans filled the hotel room.

“Are you almost there baby? Gonna come for me, all in me?” You asked Tom, looking into his eyes and softly biting your lip.

Tom groaned and nodded, his eyes screwing shut and as you felt his cum unloading into you, your fingers sped up their pace and gave you just enough to push yourself over the edge as well. You rode out your high and Tom soon fell on top of your chest, both of you panting and smiling.

“You do make me feel good.” You spoke softly, causing Tom to smile.

It was at that moment that you heard the Dutch national anthem being played and Tom softly let out a groan at which you laughed.

“Guess Max won the race.”

#tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland smut #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland one shot #tom holland x reader #monaco #marvel #marvel imagine #my writings #mcu

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lokiondisneyplus · 3 years

Text

Natalie Holt's timeline was turned upside down last fall when she landed the highly-coveted composer gig for Marvel Studios' Loki series on Disney+.

"My agent got a general call-out looking for a composer on a Marvel project," she tells SYFY WIRE during a conversation over Zoom. "So, I didn’t know what it was. It was [described as] spacey and quite epic ... I sent in my show reel and then got an interview and got sent the script and then I realized what it was for. I was like, ‘Oh my god!’ It was amazing ... Loki was already one of my favorite characters, so I was really stoked to get to give him a theme and flesh him out in this way."

***WARNING! The following contains certain plot spoilers for the first four episodes of Loki!***

Imbued with glorious purpose, Holt knew the score had to match the show's gonzo premise about the Time Variance Authority, an organization that secretly watches over and manages every single timeline across the Marvel multiverse. The proposition of such an out-there sci-fi concept inspired the composer to bring in uniquely strange sounds, courtesy of synthesizers and a theremin.

"I got my friend, Charlie Draper, to play the theremin on my pitch that I had to do," she recalls. "They gave me a scene to score, which I’m sure they gave to loads of other composers. It was the Time Theater sequence in Episode 1. The bit from where he goes up the elevator and then into the Time Theater ... I just went to town on it and I wanted to impress them and win the job and put as many unusual sounds in there and make it as unique as possible."

The end result was a weird, borderline unnatural sound that wouldn't have felt out of place in a 1950s sci-fi B-movie about big-headed alien invaders. Rather than being turned off by Holt's avant garde ideas, Marvel Studios head honcho Kevin Feige embraced them, only giving the composer a single piece of feedback: "Push it further."

Holt admits that she was slightly influenced by Thor: Ragnarok ("I loved the score for it and everything"), which wasn't afraid to lean into the wild, Jack Kirby-created ideas floating around Marvel's cosmic locales. Director Taika Waititi's colorful and bombastic set pieces were perfectly complimented by an '80s-inspired score concocted by Devo co-founder, Mark Mothersbaugh.

"To be honest, I tried not to listen to it on its own," Holt says of the Ragnarok soundtrack. "I didn’t want to be too influenced by it. I watched the film a couple of times a few years ago, so yeah, I don’t think I was heavily referencing it. But I definitely had a memory of it in my mind."

After boarding Loki last September, Holt spent the next six months (mostly in lockdown) crafting a soundtrack that would perfectly reflect the titular god of mischief played by Tom Hiddleston. One of the first things she came up with was the project's main theme — a slightly foreboding cue that pays homage to the temporal nature of the TVA, as well as the main character's flair for the dramatic. "He always does things with a lot of panache and flair, and he’s very classical in his delivery."

She describes it as an "over-the-top grand theme with these ornate flourishes" that plays nicely with Loki's Shakespearean aura. "I wanted those ornaments and grand gestures in what I was doing. Then I also wanted to reflect that slightly analog world of the TVA where everything has lots of knobs and buttons ... [I wanted to] give it that slightly grainy, faded [and] vintage-y sci-fi sound as well."

"I just wanted it to feel like it had this might and weight — like there was something almost like a requiem about it," Holt continues. "These chords that are really powerful and strident and then they’ve got this blinking [sound] over the top. I just came up with that when I was walking down the street and I hummed it into my phone. There’s a video where you can just see up my nose and I’m humming [the theme]. I came home and I played it."

As a classically-trained musician, Holt drew on her love of Mahler, Dvořák, Beethoven, Mozart, and most importantly, Wagner. A rather fitting decision, given that an actual Valkyrie (played by Tessa Thompson) exists within the confines of the MCU.

"I would say those flourishes over the top of the Loki theme are very much Wagner," Holt says. "They’re like 'Ride of the Valkyries.’ I wanted people to kind of recall those big, classical, bombastic pieces and I wanted to give that weight to Loki’s character. That was very much a conscious decision to root it in classical harmony and classical writing ... There’s a touch of the divine to the TVA. It’s in charge of everything, so that’s why those big powerful chords [are there]. I wanted people almost to be knocked off their socks when they heard it."

With the main theme in place, Holt could then play around with it in different styles, depending on the show's different narrative needs. Two prime examples are on display in the very first episode during Miss Minutes' introductory video and the flashback that reveals Loki to be the elusive D.B. Cooper.

"What was really fun was [with] each episode, I got to pull it away and do a samba version of the theme or do a kind of ‘50s sci-fi version of the theme," she explains. "I can’t say other versions of the theme because they’re in Episode 5 and 6…or like when Mobius is pruned, I did this really heartfelt and very emotional [take on the theme] when you see Loki tearing up as he’s going down in slow motion down that corridor. It was cool to have the opportunity to try out so many different styles and genres. And it was big enough to take it all. It was a big enough story."

The other side of the story speaks to the old world grandeur of Loki's royal upbringing on Asgard, a city amongst the stars that eventually found its way into Norse mythology.

"I went to a concert in London three years ago and I heard these Norwegian musicians playing in this group called the Lodestar Trio," Holt recalls. "They do a take on Bach, where they’re kind of giving it a folk-y twist … [They use] a nyckelharpa and a Hardanger fiddle — they’re two historic Norwegian folk instruments. I just remembered that sound and I was like, ‘Oh, I have to use those guys in our score.’ It seemed like the perfect thing. I was like, ‘Yes, the North/Norwegian folk instruments.’ It just felt like it was the perfect thing for his mother and Asgard and his origins."

That folk-inspired sound also helped shape the music for Sylvie (played by Sophia Di Martino), a female variant of Loki with a rather tragic past. "Obviously, we’ve seen in Episode 4 what happened to her as a child," Holt says. "I just feel like she’s so dark. She’s basically grown up living in apocalypses, so she has that Norwegian folk violin sound, but her theme is incredibly dark and menacing and also, you don’t see her. She’s just this dark figure who’s murdering people for a while."

And then there were all the core members of the TVA to contend with. As Holt mentioned above, fans recently lost Agent Mobius (Owen Wilson), may he rest in prune. We mean peace. What? Too soon? During a recent interview with SYFY WIRE, Loki head writer Michael Waldron said that he based Mobius off of Tom Hanks's dogged FBI agent Carl Hanratty in 2002's Catch Me If You Can.

"There’s this thing that he loves jet ski magazines," Holt says. "I had this character in my head and then when I saw Owen Wilson’s performance, I was like, ‘Oh, he’s actually a lot lighter and he plays it in a different way from how I’d imagined.’ But I was listening to Bon Jovi and those slightly rock-y anthemic things. ‘90s rock music for some reason was my Mobius sound palette."

Mobius is pruned on the orders of his longtime friend, Ravonna Renslayer (Gugu Mbatha-Raw), after learning that everyone who works for the TVA is a variant who was unceremoniously plucked out of their original timelines. A high-ranking member of the quantum-based agency, Renslayer has a theme that "is quite tied in with Mobius and it’s like a high organ," Holt adds. "It doesn’t quite know where it’s going yet. But yeah, we’ll have to see what happens with that one."

Wilson's character isn't the only person fed up with the TVA's lies. Hunter B-15 (Wunmi Mosaku) also became disillusioned with the place and allowed Sylvie to escape in the most recent episode

"Hunter B-15 has this moment in Episode 4 where Sylvie shows her her past, her memories. I thought that was a really powerful moment for her," Holt says. I feel like she’s such a fighter and when she comes into the Time-Keepers and she makes that decision, like, ‘I’m switching sides,’ so her theme is more like a drum rhythm. I actually kind of sampled my voice and you can hear that with the drums. I did loads of layers of it, just like this horrible sliding sound with this driving rhythm underneath it. So, that was B-15 and then her softer side when she has her memory given back to her."

Speaking of the Time-Keepers, we finally got to meet the creators of the Sacred Timeline...or at least we thought we did. Loki and Sylvie are shocked to learn that the red-eyed guardians of reality are nothing but a trio of high-end animatronics (ones that could probably be taken out by a raging Nicolas Cage). Even before Sylvie manages to behead one of them, something definitely feels off with the Time-Keepers, which meant Holt could underscore the uncanny valley feeling in the score.

"When they walked in for their audience with the Time-Keepers, it was like this huge gravitas," she says. "But you look up and there’s something a bit wrong about them. I don’t know if you felt that or if you just totally believed. You were like, ‘Oh, this is so strange.’ I just felt like there was something a little bit off and musically, it was fun to play around with that."

Holt is only the second solo female composer to work on an MCU project, following in the footsteps of Captain Marvel's Pinar Toprak. Her involvement with Loki represents the studio's growing commitment to diversity, both in front of and behind the camera. This Friday will see the wide release of Black Widow, the first Marvel film to be helmed solely by a woman (Cate Shortland). Four months after that, Chloé Zhao's Eternals will introduce the MCU's first openly gay character into the MCU.

"I just feel like it’s an honor and a privilege to have had that chance to be the second woman to score a thing in the MCU and to be in the same league as those incredible composers like Mothersbaugh and Alan Silvestri. They're just legends," Holt says. "Another distinctive thing about [the show] is that all the heads of department are pretty much women. Marvel are showing themselves to be really progressive and supportive and encouraging. I applaud [them]. Whatever they’re doing seems to be working and people seem to be liking it as well, so that’s awesome."

Holt's score for Vol. 1 of Loki (aka Episodes 1-3) are now streaming on every music-based platform you could think of. Episodes 1-4 are available to watch on Disney+ for subscribers. Episode 5 (the show's penultimate installment) debuts on the platform this coming Wednesday, July 7.

Natalie isn't able to give up any plot spoilers for the next two episodes (no surprise there), but does tease "the use of a big choir" in one of them. "Episode 6, I’m excited for people to hear it," she concludes. "That’s all I can say."

#Natalie Holt #composer #Loki #OST

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junicai · 3 years

Text

i search the universe.

| order no. | 5/21

| summary | Are ‘exploring’ and ‘being hopelessly lost’ synonyms? According to Jongin, they most definitely are.

| word count | 1.9k

| warnings | mentions of kidnapping but it’s just an old lady looking out for Aria when she’s with two very suspicious looking older men, sasaengs

| era | circa. January 2020

a/n: this definitely took a turn from the request, but i hope you still like it! if you’re not vibing with it, you can dm me, and i’ll see what i can re-write. thank you!

The tour was set to kick off again in San Diego, California, after a pause for the duration of December. The time off was greatly appreciated; Aria found herself sleeping for twelve hours at a time occasionally, her sleep schedule trying to right itself after having been flipped on its head too many times to count.

The flight from Seoul to California was long, and Aria had slept for a grand total of twenty minutes by the time they touched down on the tarmac runway again.

It had been Jongin’s idea to go exploring before their first schedule that evening, an invitation that was proposed to all the members but only accepted by Taemin. When Jongin’s deflated look was fixed on Aria, she crumbled like the weak woman that she was, and agreed to accompany the two older men on an impromptu trip around the city.

She’d never even left Ireland prior to joining the company (bar skating competitions, but those were less of a trip and more of a airport-taxi-hotel-rink-repeat combo, if you will) so each new city was met with widened eyes and dramatic oohs and aahs.

The trio had dropped their suitcases into their hotel rooms - Jongin rooming with Taemin this time around, and Aria with Ten - and pulled out a light jacket for outerwear, in Aria’s case, before they were marching out the door, masks pulled up over their faces.

Aria’s hoodie that she had worn on the plane lay on the bedspread in her room, her phone forgotten in it’s pocket.

The air was cool but not biting outside, and as Aria linked her hand into Taemin’s, the sun was still above the horizon. Jongin slipped his phone back into his pocket.

“The interview is scheduled for 6, which means we need to be back at the hotel for 4, which gives us,” He checked his watch, “Roughly two hours. Maybe a little more, if we push it.”

Taemin fixed him with a look. “Let’s not do that. It’s twenty to two now, lets aim to be back for twenty to four.”

Aria tugged on Taemin’s hand where the singer had still yet to let go. “Mhm! that way, if things go skywards, then we have time to take a back route or something.”

Jongin nodded, satisfied. “Okay! So, where first?”

Aria exchanged a look with Taemin, before starting down the street. “Let’s find out!”

With each building, came a new attraction to stare at. Small stalls sat at the street corners, attendees calling out to them to barter their goods. The buildings seemed to climb into the sky for miles, never-ending as far as Aria’s eyes could see.

The city was bustling with noise, cars passing on the wide streets with sharp beeps! that sent Aria jumping into the air occasionally, much to the chagrin of Jongin.

He caught her waist when she jumped backwards the first time, stopping her from flattening him onto the sidewalk. “You alright there?” He leaned forwards with a teasing grin.

Aria had huffed, swatting his hands off her waist before fixing her shirt. “Fine.”

The grin had stayed plastered on Jongin’s face for the next two blocks, widening further when the girl jumped again at the sound of a harsh tire squeal and a series of rapid-fire beeps following it.

Taemin lead the two away from the commotion, and they continued their in-depth exploration of the city and it’s secrets.

It was wonderful; Until it wasn’t.

Honestly, they probably should have realized when they started being followed. It happened regularly on the streets back home, but here, they were off-guard and so the first flash of a shutter going off send Taemin stumbling backwards slightly.

All hell broke loose from there.

A group of fourteen or fifteen teenage girls gathered, the leader of which had her phone gripped in her hand. “KAI OPPA!” She screamed, and like a battle cry - the others joined her.

Aria felt frozen, her legs refusing to cooperate with the frantic run, run, run run run that her brain was playing on a loop. The group advanced quickly, moving around the street corner and were only a few yards away when Jongin grabbed her wrist, fingers encircling tightly, and pulled her into motion.

They ran on autopilot, blind as to where they were going only knowing that they couldn’t stop. The pounding of feet was still deafening behind them, and Jongin speeded up, Taemin following suit.

It wasn’t long until Aria felt like she was doing less running and rather simply being tugged along by her wrist; legs pumping as fast as she could made them, but her strides were nearly double what she’d normally take even at a flat out sprint.

Taemin tugged them both into a small alleyway, hoping that the shade the towering buildings offered on either side was enough to shield them from the fangirls’ piercing gazes.

Aria bent over, hands on her knees, panting.

“Oh god,” Jongin coughed out. “Not a single day, huh?”

Taemin nodded sadly in commiseration, catching his own breath. “How did they even know it was us?”

“The hair, probably,” Aria mumbled, already pulling her hair back into her hood. The bleached blonde and sky blue streaks combination was a tell-tale sign, and she kicked herself mentally for not at least putting her hair up into a bun to hide the most dramatic parts of it.

“What do we do now?” Aria looked to the two older men. “Do we just try to make a run for it? I don’t think I can remember which way we even went, we were just running. Oh god, are we lost now? Can we even get back to the hotel?”

Taemin extended an arm, wrapping around Aria’s back and pulling her into a hug, before subtly moving them both behind a large sign that blocked them from view.

The group of girls passed by the entrance to the alley, chattering loudly.

“Where did they go?”

“Did you see which way they went?”

“Taeminnie oppa~ Saranghae, come back~”

“Who was the

“Okay,” Taemin took a deep breath. “Okay, we’ve done this before. My phone died somewhere back there, but Aria, do you want to call Baekhyun hyung while Jongin tries to figure out where we are?”

He received two nods in return, and Aria’s hands patted her pockets. The empty lining gave underneath her fingers, and her stomach sunk slightly in dread.

“My phone isn’t-” She looked up to Jongin with wide eyes. “I left it in the hotel room, I think, when I changed my jumper.”

Jongin put a hand on her shoulder, rubbing soothingly. “It’s okay, we still have mine.”

Aria’s breath was coming in slightly labored, with a light tremor that shook her chest.

The ringing sounded loud as it echoed down the alley, and Jongin scrambled to turn the phone on silent.

“What?” Baekhyun’s voice was tinny through the phone’s speakers, and Jongin moved down towards the end of the alley, out of Aria and Taemin’s earshot.

“Hyung,” Jongin spoke, heavy with relief.

“What? You’ve just woken me up-” Jongin interrupted Baekhyun before he could start yelling down the phone.

“Hyung, we got followed.”

“By who?”

“Fans, we think. They spotted us a couple streets ago, we ran and now we don’t know where we are.”

A muttered curse came down the phone line, and what sounded like Baekhyun shutting a door. “Right, find out where you are, and I’ll get the manager to come get you lot. This is why I said no to going out, you’re all tired and then things like this happen Jongin-”

“Hyung! I know, and I’m sorry you can scold me for it later, but right now,” He tossed a glance over his shoulder to Aria, who was encircled in Taemin’s arms. “Aria’s freaking out, and I’m not sure why, but I don’t think hiding in an alley is helping.”

Baekhyun was silent, breathing out another curse. “Taeyong, he told me - it happened a while ago, and he didn’t tell me a lot, but enough.”

“Hyung?”

“Aria had a bad, altercation, lets say, with a sasaeng two years ago. I don’t know what exactly happened - Yongie didn’t tell me - but I’ll bet that’s why she’s freaking right now. Maybe just-”

The line cut out.

Jongin shook his phone, clicking the power button. “Hyung? Hyung?”

Taemin looked over. “Is everything alright?”

“Phone’s dead.”

Aria’s head peeked up, wide eyed. “Really?”

Jongin nodded.

“So- so what do we do? Did you talk to oppa?”

He bit his lip. “Yeah, yeah I did. We’re gonna go find another store that’ll let us use their phone okay? And we’re gonna call the manager.” He turned to Aria. “Do you think you could talk to someone right now, Ari? Is that okay?”

Aria took a deep breath, closing her eyes and exhaling smoothly. “I can do that. I can definitely do that.” The tremor in her hands told otherwise, but she tucked them into her pockets to hide that fact.

“Okay. Okay, let’s go.” Taemin peered around the alley walls, looking and seeing no gang of girls waiting to pounce on them.

The trio stepped out from behind the building walls, and quickly jogged their way into the nearest café - two storefronts down.

“Miss? Miss, I’m so sorry to bother you, but could I borrow your landline for a moment? My own phone’s dead, you see.” Aria cleared her throat, peering up at the kind lady behind the counter.

Her wizened eyes took in the small stature of Aria, and the two men standing at the doorway, peering outside. They looked suspicious; hoods pulled low over their eyes, and masks hiding the bottom half of their faces, staring out the window as if they were waiting for someone to show up; and they were ready to flee.

Slowly, an understanding dawned on her - connecting the wrong dots together and garnering a jumbled up picture of the truth.

“Oh, dear of course, just come behind here and I’ll call someone for you - do you have your mother’s number with you? Your father’s?” She began to usher Aria behind the counter.

“Oh, no, miss, that’s alright, I just need to use your phone for a moment-”

The lady leaned closer. “Dear, if those men are trying to take you somewhere, you’re absolutely welcome to stay in the back room. Do you want me to call the cops?”

Aria choked. “Oh! Oh no- oh those are my brothers miss! They’re not- I haven’t been-”

The lady looked on with squinted eyes. “They can’t hurt you dearie, you’re safe now-”

“No, I promise you miss, they’re my brothers, they just don’t speak very good English. Can I please use your phone? Please?” Aria was begging at this point.

Reluctantly, a phone was handed to her, and she wasted no time in inputting Baekhyun’s number. It rang once, before being picked up.

“Oppa?”

134 notes · View notes

hushedhands · 3 years

Text

Challenge 83

@cecilia02 @everbeenminee Astra watching Andrew's coronation.

Astra Orders set an alarm for three o’clock in the morning, but she didn't need it. She didn't sleep at all.

Her mom had invited her to watch the once-in-a-generation event with her little cousins in Illéa Palace, but Astra had refused. Kile had offered to stay the night and keep her company, but that hadn't felt right either. Her dad had suggested not watching at all, which was cute but not really a solution. It would be weeks before footage of this faded from the news, and even then there would be anniversary specials forever. Astra might as well bite the bullet and watch the coronation that had almost been hers.

She wished her parents and her boyfriend weren’t making such a fuss about this. History was full of women who'd almost married princes and then gone home to watch them become kings. Her Uncle Maxon had left dozens of such women in his wake when he’d chosen to marry Aunt Ames, though Astra didn't have the telephone numbers of any of them. She wished Andrew had enough ex-girlfriends to make a proper club like the former Selected. It might have been nice to have someone who could understand this indescribable feeling without the need for words to name it.

It wasn't that she wanted to be married to Andy. She had no doubt at all that she'd made the right decision in calling off their relationship, and that was totally separate from the fact that she was now wildly in love with Kile.

But there was something aching in her chest as she watched the aerial shots of the city of London on the little television in her apartment in Angeles, curled up in her warmest fuzzy pajamas, hair in a messy version of her ballet bun, hands clinging to her mug of tea for dear life. Today was the day that standing by Andrew's side for his coronation went from something she wouldn’t do to something she couldn't do. She'd chosen to walk away, but this was the day that the door locked behind her.

Never was a hard word to give to Andrew, even if Kile had her Always.

The camera above the crowd panned past the palace Astra had stayed in that summer, and her chest squeezed hard. Whatever else had happened there, it had been a refuge for her at a time in her life when she’d needed it most.

It all started when she had been offered an incredible opportunity to dance for the Waverly ballet company in the summer, and an opportunity to attend an elite seminar with London’s royal ballet company in the spring, and Kile, realizing that he and Astra wouldn’t see each other for over six months, had broken up with her very suddenly.

Well, technically it had been a mutual decision. She hadn’t seen him much during his first year at school, and now she was off on her own adventures, and it seemed like a terrible time to try to make a relationship work. What if he met someone amazing at university? What if she met someone in Waverly or London? Was it fair to deny themselves new relationships and experiences just because they’d always been together? Weren’t they technically together by default, anyway?

It was a reasonable question. If you married someone you’d had playdates with for as long as you could remember, and you never even tried to date someone else, it was probably a relationship by default… right?

As she got on the plane for London, it had hit her hard that she wouldn’t have a hope of seeing Kile again, maybe for an entire year. The earliest she’d be back in Angeles was the next fall, and that’s exactly when he’d be leaving to go back to school again. And this time they wouldn’t talk to each other on the telephone almost every single day, and she wouldn’t slip secret notes in the care packages his parents sent him from home, and he wouldn’t surprise her by sitting in the audience during a matinee performance after sneaking back into town without telling her...

And maybe he never would again.

It was possible she’d cried the whole flight overseas, it was hard to remember. She must have rehydrated somehow, or she’d have shriveled up and died of the heartbreak. That time was all a blur now.

But what Astra remembered clearly, sitting on her sofa four years later, was the way she’d felt walking into that little old palace on the north side of the city and realizing that it was essentially hers for the season. It really paid to have a paranoid king for an uncle sometimes, because Maxon had pulled a dozen favors with the English royal family to get Astra somewhere safe and comfortable to live for a few months. She was technically an Illéan princess by title, so he wouldn’t hear of letting her rent a crumby apartment somewhere in the city, and besides, wherever she stayed needed to have enough room for a security detail. Still, even for a small palace, it was a palace and it was hers.

The old place had plenty of full-time staff that kept it in good shape as an estate of historical significance to the English monarchy, but Astra herself didn’t have maids or butlers, or a chef to keep her fed. At night, everyone who worked to keep the palace maintained went home, so it was only her and the security detail.

But she was allowed to order takeout from restaurants around town, so on her very first night alone she ordered enough food to live off of for a while, until she could get to a grocery store. She sprawled on a sofa in the downstairs sitting room, doodling in the notebook her Aunt May had given her for her last birthday, until there was a surprise knock on the archway in the entrance of the sitting room.

“Hello.” Andrew stood there, still in his business suit from the day, though with no tie, and with the top button undone. He looked ruffled, and in his hands he carried a large bottle of red wine. “Sorry to barge in… there isn’t exactly a doorbell in this place, and without staff to handle arrivals and departures… well, I did knock.” he awkwardly concluded.

Astra, still in her tank top and stretchy pants from the plane, would have felt severely underdressed to received a prince at a palace, except this was one of her oldest and best friends, and some of the ache in her heart from leaving Kile on the other side of the world eased away just from looking at him. She hugged him, “You don’t need to knock. It’s good to see you.”

“And you.” he hugged her back. “Ah, and here. A housewarming gift.” he offered her the wine.

“You’re just in time for dinner.”

“Am I?”

“It should be here soon. The finest spicy noodles and sautéed vegetables in the land. Although, if there’s no doorbell…”

“The guard at the gate will take it from the delivery driver and have someone bring it in.” he grinned.

“Then what are we waiting for? Let’s go hunt down something to open that bottle.” she said.

A new city, a change of scenery, some delicious New Asian food, a bottle of old wine, a dear old friend… this was the recipe to get over a breakup. Astra knew it, because she already felt worlds better, just struggling to find a way into the wine bottle. There wasn’t a corkscrew in the kitchens that they could find, and this palace didn’t have its own wine cellar, which was the only other place they could think to find wine accessories. In the end, Andrew took an impressive, ancient sword off of a display rack on a wall at the top of the grand staircase and carefully poked the sharp end down until it was lodged into the cork.

Astra laughed so hard her sides hurt as she twisted the bottle out in front of her and Andrew slowly stepped backward. After a couple of tries, the cork loosened up enough that he could use brute force to pull the rest of it out.

When the food arrived, they carried it up to the top floor, to a balcony that overlooked the city, and they had a picnic of sorts.

“Where’s Lucas? You two are usually a package set.” Astra asked between bites of spicy noodles.

“Still finishing up his first year at university.”

“Oh, of course! Kile— “ She stopped abruptly, her chest squeezed tightly, her tongue fell heavy in her mouth, and she drowned the bitter taste of his name on her lips with expensive wine.

“Oh dear. That won’t do.” Andrew leant over and brushed away an errant tear from her cheek. “You mean to tell me… well, he’s safe isn’t he? He’s not unwell?”

“No, no he’s fine. He’s at school… and I’m here.”

Andrew studied her face carefully. He’d met Kile and Astra on the same day, at the same moment, so they’d been friends for exactly the same amount of time. He knew that they’d been together romantically for almost seven years now, the teenage equivalent of a sixty-year marriage. “So you’re… taking time apart?”

“We’ve decided to go our separate ways.” Astra said, the words soft and wispy in her throat. “We’re not… we’re not headed in the same direction anymore. We might never head in the same direction again. After university, he wants to see the world. And I… I might travel around for a while as a dancer, but I can’t imagine not being there for Addy once she becomes Queen… Even if that wasn’t true, we won’t have a good chance to be in the same city for at least a year… and a lot can happen in a year.”

Andrew took a large sip from his glass and then refilled hers.

“That’s really difficult, Astra… I’m so sorry. I know how much you love each other. It must be hell, knowing that you’re growing apart from the person you’re closest to in the world.”

Astra choked a sob in her wineglass and Andrew’s eyes widened, “God, I’m sorry! What a terrible thing to say—“ he sat both of their glasses safely aside and wrapped her in a warm hug.

Astra got his suit all wet from her tears, but she felt comfortable in his arms. “I’m not crying because of you, stupid.” She explained when she had the breath to do so. “It’s definitely because of him. I just… I didn’t think anyone would understand. But you do.”

“I don’t.” Andy rushed to correct her. “Not really. I’ve never experienced anything like that. The closest I can imagine is if… if I lost touch with someone in the Palace kid gang. You’re my best friends, apart from Luke, and I’ve known you forever. If I had to say goodbye to one of you, to lose you forever… it’s not even close to what you’re feeling, but just the thought hurts enough for me to know that you’re going through hell.”

Astra sniffled and collected her wineglass again, ready for more sips, content to allow herself to be comforted by her friend. “Hell has better wine than I expected, I’ll give it that much.”

“Not a bad view, either.” Andrew agreed with a small chuckle, looking out at the city.

“Didn’t expect one of my very best friends to come with me to hell.” Astra timidly admitted.

“And I’m not leaving until I get you out of it.” he’d promised.

Andrew always did have words as sweet as honey.

They drank the whole bottle that night, between the two of them. They had as good an excuse as two teenagers needed: they couldn’t find a wine stopper. Andrew offered to stay the night with her so that she wouldn’t be alone, but now that the world was blurry and warm from the wine, Astra felt delightfully sleepy. She was going to get her first good night’s sleep since losing Kile. So Andrew left, promising to bring breakfast the next morning to check on her.

He checked on her a lot.

He brought her breakfast and dinner every day, and he’d probably have brought her lunch too, except that she was always at her dance seminar during the daytime. Astra ended every night with her body pleasantly tired from dancing, a new half a bottle of wine in her stomach, and her mind full of whatever nice, easy conversation she’d had with Andrew just before bed. Her first week in England flew by.

That Friday night, Andrew appeared in the doorway to the sitting room right on schedule, two bottles of wine in hand.

“You’re mad.” Astra giggled.

“It’s the weekend.” he argued. “You don’t have to dance tomorrow, and I don’t have any public appearances to make until next Tuesday.”

“You’re off work until Tuesday? You English royals really know how to take it easy.” she laughed. She didn’t think her cousins had taken a three day weekend in their lives.

“We’ll keep the second bottle on standby, just in case we decide we want to try it.”

But of course, they were young and it was a Friday night, they definitely wanted to try it. Somewhere after the first glass of the second bottle, refilling glasses got too risky and they started drinking straight from the bottle, passing it back and forth. There was a television show on, showing a concert happening on the other side of the city in a stadium Astra could just see if she stood tall enough on the balcony.

Andrew watched her going almost en pointe to try to spy the stadium, mesmerized by her strength and balance and grace. “Can we dance?”

Astra smiled brightly. Dancing was her favorite in the world, of course they could dance! They danced in their socks to the music on the television until Andrew collapsed, out of breath, on the sofa. Astra joined him, blood pumping pleasantly fast through her veins.

“I’m out of shape!” he bemoaned.

“I’m a professional athlete, don’t compare yourself to me. You did just fine.”

“I did? Do you think I could join the ballet?” He laughed giddily.

She’d never seen him giddy like this.

Andy carried the weight of his country on his shoulders, he always had. Addy hadn’t really started bearing Illéa on her back until she was eleven or twelve, old enough to understand what was coming for her, but Andrew had always been a future king, even when he was tiny. Seeing him now, not a care in the world, laughing about joining the ballet… Astra’s heart twisted in her chest and for the first time since breaking up with Kile, it had absolutely nothing to do with him.

He had no part of this.

Astra leant forward and kissed Andrew on the warm, red cheek.

He looked at her, stunned, smile falling off his face. “What was that for?”

“I don’t know… just because. Just for you.”

“Just for me…” he’d mused.

“For being good to me. For taking care of me while I’m here. For… for being you. Yeah… just for you.” Astra nodded, this time more certain that the words made sense outside of her wine-fogged mind.

“I should be me more often.” he chuckled.

Astra blinked.

Should he?

***

There was a version of Astra’s stay in London where she pined away for her ex-boyfriend every moment she got, and maybe poured that pain into her dancing because it was overflowing from her heart and needed somewhere to go. That’s what she’d been expecting deep down. But what really happened was, she found a favorite market to buy groceries from, she found a bakery between her palace and the dance studio that kept her in much-needed carbs, she found a park with a pond where lots of locals liked to walk their dogs, which meant she got to pet a lot of dogs, and she started falling in love with the city.

And then there was Andrew.

He knew her so well, and they’d loved each other as friends for so long, and spending those mornings and nights with him felt so easy, so smooth.

And he was handsome and kind and… ugh, handsome. Astra didn’t regret kissing him on the cheek. Not even when he stood with her on the balcony a week later, watching the sunset, and she laced her hand with his.

“Are you quite alright?” he’d asked, not because she’d grabbed his hand, but just because he was still so worried about her.

“When I got here, I thought the answer to that question would be no forever.” Astra confessed. “And listen… I don’t really know who I am without Kile, he’s been a part of me for my whole life… but these past two weeks I’ve started to find out… and I like it. I like getting to know me.”

Andrew smiled down at her and squeezed her hand.

“And I like you too, Andrew.”

His smile became pained, “Astra—“

“It’s okay. You’re the next king and blah blah blah.” he laughed, because there were so few people in the world who could blah blah blah being an heir to a throne, but Astra was certainly one of them.

“It isn’t that.” he corrected her with a shake of his head. “It’s… you’re getting out of a serious relationship. You can’t like anyone yet—“

“Yes I can.” Astra scoffed, a challenging glint in her eyes, “Watch me.”

“But we’ve been friends our whole lives, too. Wouldn’t you like to like someone different? A stranger, maybe?”

“Where would I find one of those?” Astra lamented, only half-joking. Having a king for an uncle really limited one’s opportunities to meet strangers.

Andrew peered at her closely, then seemingly made up his mind all at once, saying, “Put on a dress.”

“What?”

“Put on a dress, I’ve got a surprise for you!”

Just like that, Andrew was downstairs talking to his security team and Astra was upstairs trying to figure out what dress to wear. There was a sweet springtime yellow thing… and then there was the red thing.

Astra made up her mind quickly. She chose the red thing. She chose everything that the red thing implied.

She appeared at the bottom of the stairs and Andrew’s eyes widened.

“Is this alright? I have other dresses—“

“S’perfect—“ he muttered and then cleared his throat, “Ahem, that is perfect Astra. Let us be off.”

He formally offered her his arm and she accepted with a proud smirk at the flush in his cheeks, then they ducked into his car and his driver whisked them off across town.

“What are we doing?” Astra asked after they took a turn to a part of town she’d never been to before.

“Did I not say it is a surprise?”

“Yes, but—“

“We’ve got guards, and I’ve gone to this place before. There’s no need to worry.”

“Andrew—“

“It’s where I go when I need to meet strangers.”

Astra blinked, dumbfounded.“You? Meet strangers?”

“How else am I supposed to find a queen? ” he muttered mutinously.

Astra stared over at him for a long moment, never having given it a second thought. Addy would be free to date whomever she chose, but if all else failed she could always have a Selection to find her husband. Andrew had nothing like that to choose from.

Astra was surprised when the car pulled to a stop at the backdoor to a nightclub. Could princes of England really go clubbing? But this place looked like it had tight security, and there were signs posted prominently that there were no cameras allowed on the premises. Andrew’s and Astra’s bodyguards stayed close by as they entered the club and Astra’s ears were assaulted by music so loud she could no longer hear it. All she could hear was the beat.

Andrew took her to the bar and bought her whatever drink she wanted, and then leant in close to her ear so that she could hear him say, “What do you think?”

“It’s a little loud!”

He chuckled, “About the strangers.”

“Oh!” Astra looked around as she spun the little umbrella from her pink drink between her fingers. There were all kinds of men here. Some older than her, some younger, some looked athletic and some looked bookish, and they were all having fun, losing themselves to the same beat. “What do you think?!” she yelled at him.

He looked around at the women in the room, sizing them up, and then shrugged, “Hard to say.”

“How do we meet them?!” Astra was yelling, while somehow he was able to keep his voice low and still be heard when he leaned close to her ear.

“Honestly? They usually just come up to me…” he confessed.

Astra rolled her eyes. Royals.

Sure enough, several women came up to Andrew and threw themselves at him while he and Astra waited for even one man to make a pass at her.

“Maybe you’re intimidating them away!” Astra suggested.

“Maybe so. Do you want me to go dance?”

Did she want him to go dance with one of the strange women in the club so that a strange man might come up to her and hit on her?

Not really, no. She wanted to dance with him. She liked dancing with him. More than that, she didn’t want to dance with anyone else. And she didn’t want him to dance with anyone else. She took his hand and dragged him out to the dance floor, their bodyguards hilariously close by, and they started moving.

It wasn’t dancing the way Astra was trained to think of it. There was no choreography, no gentle swell of melody to carry her movements, this was something far more basic than that. The best part was how quickly she was able to stop thinking about anything but her own breath, the sweat on her brow, and the man in front of her.

There was nothing else in the world. For as long as they could stay with the beat, there was only the beat. Endorphins that she associated with a long hard workout flooded her body, and Astra felt good. And beyond feeling good, she did not feel sad. She did not miss anybody. Not her family on the other side of the world, and not Kile. She was complete right here. All she had to do was make this last forever.

“I am not a professional dancer.” Andrew reminded her, breath coming far too fast to get that whole sentence out without gasping for air several times in the middle.

Astra giggled at him, then hugged him close, “This place is magical!” she yelled in his ear.

“Magical?”

And just to prove the point, and to express her gratitude, she pecked his lips with a kiss.

That was it, right? A kiss of gratitude?

As first kisses went, it was silly. They were both too out of breath to do more than mash their lips together for a second and then go back to gasping for air. Andrew led them away for water and after a few minutes to recover, he was ready to try again.

Astra helped him find a way to move to every other beat instead of every beat, essentially cutting the speed of his dancing in half for him. That helped tremendously. But to help him do this, she had to wrap her arms around his neck to guide him, and once he had the beat it was all much less frantic and much more sensual. This time when they kissed, it was not a silly peck on the lips.

Astra had only ever kissed Kile before, but since that was never happening again, she didn’t allow herself to think about that. She didn’t think about how Andrew was taller than Kile, and his cheeks were softer because he shaved every single morning without fail. She didn’t think about anything except how nice it was not to feel pain. When she was with Andrew, especially when she was kissing Andrew, she felt nothing but joy.

Was she using him to feel better?

If someone made you feel better and wanted to be around you, was that even using them?

They stayed at the club until Andrew was too tired to go on (and even Astra was ready to admit she was tired), and then they climbed back into Andrew’s car and rode off into the night.

Astra’s ears were ringing with the sudden silence, and they were both flushed and dripping with sweat. Astra was ready to bet her face matched the red of her dress and her hair, and was ready to feel embarrassed about that somewhere beneath her exhaustion, when Andrew slid his hand over to hers and squeezed.

She looked over at him and smiled.

It was past 2 in the morning when they got back to Astra’s palace, and Astra couldn’t believe they’d spent so many hours getting swept away like that.

“I’d do that every night if I thought my hearing could survive it.” Astra admitted as they struggled to get up the stairs, feeling distinctly like they had overcooked pasta for legs.

Astra took an ice-cold bath and then rolled her legs out to try to avert any soreness the next morning, and then she found Andrew in one of the guest bedrooms. “Thanks for the dancing… sorry we didn’t meet any strangers.” she grinned.

“I’m not.” he admitted, with complete candor.

“Well then, no future queen for you and no non-childhood friend to date for me.”

“Perhaps you could find a childhood enemy?” he suggested, and she laughed at the dryness of voice as he made the joke.

“Yes, I’ll have to make do.” she agreed.

***

The kisses felt stolen for the first week, like they were getting away with something they weren’t supposed to, but then one day Andrew showed up with Astra’s favorite breakfast, and two paper travel cups of tea, and he pecked her on the lips in greeting and it didn’t feel stolen at all. It felt as comfortable as an old sweater, and made her feel just as warm inside.

To celebrate the end of her first month in London, Astra ordered dinner for them from the same restaurant they’d eaten at on her very first night in town. He showed up looking frazzled after a long day of talking with members of parliament, but all the more pleased to see her because that stress was over now. And, of course, he brought her the same kind of wine they’d shared that first night.

Astra had bought a corkscrew weeks ago now, so they didn’t need to resort to using ancient swords to open their alcohol, which made it slightly less interesting. Astra curled up against him on the balcony overlooking the city and kissed him every chance she got.

“You’re certainly in a mood.” he noted with a smile down at her, after their fourth surprise kiss.

“I’m just glad to be here.”

“Are you?” he seemed surprised. She didn’t blame him. It was quite a turn from her first weepy night a month ago.

“Yes. I think London’s been good for me.”

And maybe she meant the city, with her new favorite local spots and the friends she was making at the seminar, but maybe she meant Andrew. Maybe she couldn’t really tell the difference, and it was all just good for her.

“I am very glad to hear that.”

“I wish I didn’t have to go to Waverly in two months.” Astra admitted. “It’s an amazing opportunity for my career, not to mention I’ll get to visit my grandparents in Carolina all the time, but… I like London.”

This time she was blatantly talking about him.

“Well… London’s not going anywhere anytime soon, I suppose.” he pointed out, fully onto her game.

She hmm-ed into her wineglass, “I suppose not.”

“And you’re always welcome in London, you know.”

Astra giggled and shook her head, surprising him with another kiss as a reward for playing along with her silly euphemism.

Later that night, when the food was stashed away in the kitchen and the wine was mostly empty, Andrew joined Astra again on the balcony as she stood there with the springtime breeze blowing through her loose, curly hair. He wrapped his arms around her waist from behind and pressed a kiss to her shoulder.

“I meant it, you know.” he said. “You could stay as long as you like. There’s a tremendous ballet company in London, perhaps you’ve heard of it.”

Astra laughed, pressing a hand to his over her stomach and turning to look up at him. “Maybe someday.”

“You’re dead-set on going to Waverly, then?”

“Well, I’ve signed a contract.” she explained.

“Ah. They shall imprison you if you break it. I understand.”

His voice was always so serious when he joked, never giving away the game. She laughed at the thought and said, “Yes, there’s a special prison for ballet dancers who break their contracts, it’s especially brutal. I hear they make you dance to jazz all day.”

This time his lips brushed the placed where her shoulders met her neck, and her breath hitched at the sensation. “I shan’t extradite you.” he concluded, his warm lips brushing her skin. “I shall keep you here, safe and sound, far away from the ballet constables.”

Astra laced her fingers with his over her stomach and said, “They’re relentless, the ballet constables. You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”

His lips trailed up her neck and stopped at her ear where he said softly, “I think I can manage.”

Astra’s entire body erupted in chills, and suddenly she didn’t want to continue their elaborate, jokey banter about the consequences of her actions. She turned in his arms and pressed her lips roughly to his, knowing beyond the shadow of a doubt that all she really wanted was to lose herself in the taste and the feel and the smell of him. Andrew was the only person in the world who made her not care about the future, and when his lips were on her skin that was doubly true.

It wasn’t exactly real happiness she felt when she was lying in bed with him, his sandy brown hair all ruffled, his arm slung across her like he was afraid she’d disappear in the night. True, meaningful, lasting happiness was something that required a lot of factors: feeling good about the present and hopeful about the future, and at peace with the past. Astra wasn’t at peace with her past, and she didn’t even want to think about the future, but the present… the present was so good. It was one out of three. One out of three wasn’t bad.

***

If Andrew’s parents noticed that he was essentially living with Astra that spring, they didn’t say anything about it. Maybe they just assumed that, since they were close friends, he was keeping her company and enjoying a nice, extended visit. And that was perfectly true, except that they were sharing a bed and occasionally a shower, and they shared a cup of coffee in the morning and a bottle of wine at night.

They didn’t go back to that club, but they found other ways to go out together without being photographed. There were secret tables in the kitchens of restaurants, special royal boxes in theaters, private trains to private estates, and one time there was a royal yacht. Astra was surprised that Andy had so much freedom, as the heir to the throne. Addy couldn’t have dreamed of roaming around Illéa the way that Andrew was gallivanting across his future kingdom. Sure, part of it was Andrew making sure Astra was having the time of her life— he probably didn’t usually venture away from home so much— but even so.

“Will you be able to keep this up once you’re king?” she’d asked him as they sat curled up together on a train ride returning from the south. “All this rambling.” she explained at his questioning look.

“Ah. No, there will certainly be less. But my job will be nothing nearly so intense as King Maxon’s, if that is what you’re thinking. For one thing, I’ve got parliament.”

Astra wasn't exactly sure how England’s parliament worked. She knew King Eoan set the legislative agenda, but he couldn’t pass any kind of law on his own. “I can’t believe they let you have a whole train to yourself, and you barely have to work.” she teased.

His arm was wrapped around her shoulders, and his thumb began tracing her upper arm as he said, “If you think my future job’s a scandal, you should see what our queen has to do. Host parties, go shopping, appear at events…” his voice sounded as if it was a strain to remain light and carefree. As if his words were more important than he wanted them to be.

Astra leaned her head on his shoulder. Those were all things she already did for Illéa. Well, she didn’t host many parties, but she sometimes helped her Aunt Ames out when things were especially overwhelming. It was strange to think that she had experience doing the same job as the Queen of England.

“All that, and she gets to retire young?”

“Assuming that whole heir business is sorted out sufficiently early.” he admitted.

“Oh, that.” Astra giggled.

“On the whole, it’s not a terrible job.” he said.

“No, not when you factor in the jewelry.” Astra agreed, still joking.

“Precisely.” Andrew nodded with a small smile against the top of her head.

Astra wasn’t sure why he didn’t return her joke with one of his own.

***

Though Astra very much enjoyed being swept off her feet by the prince, it was the quiet nights at the palace that meant the most to her. Sometimes, after dinner and a long, hot bath, her joints would feel well enough to practice some choreography in one of the drawing rooms. Andrew would play the piano for her, putting years of lessons to use for the first time. Sometimes her joints would not feel well enough for more dancing after a long day at the seminar, and he’d rub her battered feet and ankles until she melted into a puddle at the other end of the sofa or bed, or wherever they happened to be.

She’d ask him about his work, but he wouldn’t tell her much. Maybe he was worried about protecting state secrets, or maybe he didn’t want to worry her. Maybe he didn’t want her to see him in less than a good mood, because he was only there to make her happy. And how could she not be happy?

One night, in the middle of her second month in England, as she laid awake in their bed and brushed her fingers through his unruly hair (a sight so few had ever seen: the Heir to England with unruly hair), she pressed a kiss to the shell of his ear and said softly, “What are we going to do when I have to leave for Waverly?”

Sleepily, he’d pried his eyes open, his eyelashes fluttering against her skin. “What would you like to do?”

“Freeze this moment in amber. Live in it forever.”

“Be young, in love, and carefree forever?” he’d smirked.

“In love?” she’d hesitated, surprised. They’d only been attached at the lips for six weeks now, as impossible as it seemed. Hadn’t they enjoyed half a lifetime together already?

“Oh dear.” He’d lifted his head up so that he could look in her eyes, “I shouldn’t have said that.”

Astra shook her head, “It’s okay. I do love you Andrew.”

“Do you?” he sounded amazed.

And she did. She’d always loved him, just as he’d always loved her. They’d grown up together, perfect friends, how could she not love him?

“I’m sorry you didn’t know that already.” she let her hand fall from his hair down his spine, coming to rest on his bare lower back. She traced the shape of a heart there with her finger and he shuddered. “You’re one of the best friends I’ll ever have, and I love you.”

He smiled and returned his cheek to her chest, listening for her heartbeat. “Yes. This moment would do just fine.”

“We could freeze this moment and allow archaeologists to discover it in a few thousand years.”

“And if we don’t like the future, we could simply freeze this moment again.” he agreed.

“You don’t think you’d be bored after a few thousand years?”

He grinned, one hand tracing her ribcage lazily, “I could find a few ways to keep myself occupied.”

***

Astra didn’t notice the first time there was a photographer waiting outside of the dance studio after her rehearsals. And then, a couple of days later, when a rumor sourced to a local food delivery driver was printed in a Sunday paper saying that he delivered Prince Andrew’s favorite kind of curry to the Palace where Astra was staying a couple of times per week. She didn’t mind when Andrew suggested they stop sneaking out to exclusive clubs or restaurants around the city, because staying in was extremely entertaining.

But it was hard to miss when Andrew nervously appeared in her doorway one evening and said, instead of ‘hello’ or ‘how was your day’, “Grandmother has asked to meet you.”

Astra gaped. Queen Cerridwen, King Eoan’s mother, had never met any of the Illéan royals in-person. Maybe she’d met Uncle Maxon back before he was King, when she was still the active queen, but maybe not even then. “Me? Wh…why?”

Andrew ran a hand through his hair and ruffled it in a way that would have been funny if he hadn’t look so stressed. He sank to his knees to sit next to Astra, who’d been sitting on the floor, using the coffee table to hold her nail polish bottles as she painted her toes. “The rumors got to her.”

“Rumors… about us?”

Andrew nodded, “I’ve had the press department squashing everything the second they hear about it, and it’s bought us some time, but the rumors have been consistent for long enough now—“

“The rumors that we’re spending time together?” Astra asked.

“Yes.” Andrew looked faintly nauseous.

Astra smiled and traced his cheekbone with her thumb soothingly, “We are spending time together. We’re not being falsely accused.”

“No, I know… I think, just… I think we need to talk.”

Those were heavy words.

Kile had been the last one to say those words to her, and the outcome had been really unpleasant.

“You didn’t bring wine?” Astra noticed for the first time.

“I wanted us to keep our heads clear.”

“Are you ending this?” Astra asked, eyebrows furrowed.

“No.” Andrew promised. “But we’ve never talked about what this is before. I’ve been able to buy us a little slice of time to ourselves, but I’ve reached the end of my tricks.”

Astra looked into his eyes carefully, noticing the strain there for the first time, “You never said you had to use tricks…”

“I didn’t want you to have to worry about it. I wanted to be… uncomplicated. Simple. After everything you’ve been through, I thought that you needed simplicity.”

“I did.” she admitted, chest suddenly aching at the thought that the simple times might be gone.

He brushed an errant curl behind her ear and smiled bracingly, “I am not here to tell you that the world is ending. Merely that people have found us out. They’re asking questions that I do not have the answers to, and in lieu of my answers, they are coming to their own conclusions. Grandmother amongst the rest.”

“She wants to meet me because she knows we’ve been dating?”

Andrew huffed a breath, “It’s her way of forcing the matter at hand. When it comes to me, to dating the English Heir, there is dating and there is Dating. Courting. Something official, not just between you and I, but between us and all of England.”

Astra looked a little creeped out at the thought, “They… want in on our dates?”

Andrew rubbed his brow, “In a manner of speaking… there comes a point when I’m meant to introduce anyone I am seeing to the people of England as a potential future queen.”

“Why? It’s not like they get to vote on who stays in your bed, or in our case, my bed.”

“No, but it’s…” he seemed so uncomfortable at having to explain this to her. Probably any English girl he dated would have seen this coming a mile away and known what to expect. Astra blushed a little, feeling inadequate for the first time all spring. “It’s a bit like a small Selection, perhaps. They get to know the person their prince is dating and they get to watch me court their future queen.”

“Oh, and your gramma wants you to do that with me?” What a relief to know she was just a confused old woman who’d misunderstood.

“Precisely. Meeting Grandmother at her estate in Scotland would signal the official start to our official courtship.”

Astra felt all the tension leave her body and she smirked at him, “Your gramma is proposing marriage to me on your behalf.”

“Basically.”

“What’s she in such a hurry for? We’re teenagers.”

Andrew let out an exasperated sigh, relieved now that he could see Astra wasn’t panicking and throwing everything she owned into a bag to haul back to Illéa on the first flight out the next morning. “I don’t know. You’re a good match, obviously. My father is close with your uncle, but it would be smart to solidify that alliance with some kind of marriage.”

“Very sexy and romantic.” Astra giggled.

“Isn’t it just?” he agreed wryly. He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath, “I suppose she’s worried because I’ll be king in a few more years. She doesn’t want me to have to go through that enormous transition of responsibility by myself. I suppose finding a queen would be much harder as king than as prince, too. Father’s even asked me if I want to take a few months next year and devote myself to dating full time before he begins handing off responsibilities to me in earnest. As part of a formal ascension plan.”

“What a conversation.”

“You can’t begin to imagine.”

Astra collapsed into giggles, doing her best to imagine it anyway. King Eoan asking his son if he wanted to be a full-time, 40-hours-per-week dater as part of his obligations to the crown.

“It’s good you think this is funny.” he sulked, but he only partially meant it. He was genuinely glad she was laughing instead of crying.

Fairly certain her toes were dry now, Astra stood and screwed the caps on her polish, stashing the bottles in a drawer next to her vanity. She stretched, fingers reached for the ceiling, going up on her toes, and as she came down she whisked her loose t-shirt over her head.

“Astra.” Andrew cleared his throat, forcing his eyes away from her lacy, pale blue and white bra, “Clear heads, remember?”

“I’m just getting comfortable.” she said in a voice that clearly told him she was not just getting comfortable.

He stood and she came over and loosened his tie for him. He placed a hand over hers when she made for his shirt’s buttons and said, “Do you want this to last past April?”

Astra gulped, “I wish April was forever.”

He stared at her, the only flicker of doubt coming from the small twitch of his eyebrow. “That’s not the same thing.”

“… I know.”

“You don’t have to answer me tonight, but we should talk about it. If we keep going past April, I suspect it will make the most sense for you… for you to meet grandmother.”

This time, when Astra continued with his buttons, it was a genuine effort to help him get comfortable, and not a ploy to see his bare chest. Seeing his bare chest was an undeniable bonus, though. She linked her fingers with his and dragged him towards her bed, and then she flopped down on her back and stared up at the top of her four poster canopy. “So what would happen after I met your grandmother?”

“You’d get some secret service protection.” Andrew laid on his stomach and used his finger to draw doodles on the smooth, soft skin above her navel. His breath felt warm as it puffed against her ribs, but her skin erupted in goosebumps anyway, and he pressed a chaste kiss to them. He knew the effect he had on her, and it only made him want to cherish her more.

“I’d go back to Illéa, though. To Waverly.”

“Yes. We’d coordinate that. It would probably be a less hectic place for you than in England.”

“You think England will be hectic if you announce we’re officially dating?”

Andrew huffed one dry, humorless laugh. “When they find out I’m thinking of making you their princess… sweetheart, it’s going to be a nightmare of a circus.”

“Terrifying clowns?”

“The most terrifying.” he agreed.

Astra sighed, “Then what? How long would we get to date before they’d expect you to decide whether you want to marry me or not?”

“Given the time you’d be spending in Illéa, we could get a year.”

“A year.” Astra liked the sound of that. Sure, she’d dance until her contract was up in Waverly, but then she’d come back and get to do this with Andrew for months and months. His dad might even let him date her full-time. Morning, noon, and night cuddles.

“Yes, and then…”

“And then a fairytale proposal. Would it have to be public?”

“Gosh, no.” Andrew promised. “But it would need to have a good story behind it. Take you somewhere meaningful—“

“Like the club where we first kissed.” Astra teased, running her hands through his hair.

“No, not at all.” he chuckled.

“And would I get to wear one of the crown jewels or something?”

Andrew lifted his head to look at her. “Would you want one?”

Astra laughed. It was all so completely silly. She was an eighteen year old girl! A boy was offering her a crown jewel! She laughed some more.

“Our engagement would be six months, eight at most.” he said. “That’s going to be the hardest time for you. You won’t be royal yet, but you’ll have all the expectations. Of course, you’d have everything you’d need from us. Security, education, an allowance for your clothes.”

“Mmm, clothes.”

“And then—“

“A royal wedding?”

“Yes.”

“And a royal honeymoon?”

“Of course.” he pressed another kiss to her skin, this one not so chaste.

“And then I’m your princess?”

“Until we take our oaths to become king and queen.”

“You really think I could be queen?”

“You think you couldn’t?”

“I know how hard it is on my Aunt Ames. It’s not really the life I saw for myself.”

“It’s different in England, you know. We’re smaller than most Illéan provinces, and we’ve got parliament.”

She couldn’t continue to fantasize about marrying him without understanding what he meant when he said that. “Andy, how does parliament help you?”

“Eh… help is not the word.” Andrew admitted. “It’s more that they take certain responsibilities off the monarch’s plate. Whether they do so in a manner that helps is an entirely different question. But unlike Queen America, who assists on many matters of policy and diplomacy, my mother’s job is almost entirely ceremonial, supporting my father’s efforts.”

“So do you think I could dance if we were married?”

Andrew fell quiet, wracking his brain for a way. “Not once we were engaged… I just can’t imagine that you would have time. And you’d quickly become one of the most famous women in the world… not that you’re anonymous now, just that we’re talking about a whole different stratosphere of public interest… even if we found time for you to dance in the royal ballet, it might not be safe.”

Astra hated that answer, but it made perfect sense to her. Addy had never regularly commuted into the city for any reason. Keeping her safe during recurring, publicly open performances would have been a nightmare, and Astra supposed that would be true for her too.

Astra also knew she wasn’t going to dance forever. She probably had a good ten or twelve years before retirement, and that was only if she avoided any major injuries. In Astra’s experience, injuries and pregnancies were two of the most common reasons dancers retired younger than thirty and they were both to be avoided.

“How long do you think we could put all of this off? I don’t want to stop dancing.”

“I know. I want you to dance! You’re bloody magnificent when you dance.”

“Just when I dance?” she teased suggestively.

“Other times too.” he smirked up at her. He let his face fall gently on her stomach, breathing in the smell of her body wash and then lifting his head again, “I could tell Grandmother we’re not yet ready. You could go to Waverly and come back for visits now and again.”

“Sounds like I’d miss you.”

“I’d miss you too.”

“Sounds better to me, though.”

“I suppose it must. The people mightn’t be fooled, they’ll still expect something is happening between us.”

“They’d be right.”

“But Astra… No matter what, I’ll be King four years from now. There’s no delaying that. ”

“That’s a long time, Andy.”

“I can’t… you must understand, I’d need to know for certain by then.”

“Of course!”

“Ideally… Ideally I would be married by then so that we could share the coronation ceremony.”

“So we could have a wedding earlier that fall? You’d propose that spring? That gives us a few years. That gives me time to dance.”

“But would it be enough?”

“Three years is forever, Andy.” Astra grinned down at him.

“And you’d really consider being my queen?”

“I’d consider a lot of things for blue eyes like yours.”

“They are an important part of the benefits package.” he agreed, placing an arm on either side of her and bringing himself up so that they were eye to eye. “Along with lots of travel to exotic locations. The finest champagne money can buy. Famous designers tripping over themselves to clothe you. A handful of palaces. Lots of diamonds.” he punctuated each of these offers with a deep, heated kiss and by the end Astra was absolutely dizzy and in no state to negotiate her future job benefits.

***

By the end of the week it was not just one photographer waiting outside of the ballet studio anymore, there were dozens. They were aggressive and pushy, yelling her name and constantly demanding she tell them if she was seeing Andrew. Her Illéan security detail was not pleased. The theater that housed the ballet was difficult to secure against so many persistent intruders, and there was serious discussion about whether they could even let her finish the seminar. They also discussed calling King Maxon and asking him for reinforcements, which made Astra’s stomach feel sick. She didn’t want her uncle to have to pay money and spare resources to send across the world to her all because of her love life.

It was a tense day and a half before Andrew was able to come through with security of his own to supplement her detail. It had been a tough thing to organize, given she wasn’t officially his girlfriend, but he’d found a way for her.

If Astra knew anything in those days, it was that he would always find a way for her. That had never been the problem.

There were reporters outside of Astra’s palace now, night and day, and they marked each time Andrew came or went. Instead of lounging together on the balcony overlooking the city, Astra and Andrew had to draw the curtains closed for the sake of their privacy.

“We should just tell them we’re not really dating.” Astra said. “I can’t outright lie to them.” Andrew insisted. “I can’t break trust with my people. I don’t have to confirm we’re together, but I can’t just tell them we’re not.”

“There’s got to be a way… tell them we have no intention of courting right now. That’s not a lie, is it?”

“It’s a bit transparent.” Andrew pointed out.

“Well, I’d love to hear your better idea!”

Andrew sighed into her hair. They were dancing to the music on the television, its glow the only light in her bedroom. “Maybe we break up. And I tell them we broke up.”

“You’re breaking up with me?” Astra suddenly sounded so small and vulnerable, he squeezed her tighter, “No! Not really. Not in that way. It’s just a way we can… buy you some more time before we have to fess up to anything.”

Astra didn’t want to fake-break up with Andrew. She wanted the entire world to leave them to their peace and quiet in their little palace of domestic bliss forever. What was so complicated about that?

Andrew had the idea of staying away one night to try to relieve some of the heat, but all it did was leave Astra pacing the floor alone, listening to the rumble of dozens of people camped out on the street in front of her palace all night.

Astra and Andrew were summoned by Queen Waverly the next day and sat down together on the sofa in her office.

Everything about it was embarrassing. Andy’s mother needed to know how long they had been romantic, how far their romance had gone, how serious they were about their future together, and why Andrew had turned down his grandmother’s invitation.

“Lovey, she wasn’t trying to force your hand.” Waverly told Andrew sympathetically. “What’s happening now out there… it’s going to get worse, the longer we let the media spin itself up into a frenzy.”

Astra said, “I only have a week and a half left, your Majesty—“

“Astra.” Waverly reproached the use of her title. “We’re having this discussion as family. Call me Aunt Waverly… if you’re marrying my son, call me Mum.”

Astra gulped, looking at Andrew, lost.

“We’ve only been together a few months, we don’t know—“ Andrew spoke up, until Waverly nodded and held up her hand to silence him.

“I understand entirely.” She turned her head to the side to study a giant portrait of one of Andy’s female ancestors. “Listen you two, I know that this is a complicated situation. The only thing that will help is being forthright with the people.”

“If Astra meets grandmother, the people will be demanding a proposal by Christmas.”

“Perhaps so.”

“We’re not ready for that.” Andrew was keeping a lid on his princely composure, but Astra could tell he felt hopelessly trapped by his mother and the palace and his people beyond its walls. He was ready to rattle the cages.

Waverly nodded, “Your father and I will do everything we possibly can for you, you know that. We only want your happiness. But things are getting very intense, very fast out there. That’s happening because you’re choosing not to do things the conventional way. You must understand that.”

Very intense, very fast. That was Astra’s whole relationship with Andrew in a nutshell.

“It’s just a week and a half.” Astra reiterated. “Then I’ll be back in Illéa and the press can calm down for a while.”

“The speculation won’t stop until it is addressed by us, and it might even turn ugly.” Waverly warned. “When you stop giving them fresh photograph opportunities every day at your ballet house, when there aren’t rumors flying about sightings of the two of you all over London—“

“Not true, by the way.” Andrew said.

“Some of them could be.” Astra reminded him.

“Only the very old ones. We’ve not been out in a fortnight.”

Astra nodded.

“My point is, in a vacuum of real news, someone will invent rumors to splash on their tabloids. It will be anything and everything. Abuse, affairs, pregnancy out of wedlock, Astra will be a gold digger who broke Andy’s heart one week, the next week Andy will be a womanizing fiend who took advantage of a childhood friend. Relations between England and Illéa will be on the brink—“

“They won’t!” Astra objected.

“Only in the magazines.” Waverly replied. “But we wouldn't want any hostile nations thinking the rumors were true and attempting to take advantage of the supposed rift. You see how this could spiral?”

The room fell to silence for the first time. Astra shivered just a little, “I feel like I’ve been tossed into a tornado.”

“It gets better." Waverly promised. “Once you’re proactive about telling your own story, it gets harder for the media to frenzy over half-credible unattributed rumors.”

Astra buried her face in her hands. She’d thought she’d have years before she had to tell the media a story about her relationship with Andrew. It felt wrong that the people of England were forcing an eighteen year old girl to move so quickly.

“I just need time.” Astra said into her hands.

“Right.” Waverly made up her mind and stood, “In that case, Eoan and I are inviting you to stay here with us for the rest of your visit, Astra. We’ll tell the media that we’re very much looking forward to spending time with you before the end of your trip.”

“No, wait…” Astra looked up, heartbroken that she was losing her private little palace. Would she even get to go back and say goodbye to it?

“This isn’t a punishment, sweetheart.” Waverly sighed and then tugged Astra up to standing, pulling her into a tight hug. “You’re not in trouble. Not one little bit. You’ll have more privacy here, behind our gates and with all of our guards. You’ll have one of our cars to drive you to and from the ballet, and Andy won’t be caught coming and going at all hours of the night because he already lives here… or he did before you came to town.” she said the last part teasingly to her oldest son, who had the temerity to blush at his shamelessness.

Astra felt her eyes sting with tears, “I love that palace… it’s been a good home for me.”

Waverly smiled sweetly, “You’ll be welcome to stay there the next time you come back. If you and Andrew announce an engagement, we’ll fully staff the place for you so that it’s safer. Perhaps you and Andrew could use it as your home for the time between your marriage and his assumption of the crown.”

“Really?” Andrew looked enticed by the offer.

“You’ll need to live somewhere, dear. You couldn’t live with your parents as newlyweds, it would be unbearable.” Waverly teased. “England would never get an heir that way.”

Heirs.

Hearing the queen say that word in this palace, next to the crown prince made it feel very real and very scary. Did Astra want her kids to be heirs? She thought again of Addy and Jamesy… she loved them more than anything in the world, but she couldn’t imagine raising her children for such an incredible responsibility.

Waverly continued softly, “The main thing is, we need to be very delicate here, my loves. When Andrew becomes king, he will become the head of the church. Please understand, I do not mind what you the two of you do or don’t do, so long as you are safe and consenting.”

“Mother.” Andy squirmed.

“But it would put Andrew in a difficult position, becoming head of the church, if he was seen to have a… well a marriage-style relationship with a woman who was not his wife for too long.”

“Yes, heaven forbid I have a healthy, long-term girlfriend.” Andy scowled.

“It’s the vows to God that are the issue at hand, not heaven, and you know it.” Waverly scolded his sass quietly, but efficiently.

“So we break up.” Astra concluded. “We officially break up when I go back to Illéa, and then when it’s time, I come back to England and we publicly reunite… you don’t have any church issues, and I have time to dance.”

Waverly looked between them quietly. “It might be the only option, short of scheduling dinner with your grandmother.”

Andrew looked almost as sad as if the breakup was real. Maybe he was scared it would become real once Astra was out of the whirlwind. She laced her fingers with his and squeezed, “We’ll figure this out.”

He squeezed back twice, gently.

***

That night Astra slept in Andrew’s bedroom for the first time in their entire affair.

“The maids are gonna know.”

“Everyone knows.” he snorted into her hair. “That’s why we’re here and not across town in our own palace.”

“Your parents are in the building.” she complained when his hands began wandering her body.

“Not close enough to hear anything.”

“Still… what if they have to walk by for a glass of water or something?”

“You want me to keep my hands to myself tonight?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Oh, so shall we see who can be quietest?” he brushed his fingers across her ribs and she quietly shrieked a giggle. “You are so bad at this, darling.”

“Oh yeah?” she got her revenge with vicious tickles, exploiting every sensitive spot she’d found on his body the last few months.

***

Living in the English palace was an easy adjustment for Astra. She'd grown up in Illéa Palace which, as the functioning capital building of one of the largest nations in the world, was larger and had a much bigger staff. The English palace was certainly ancient and stately, but Astra had grown up visiting the place, so at least she wasn’t too dazzled to see this for what it was.

There was no more delivery from local restaurants once those palace gates were closed, but the royal chef made sure that Andy and Astra had everything they wanted delivered to one of their rooms each night, so that wasn’t actually too much of a change. Not only that, but the maids were discrete and only came onto their floor when Andrew was at work and Astra was at the ballet for the day, so it was almost like their bedrooms magically tidied themselves up each day.

Really, the biggest change for Astra had been weeks before, when rumors had started flying and she and Andrew had stopped venturing out into London. Andrew still appeared in her doorway just in time for dinner, looking handsome and happy to see her. They still shared good meals and long baths, and a warm bed each night. But now the illusion that time didn't exist and that they could continue peacefully, blissfully existing in their little bubble forever was burst.

Since the royal palace hadn't released a statement about the gorgeous young foreign princess living in the same palace as their handsome young future king, salacious headlines were beginning to trickle from tabloids to increasingly reputable news sources. Astra and Andrew's private affair wasn’t so private anymore.

Some part of Astra had been hoping that the rumors would die down once she and Andrew had retreated into the palace, even though she knew better. But on her second-to-final rehearsal before her big seminar performance, photographers started camping out overnight at the stage door to the ballet, not just hounding Astra but harassing her fellow dancers, too. It was humiliating to think that these world-class performers, some of whom Astra had idolized for years, were getting manhandled on their way to and from work every day because of Astra’s love life. She wasn’t sure her reputation in the industry would ever recover from this. Who would want to work with her when her very presence could cause such a disruption?

She cried in the backseat of the car on her way back to the royal palace that day, but she had big sunglasses on, and at least no photographers caught her moment of weakness.

“I don’t want to be the girl who’s dating the future king. I want to be a damn good dancer.” Astra said that night, her cheek pressed to Andrew’s chest as he drew swirling designs on her bare back with his fingers.

“You are both.”

“You don’t understand… you literally can’t.”

“What?” Andrew wasn’t insulted, which was the great thing about him. He was always humble about his own limitations. “Why can I not understand?”

“Have you ever looked up to someone who was truly excellent at the very thing that you wanted to be truly excellent at?”

“Of course.”

“Who?”

“King Maxon.”

Astra rolled her eyes and lifted her head so he could see her at it. “You met him when you could still count your age on one hand.”

“So?”

“So most people never get to meet their idols, and if they do it’s because they’ve worked extremely hard to become very good at something. There are choreographers and dancers at this seminar that I’ve admired for a decade. And now my presence is turning their workplace, a place I consider to be sacred, into a hostile circus.”

Andrew frowned down at her and said softly, “Did I not promise you terrifying clowns?”

“I don’t want to bring chaos to every stage I cross.” Astra pouted.

Andrew nodded and said, “So we should announce our breakup immediately. I’ll release a statement tomorrow, and ask a friend of mine to appear in public with me tomorrow night… a woman. It won’t cure everything overnight, but it would surely alleviate some of the pressure.”

Astra stared into his eyes, then studied the line of his nose, the cut of his cheekbones, the curve of his jaw. “That’s a lot of trouble to go through just for me.”

“Astra, are you joking? You’re the one going through trouble for me.”

Astra nodded, but she dropped a kiss onto his lips anyway. “Okay, but the breakup is fake.” her lips danced over his.

His teeth gently teased her lower lip as he replied, “Yeah. I noticed.”

***

As warm and inviting as the arms holding her were, Astra had a difficult time staying asleep that night. She was nervous about returning to rehearsals the next morning, nervous about their final performance, now only a couple of days away, nervous about her new relationship with Andrew, and nervous about being nervous about her new relationship with Andrew.

At around four in the morning she slipped out of bed and tiptoed back to her suite, where she found a pitcher of water and a tray of snacks waiting for her. She spent so many hours of her day exercising that sometimes she woke up in the middle of the night ravenously, painfully hungry, so she’d requested that she be left some snacks just in case. She picked at a scone, lost in her anxieties, and her stress about not being able to sleep, until the telephone next to her bed rang so loudly and shrilly that it caused her to jump and splash some of her glass of water onto her night shirt.

“Hello?” Astra picked up the phone, hoping to hear an Illéan voice on the other end of the line. She hadn’t spoken to Addy in a few days, and it had been almost a week since her Aunt Ames or Uncle Maxon had phoned. She hadn’t spoken to her parents in longer than that, but they’d be arriving in London in less that twenty-four hours so that they could watch her final performance, so she wasn’t too desperate to speak to them.

And while the voice on the other line was Illéan, it definitely wasn’t one she had been expecting.

“Hey.”

Astra’s stomach clenched and her body flooded with adrenaline. She reminded herself to behave like a normal person and not like a lunatic when, as casually as she could, she replied, “Kile? Is that you?” like she didn’t know. Like she wouldn’t know his voice anywhere, anytime, under any circumstance. She knew his voice better than she knew her own.

“Sorry, I know it’s the middle of the night over there. …You don’t sound like you were sleeping, though.”

He would know.

Astra gulped hard, “I needed a snack.” It was a lie, but it was close enough to the truth.

“Hm. Is he there then?”

Astra felt defensive anger flare up in her chest, and only later realized that the anger was covering a sense of guilt. “So what if he is? You broke up with me—“

“Astra—“

“No, it’s okay. I’m not saying that in a mean way. I’m stating a fact. We are not together because you broke up with me, so why do you care if he’s here?”

There was a long pause and then a low groan on the other end of the phone. Astra heard a brush of fabric over his microphone, as if he’d been rubbing his face and his sleeve caught on the receiver.

“I want to know if he’s there, because I want to talk to you when you’re alone. It’s why I’m calling so late… or early, I guess.” Kile said.

Astra’s traitor heart beat faster. What did he want to talk to her about when she was alone? Was he going to apologize? Was he going to ask for her back?

It was too late, obviously. Astra had obviously moved on. Obviously. “He’s not here.”

Kile sounded relieved when he said, “Good.” and that annoyed Astra. He had no right to be relieved that she wasn’t in bed with another man. He’d hurt her in a way she’d never known she could hurt before.

She lashed out, “I didn’t want to wake him up with my snacking. But he’ll probably notice I’m gone soon, so you should hurry up and say what you want to say.”

The pained sound that snuck out of his throat with his next exhale was not as satisfying as Astra had hoped it would be. She regretted her words already. Maybe now he wouldn’t ask for her back… not that she wanted him to.

Kile said, “Let me ask you something…”

This was it. He was going to ask for forgiveness. He was going to ask her to come back to Illéa and be with him.

“What do you want more than anything in the world?” Kile said.

What was he expecting her to say? That she wanted him? She was dating the Crown Prince of England!

“Astra?”

“What do you mean, Kile?”

“What do you mean, what do I mean? For our whole lives you’ve always wanted one thing more than anything in the world. What is it?”

Oh. Astra replied almost mechanically, her voice barely above a mumble, “I want to be the Prima Ballerina for the Angeles Ballet for at least a season, maybe two.”

“And you wanted that enough that you didn’t even think about moving closer to my university, because it would have taken you away from the Angeles ballet. And not for a good reason, like that invitation you got to dance in Waverly. For no reason. For me.”

“You’re not no reason—“

“No, I’m just not a good enough reason.”

“Kile—“

“You can’t argue with that.”

“You said you wouldn’t promise to look for apprenticeships and internships in the cities where I was dancing. You said you don’t want to live in Angeles when you grow up!”

“I don’t. I’m going to go where I can do my best work.” he said plainly. “I still think you and I made a good choice to split up.”

Hearing him say that was hard. She wanted him to regret it. She wanted him to miss her like she had missed him before Andrew had swept her off her feet. Losing him had changed her and she would never be the same as she was before, and he wasn’t even sorry.

Kile continued, “I’m just saying… what was the point of drawing a line in the sand about you and me if you were just going to walk all over it for Andy?”

“What?”

“We both know that you’ll never be prima anything if you marry Andy. You told me yourself, every waking hour of a prima’s life is devoted to dancing or preparing to dance. There are no hobbies, no vacations, no date nights. There definitely isn't time to be somebody’s princess.”

“I’m already an Illéan Prin—“

“Cut the shit, Astra, you know what I mean.” Kile sounded exasperated, and she knew why. She was trying to miss his point, but he wasn’t exactly being subtle about it so dodging it was proving impossible.

“Maybe I want something else now. Maybe I want to marry Andrew.”

“Look… Andy’s not a bad guy—“ Kile admitted through gritted teeth, “But there will be plenty of not bad guys waiting for you after you retire. So if you pick him, do it because you want the life he’ll give you more than the life you can earn for yourself. And be ready to bury your dreams of being a prima ballerina forever, if you do. I know you, and I know you’re getting swept up in this—“

“Don’t talk about me like I’m some helpless little… little damsel, Kile.” Astra snapped.

“Think about it logistically. Do you want to move to the other side of the world from your parents and your little brothers? They’ll visit you as often as they can, but your visits to Illéa will always be to the Palace, to King Maxon and Addy. You won’t be able to go home again. Do you want to have to keep a royal schedule, planned months and years in advance? And you can forget being around from Addy once she becomes queen, you’ll be trapped on the far side of an ocean.”

“Kile—“ Astra tried to interrupt him because she wanted him to stop making sense.

“What about the little things? What about the weather? You’re an Angeles girl, are you going to miss the sun? You know they use different numbers for temperature over there, right? How’s it going to feel to wake up in the morning and have some maid tell you that it’s twenty-five degrees outside, so you’d better stay in the shade to keep cool?”

“Kile.” Astra laughed.

“I’m serious. You’re not just choosing a career here, Astra, you’re choosing a life: from the moment you wake up to the moment you fall asleep.” Kile paused and let out a tired sigh. “I just don’t want you to make a big mistake that you can’t undo. I know how badly you want to dance. You’re not ready for this, and even if you were, this wouldn’t be the right choice for you.”

“I’ve changed, Kile.” she wanted to add that he’d changed her. That losing him had made her someone new, someone she didn’t even know yet, but she kept that part to herself. Listening to his voice for so long that night… suddenly she found that she didn’t want to hurt him anymore.

“It’s barely been three months, Astra. You haven’t changed that much.” he promised.

Astra wasn’t sure. Sometimes change was gradual, sure, but sometimes change was all at once. Traumatic change was a sudden shattering of what came before, such that one could never go back again. That was what losing Kile had been like.

But did that mean she wanted to give up dancing and become Andrew’s princess? His queen? His wife and the mother of his heirs? Did she want to leave Illéa forever and eventually move into this palace?

She wanted all of that when she was wrapped up in Andrew’s arms.

But here, alone in the middle of the night when she had her wits about her…

She climbed back into bed and woke Andrew up with steady, gentle kisses. Everything about the love they made that morning was slow and desperate, and even though she hadn’t meant it to, in the end it felt like goodbye.

***

Astra was gone to her final rehearsals before dawn, but later that morning Andrew was true to his word and made a big announcement that he and Astra had both been secretly dating, and were now publicly broken up. He made a good show of wandering around London looking sad that day, and that night he went out to dinner with a fashion model friend, who did not mind the publicity one little bit.

There were still plenty of photographers salivating at the chance to photograph Astra looking dismal at having lost the chance to become an English princess, but at least they were leaving the rest of the dancers, and everyone else associated with the ballet, in peace.

Astra’s parents arrived at the royal palace in time for dinner that night, and Astra had a lot of explaining to do to them. King Eoan and Queen Waverly seemed to find Astra’s discomfort at explaining her affair with Andrew to her parents over roasted asparagus incredibly amusing, and possibly reminiscent of the beginning of their own relationship. It wasn’t fair, though. Andrew missed all the “fun”, making sure it looked like he was rebounding with that gorgeous model.

That night, Astra was too nervous about her impending final performance to wait up for Andrew to get back to the Palace. She could go to bed early or never at all. She drank some tea laced with a little bit of melatonin and fell asleep soon after dinner.

She woke up in Andrew’s arms, her cheek pressed to the side of his bare chest. She listened to him breathe deeply and evenly for a little while and tried one last time.

She could quit dancing.

She could leave Illéa forever.

She could raise her children to be heirs.

Her children could raise their children to be heirs.

When she died, her bones could be interred in a big old church.

Her whole life could be that easy.

God, it would be so easy.

“Andy?” she whispered.

He didn’t stir.

“Andrew?” she tried again, this time pulling away from him and sitting up in bed.

He didn’t hear her, but he reacted to the loss of her warmth, and eventually his heavy eyelids fluttered open. “Astra?”

“What time did you get in last night?”

“This morning.” He admitted, yawning widely. “I expect the tabloids will be plastered with headlines about their debaucherous future king today.”

“Was it any fun?”

“Yeah. Ellie’s great; she’s always happy to be photographed on my arm. Missed you, though.” he added, as if suddenly awake enough to worry that she was jealous.

She wasn’t the slightest bit jealous. Well, the slightest bit, but not for the reasons he would assume. Astra was jealous because Ellie could keep being photographed on Andrew’s arm for as long as she pleased, with no consequences.

“Maybe you should marry Ellie.” Astra suggested.

Andrew laughed, and it turned into a yawn. Then he explained, “Ellie’s too focused on her career right now. And anyway, she’d be far more interested in you.”

“Now that would be a tabloid headline.” Astra joked weakly.

“What’s the matter? Are you nervous for your performance? Is it because you’re leaving England this time tomorrow? Is it because you told your parents what’s been happening between us—“

“I’m not nervous.” Astra said, even though her stomach was in knots. Those weren’t nerves. That was grief. “Andy… I want to be a ballet dancer.”

Andrew sat up in bed now and rubbed the sleep from his eyes so he could focus on her. The words were familiar, but her tone was alarming. “Of course you do. You are a ballet dancer, and you’re bloody brilliant.”

“I want to be a prima ballerina.”

“Okay.”

“That sort of excellence takes years to achieve.”

“Good job you’ve been dancing since you were four years old, then.”

“Shh.” she pressed a finger to his lips so that he would stop talking back and listen to her. He complied. “I won’t be ready to be a prima for seven or eight years. I have a lot to learn. And when I’m ready, I want to be a Prima Ballerina for at least one season, maybe two. That’s every waking hour devoted to dance for two years straight. Then I want to live in Angeles and stay close to Addy in the first few years of her reign. I want to be there when she gets married and has babies, because she is great at putting on a brave face and absolutely terrible at processing the emotions that are scaring her into needing to be brave. She’s going to need me, and I’m excited to be there for her. I can’t live on a different continent than my dad. There can’t such a huge time difference between me and my mom. I can’t be a foreign queen. I don’t want to be foreign at all. Andrew… I can’t marry you.” Her cheeks were wet and her voice cracked, but she didn’t know when, in that little breathless tirade, she’d started crying.

Andrew stared blankly ahead, hugging his knees to his chest around their blanket. He didn’t look surprised. He’d known she was too good to be true all along. Finding his queen could never have been so easy, so perfect. He shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up.

“Andy, none of those reasons I gave have anything to do with you. I love you. You’re a good man, and a great partner, and you have no business being such a talented kisser when you’re so handsome. It’s overkill.” she waited for him to smile. She waited for him to do anything. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Andrew. I just can’t marry you. I’m eighteen years old, I just got control of my life. I’m not ready to sign it over to a monarchy. I would love to be your wife, Andy, but I would hate to be your queen.”

Andrew blinked hard, then looked over at her. His voice was too casual, his words were too easy when he said, “I understand entirely. I can wait.”

Astra furrowed her brow, trying to hold his far off gaze. “Wait? What do you mean, wait?”

“You want to be a prima ballerina, and you said it would take you nine or ten years to accomplish your goal. Fine. I will wait, and when you’re ready I’ll ask to marry you.”

“No, Andy—“

“I don’t mind ruling on my own for a while.”

“That’s more than a while! You’ll be king in four years—“

“It isn’t a problem.” he insisted.

“Did you hear the part about what I want to do after I retire? About living in Illéa, about staying close to my family?”

“Astra, once we’re married, you can do whatever you like.”

“But queens have responsibilities.”

“We can redefine the role to mean whatever you’d like it to mean. I don’t care. I love you, Astra, and you’re the best future queen I could ever hope for.”

Astra paused, blinking hard against the tears in her eyes. It hurt to hear him say that. It hurt to realize that he didn’t believe he deserved any better. “Andy, that’s not true. You deserve a wife who will stay by your side. You deserve a wife who adores you and would be willing to sacrifice her own ambitions to serve England. I’m not good enough to be your queen.”

“Then no one ever will be.”

“Andrew—“

“Let me wait for you, Astra, please.” His voice broke on that last work, his eyes finally meeting hers and betraying his anguish. “Let me hope. It’s all that I have left.”

Astra couldn’t figure out what would be crueler, to let him hope when she’d made up her mind, or to take that hopeless hope away from him.

So she wrapped him up in her arms and they laid down. She combed her fingers through his hair and he brushed his thumb against her ribs until her alarm clock rang and her last day in London began.

***

In retrospect, Astra should have chosen a happy, upbeat, peppy song for her exhibition. She could have flounced all over the stage and spun a ridiculous number of times on her toes, and allowed her partner to toss her all over the place with an enormous smile on her face.

Instead, she’d chosen an exhibition from a ballet about a woman mourning her dead lover, dancing with his ghost. She’d been thinking of Kile when she’d chosen it, hoping it would help her work out her feelings about their doomed childhood romance. Now she was about to take the stage of the royal ballet, with Andrew and his parents in the royal box, watching her close enough that she could see the pained look on Andrew’s face as clear as anything.

Astra and her dance partner, Geoffrey, took their place while the stage was lit in nothing but the darkest of blue lights. He laid down across on their only set piece, an enormous fake rock, and Astra settled over him in a dramatic pose of despair, arm flung over her forehead.

The first part of the dance was hers alone. Her grief, her agony, her desperation. None of it was fake. When Geoffrey arose, as a ghost, and began dancing with her, the bittersweet mixture of joy and sorrow was easy to tap into. Nothing brought her more joy than dancing, and nothing brought her more sorrow in that moment than Andrew watching her live the life she’d chosen over him.

When Geoffrey faded back into the fog upstage and left Astra alone again in the center of the stage, all the passion and desperation fled with him. The rest of the dance was small and slow, painfully precise movements timed with the orchestra just so that if she made the slightest misstep, it would be immediately, embarrassingly obvious.

But Astra did not have to fake the exhaustion and resignation her character was feeling. If she allowed herself to second guess her decision to break away from Andrew now, she’d second guess it forever. The roar of the audience as the last tremulous notes from the string section died away seemed to make a deafening contrast.

Astra was surprised to find tears had started pouring down her cheeks somewhere during that performance. Geoffrey returned and took her hand, and they bowed. As was customary for this exhibition, several members of the audience threw flowers onto the stage. From the third row, Astra’s dad threw a whole bouquet, and a little teddy bear. Astra laughed as she wiped the tears from her cheeks. Then she turned to the royal box to curtsey, perfectly observing royal protocol, and was startled to find that Andrew had been crying, too.

He tossed her a single white rose with a beautiful red satin ribbon tied around the stem, but the look on his face was resignation. He could love her with all of his heart for all of his life and still never be able to give her the kind of affirmation she got from a packed theater full of an adoring audience. He’d seen her dance dozens of times in her room at her little palace, and hell, he’d even danced with her himself. But seeing her like this in front of them…

He could wait until the oceans ran dry and the mountains fell flat, and every single star in the sky flickered into darkness… Astra was never coming back to him.

Astra spent that night with her parents, letting them gush over her and spoil her with presents, and help her pack up the life she’d made in London for the last few months. She hoped Andrew would come and say goodbye once her parents went back to the suite they were staying in, but he never appeared, and Astra didn’t chase him down because she thought he deserved to set the terms. That dance had been her goodbye to him. It was up to him whether he wanted to say goodbye in return.

The next morning, Queen Waverly was the only one in the entrance hall waiting to see the Orders family off as they left. The English Royal jet would take them as far as Carolina, where they would visit James’ family for a little while.

Astra imagined Andrew’s private car speeding out onto the tarmac to stop them. She imagined him dashing from the backseat and waving his arms to alert the pilots that they couldn’t leave until he’d said his farewells.

He didn’t come. It was easier this way.

Kenna and James stayed with Astra’s grandparents for a few days, but James had to go back to work and Kenna needed to get back to the Palace. Aunt Ames had five children, two of them under the age of six, and though they had plenty of help in that Palace, Kenna was their primary nanny, their aunt, and she missed them like crazy.

Astra stayed with her grandparents for a couple of weeks, until her contract at the Waverly Ballet began. The media frenzy around her got much better in that time, though it was impossible not to notice that things were staying hectic around Andrew as the English tabloids seemed to catch on to how severely he’d had his heart broken.

Astra wished she could take some of that public shame away.

She wished she could take some of his pain away, even as she was mending her own broken heart. Her weeks in Carolina were good for that purpose. Her grandparents spoiled her rotten, and she gave her body a much-needed break from dancing. Instead, she spent her days learning needlepoint from her grandmother, and her nights stargazing out by the pond where her parents used to sneak off on dates before Gramma Magda gave up trying to convince Kenna to marry someone from a higher caste.

When Astra packed her bags to take the short flight up to Waverly to begin yet another new life with another new ballet company, she was still wearing the beautiful red ribbon that Andrew gave her as a parting gift on that rose, tied around her wrist.

And when, years later, she sat on her sofa and watched him become King of England in front of the entire world, her fingers traced that now slightly frayed red ribbon, Andy’s last gift to her, in a familiar, much-practiced gesture.

It would have been so easy to say yes, to give in to the pressure and let herself get swept away by the English people, the royal traditions, the prince’s staggering blue eyes. It would have been a good life, too. A perfectly fine marriage.

But Astra didn’t want to be queen, and now she wouldn’t have to be, and the freedom she felt watching Andrew bear the weight of that crown was all the reminder she needed: she made the right decision. And now, despite the dull ache of longing in her chest for he boy she’d loved and left behind, she was happy. Truly happy. She was at peace with her past, content in her present, and excited for her future.

When the coronation coverage ended, Astra got ready to return to bed. She was surprised when her phone rang, but she knew exactly who it would be.

“Mom?” she said, before the person on the other line could say a word. Her little cousins would have had just enough time to be tucked back into bed by now, if Aunt May was helping. Kenna would have rushed to the phone as soon as she got the chance.

“Sweetie? How are you, little bug?”

“I’m fine, Mom, I don’t need the pet names.” Astra grinned, rolling her eyes.

“Are you sure?” Kenna double-checked.

“Yeah. I wish Andrew wasn’t alone up there. I still love him, I don’t want him to suffer. But I was nothing but relieved when they put that crown on his head and I didn’t have to put one on mine. I made the right choice.”

“I know you did, honey, but just because you did the right thing doesn’t mean you have to feel perfectly fine about it. Especially not on a night like this.”

“Honestly, Mom… my time in London feels like another life. One I’m nothing but grateful for, but not one I want to relive.”

At first, Astra’s spring with Andrew felt like it had never really happened, or like it had happened to someone else, or like it was all a fever dream: too hot, too heady, a surreal hallucination more than a fairytale fantasy. But now, with some time and space, Astra could see it for what it really was: a romantic affair with someone she could have chosen to marry, but who ultimately was not the right fit for her. On the one hand, Astra and Andrew loved each other, and their marriage would have been fine: they’d known each other forever and they each fully understood the challenges of the royal life they would have been embarking on together.

On the other hand, Astra had known what she wanted out of life since she was a very small girl. It was a hard thing to ask an eighteen year old to walk away from a guaranteed royal wedding for a chance to work very hard to one day, possibly, make her dream come true. If Astra hadn’t grown up in Illéa Palace, she might not have made the same choice. But everything she got out of her life from now on was truly hers, she was the captain of her own fate, and even if she failed and never became a prima ballerina, at least this way she’d have had the chance.

“But Mom?”

“Hm?”

“Don’t ever tell Gramma Magda that Andrew proposed to me and I turned him down. I think she would disown me.”

#challenge #Astra and Andrew Challenge #RIP your dashes if the Keep Reading doesn't work #its almost 16000 words long #one for every tear I cried breaking Andrew's heart

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awanderingdeal · 3 years

Text

Never too late - 4 - 5

A continuation of Leo and Regulus' attempts (antics) to give Regulus the childhood he never had.

CW: All content warnings relate to Part 5: piercings and food talk

Please message me if you feel I need to add any content warnings

Rating: T

Previous and future chapters can be found on my masterlist

Credit for the sweater universe and the characters within it go to @lumosinlove. What a hero.

4. Take photos! Candids, selfies and posed group shots. They’ll hold the best memories.

“Merde, what are you doing?” Logan asked, resting his head on Leo's shoulder as he peered at the laptop.

Leo grinned, tipping his head back slightly so he could press a kiss against Logan’s cheek, “I’m getting inspiration.”

“That cleared a grand total of nothing up,” Logan huffed, circling the sofa so that he could flop next to Leo. “Oh my God, no. I thought I had deleted everything from back then” he groaned, reaching to close the lid of the device.

Leo swatted his hand away with a scowl. “First of all, I am offended that you never told me that you used to have bangs,” he gestured to the image of a young Logan on the screen, laughter bubbling in chest. “Second, I think you may have caught most yours, but you failed to check your tagged photos.”

Logan sighed again, apparently resigning himself to the fact Leo was going to trawl through the photos no matter what. “Is there at least a reason that you are torturing me like this?” he asked, curling into Leo’s side.

“It started off as me finding inspiration for classic high school photos to take with Reg, but now I’m just looking at how adorable you were at 14.” Leo chuckled.

***

“I want to be on the top!” James yelled, earning a snigger from Finn.

“No, Logan needs to go on the top, he’s the smallest and I’m not breaking my back for you idiots,” Kasey said from where he was braced on all fours.

“He’s actually very heavy. Like a tiny ball of muscle,” Finn said. Logan seemed conflicted as to whether he should be thanking his boyfriend or reprimanding him, the confused frown making Leo smile, but he figured he should intervene before a full on argument broke out.

“Maybe we should ask Regulus where he wants to go? These are his photos after all,” Leo suggested, turning his gaze onto the man in question.

Regulus threw his hands up, shaking his head. “I was coerced into this madness,” he defended. “But if I must participate then I want to go on top. At least then I don’t get squashed when this goes wrong.”

“O, yee of little faith,” Thomas scoffed, making a dramatic show of stretching his limbs.

“I’m retiring after this season, I’m too old for this,” Dumo groaned as he joined Kasey on the floor.

“You say this every season,” Kuny laughed, taking the spot next to Pascal and nudging him in the shoulder.

“Alright, Cap. I think you better go on the base too,” Leo said, laughing at the scowl he earned. It appeared that Sirius had been trying to make himself blend into the cushions in the hopes he might get out of the photo, but Leo wasn’t about to let him off that easily. “For Reg?”

“Regulus doesn’t even…” Sirius began to argue, but he was interrupted by his brother’s low chuckle.

“I have suddenly changed my mind. Come on Sirius, don’t be a spoil sport,” Regulus teased.

Sirius opened his mouth to start a rebuttal, but all that came out was a resigned sigh, and the man heaved himself to his feet, getting a loud cheer from the rest of the team. Once he had taken his spot, the rest of the pyramid seemed to form easily. James, Remus, Leo, Logan and Finn all climbed on, until eventually it was Regulus’s turn. With a little help from Timmy and Olli, the man managed to take his place at the top of the pyramid.

“Okay, Sergei, take the photo,” Leo instructed, feeling parts of the pyramid begin to shake.

“Which button is -” Sergei asked, before a semblance of a smile crossed his face. “Oh, found it.” Just as the words left Sergei’s mouth, Leo found himself tumbling to the floor, several of his team mates on top of him, a chorus of grumbling in several different languages erupting as they clutched various body parts.

“If anybody has broken anything, I am not explaining this to Coach,” Sirius declared, from under James and Finn.

“Did you at least get the photo?” Dumo asked.

“No, we need to do again,” Sergei grinned, a groan reverberating around the room from the rest of the team.

***

Regulus wiped his hand across his cheek so subtly that he nearly missed it, but the redness in his eyes was obvious.

“Are you crying?” Leo asked quietly, feeling the muscles 0f his forehead tense into a concerned frown.

“I’m fine,” Regulus said, blinking rapidly, shutting the scrapbook perched on his lap with a little more force than necessary. Leo had spent hours compiling the photos taken over the last few months into it: the forming a pyramid, two dozen or so polaroids taken at various events, a fair few with peace signs; the transition of Regulus slowly becoming more comfortable with the action obvious with each one, another was a take on the classic shoe circle only with hockey skates. Somehow James had snuck several selfies of himself into the mix.

“No, Reggie, what’s the matter?” Leo pulled the book from Regulus’s hands and put it on the coffee table, turning so that he could face his friend more easily.

Regulus shrugged, playing with the sleeve of his shirt, a nervous habit Leo had picked up on over the past few months. “I...I just never really had any friends in high school. It’s kind of hard when you’re taught to see everybody as competition, you know? So, I don’t really have any photos that aren’t stuffy family portraits or media shots. I didn’t realise that bothered me until now.”

Leo bundled Regulus into a hug, his friend making a disgruntled sound as he found himself pressed against Leo’s chest. “Just accept it,” Leo huffed, wondering how he had managed to find himself saddled with so many emotionally constipated hockey (or ex-hockey) players.

5. Find your style - change your hair, get a new piercing, buy a new outfit. Go wild!

“Hey, Reg,” Finn waved, mumbling through a mouthful of cheese.

“Harzy! Do you know how much that cheese cost?” Logan scolded, his expression somewhat more horrified than Leo would deem reasonable, “Please respect it.”

Leo grabbed his jacket, patting the pocket to ensure his wallet was inside. He rarely used his physical cards anymore, but it gave him far too much anxiety to rely on just his phone. “We’re leaving now. Try not to kill each other while we’re gone. It would be tragic to lose both of my boyfriends in one day,” he said, dropping a kiss first on to Finn’s cheek and then Logan’s.

“Bye Reg,” Finn waved again.

***

“Thank you,” Leo smiled at the cashier as he took his purchases from them. He looked down, noting that between the two of them they had amassed nearly twenty bags. Leo wasn’t usually one to spend money frivolously, but he had found himself swept away by Reg’s enthusiasm. Apparently when he wasn’t being stuffed into tight button ups and tailored pants, Regulus really rather enjoyed fashion. Finn would have been proud of the multiple pairs of trainers they had acquired so far. Still, they probably had enough for today.

Before Leo had a chance to suggest a change of activities, Regulus beat him to it. “Do you want to get some food?” he asked, the grumble of Leo’s stomach answering the question with no need for any words. Regulus laughed, “I’ll take that as a yes. Are you good to get Thai?”

Somehow over the course of filling their stomachs with curry and Pad Thai, an innocent comment about how Regulus would look cute with a piercing resulted in them walking into the nearest studio that had decent reviews. Regulus had changed into one of his new outfits: a loose black and white striped shirt, a pair of black pants cuffed at the legs and chunky white sneakers because his old outfit was deemed unsuitable for getting a piercing in.

Leo had just finished up getting his lip done, pamphlet of aftercare instructions clutched in his hand, and was waiting for Regulus to come out of his room. The boy had refused to tell him what exactly he was going to get done, and the anticipation was killing him. A few minutes later, Regulus pushed out the door to the small room and Leo’s eye was immediately drawn to the light catching Regulus’ eyebrow.

“Oh my God!” Leo exclaimed, wincing as the movement sent a surge of pain through his lip. “You look so good,” he added, moving to inspect the barbell peeking through Regulus’ brow.

“Thanks,” Regulus blushed at the approval. “Yours is cool too. Logan and Finn are going to freak out.”

“They sure are,” Leo chuckled. “Alright, I’ll settle this and then I’ll drop you back home?”

***

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” Regulus scowled, reading the instructions on the back of the box of dye for what Leo was sure was the fiftieth time.

“I told you, you haven’t been a teenager unless you have made some questionable fashion choices,” Leo countered. “Except I’m going to look amazing with blue hair so it’s not really questionable.”

“Well, it can’t be worse than this anyway, right?” Regulus grimaced, gesturing to his bleached blond hair.

“Noughties boy band members would be jealous,” Leo laughed.

“It’s a shame it is neither the noughties anymore, nor am I a boy band member,” Regulus replied, shoving the box into Leo’s hands. “Just do it.”

A little over an hour later, Leo was nudging Reg in front of the mirror. “Okay, this was definitely not a mistake! We look amazing. I am taking up a career in hairdressing if I get injured,” Leo declared, holding his hand out for a high five. Whilst Regulus did return it, it was less enthusiastic than Leo had been going for. “You don’t like it?”

“No, I like it,” Regulus shook his head, dragging his fingers along the short sides. The cut wasn’t that different to what it had been before, other than a slightly more dramatic fade. “Just feels weird. My parents would die if they could see me.”

“Well, I think we look badass,” Leo said, running his hand through his own blue hair. He’d left the front long and floppy, deciding to go wild and undercut the back. “Come here, let me take a photo.”

Leo was glad that Regulus had finally learned that while he was not one to throw a tantrum, he did have his ways of getting what he wanted and it was easier for everyone if Regulus just compiled most of the time. The post had barely been up on their Instagram pages for more than 3 minutes when Leo’s phone began to vibrate, Logan’s flashing onto the screen.

“Regulus! Why did my little brother just call to tell me that he wants to dye his hair blue?” Remus yelled up the stairs as Leo picked the call up.

And if drug stores all over the country sold out of blue hair dye the next day? Well, Leo guessed there were worse trends to have started.

#Leo Knut #Regulus Black #Sweater weather #lumosinlove #cw: piercings #cw: food #rating: t

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transsergio · 3 years

Text

Emily's Top Surgery (Read on AO3)

Penemily / Gen / 4038 words

Emily has top surgery and their loving, perfect, beautiful girlfriend Penelope is their caretaker.

Notes: I refer to Emily as Penelope's girlfriend intentionally; Emily is a non-binary lesbian and in this particular story, is comfortable with the gendered term "girlfriend". However, if you see Emily referred to as she/her at any point, that's an editing mistake on my part and I mixed up their pronouns with Penelope's. I went through this a couple times to make sure I gendered them correctly, but one might have slipped through the cracks!

Also feels important to say that Dr. Dolan is a totally fictional doctor and not a reference to any real life surgeon

Surgery Day

Penelope has seen her team through too much already. Kidnappings, stab wounds, bullets – their jobs aren’t exactly arts and crafts. Yet, she thinks this might be the most nervous she has ever been. She’s been rapid-fire tapping her heel for the last hour and forty-five minutes, and trying to distract herself with her cell phone. Morgan texted a couple times to check in (once on behalf of Reid), but otherwise, radio silence. The few messages mean more than she can say; she is intimately familiar with how busy they are on a case. But she really wishes any of them were there to squeeze her hand right about now. She’d even take Strauss.

In the middle of Penelope’s billionth Candy Crush level, a doctor materializes in front of her. She startles and fumbles her phone trying to click it off. “Is it over? Can I see them now? How’d it go?”

As the doctor peels his surgical mask off, she sees he’s laughing at her. That’s good, right?

He says, “Everything went just fine, Ms. Garcia. Emily’s in the recovery room now, and we’ll let you back there about twenty minutes after they wake up. They’re going to be a little groggy and maybe nauseous. It all depends on how their body reacts to the anesthesia. They’ll most likely sleep for the rest of the day, but make sure to keep up with their medications, alright?”

Penelope nods fervently. “Absolutely, Dr. Dolan. Can do. Will do! And I’m sorry to ask this again but I really have to make sure, the whole operation was totally fine? Nothing went wrong? Everything…chopped off okay?”

The doctor stifles a chuckle. “Yes, Ms. Garcia. Everything went exactly as planned, no complications as of yet. We’ll see you tomorrow for Emily’s one day post-op appointment to check the surgery site and switch out the bandages for a binder, and then for their first week post-op. Okay?”

Penelope smiles back, still nodding along like Emily’s health depends on it.

The doctor shakes her hand and ducks back into the surgical ward, leaving Penelope to update the group chat.

“Emily’s out!!!!!! Doc says all good!!!!!! Will be with them soon 😍💖🥳”

She types almost as quickly as her heart is beating.

Penelope makes it through another few rounds of mobile games and desperately refreshing her Twitter feed before she risks checking the clock. It’s been half an hour. Shouldn’t Emily be awake by now? What if they never wake up? Could someone be permanently anesthetized? Reid would know. Maybe Penelope should call Reid. No, she can’t do that. They’re all off in Texas trying to catch a serial killer and she doesn’t need to distract them, not when they’re already down two team members. Kevin Lynch is pretty good, she hopes. She’s seen his work and it’s adequate. Nothing like the multi-tasking Penelope pulls off, but in the same ballpark. His boyfriend, Grant Anderson, vouched for him. It was unnecessary, and maybe Kevin shouldn’t have sent the person who got Elle shot to sing his praises, but at least they knew Grant. Kevin was a stranger from another department. A back-up.

“Penelope Garcia?” A nurse calls as she emerges from swinging double doors.

“Yes, right here!” Penelope chirps. She leaps to her feet and scurries over as quickly as her heels will allow.

The nurse walks her through the recovery ward and the steps to Emily’s post-op instructions. Emily has four different prescriptions already filled and two cannot be taken at the exact same time while one is an antibiotic and the other is just for nausea which they might not need and –

“This is all written down, right? Sorry, my head’s just like, woo, swimming right now,” Penelope says. Her eyes are wide and darting frantically between the curtained beds. She hates the fluorescent lights. Her skin is buzzing with all the sour electricity. The nurse assures her they’ll send them home with physical copies along with phone numbers in case of emergency.

They round the nurse’s station and finally, come to Emily. They’re shifting slightly in their bed, leaning forward and sipping at a dixie cup of water. They're groggy and slow, with the IV still in their arm. Penelope’s glad they don’t have a mirror – their bangs are scattered over their forehead in three wispy chunks, a way Penelope knows Emily hates.

“Hey sweetheart,” Penelope coos. She leans over the bed's plastic siding to kiss the top of Emily’s head, and run her fingers through their dark hair. Emily leans into the touch.

They croak, “Hey,” and cough to clear their throat, wincing all the while.

“That’d be because you were intubated,” the nurse says. “Take plenty of cough drops and you should feel much better.”

Penelope assures the nurse they will while Emily drifts in and out of focus.

“Did it work?” they ask.

“Did what, Em?”

“M’surgery.”

“Oh! Yeah, totally. You’ll see in a little bit. You’re just sleepy.”

“M’kay,” Emily says. Their head lolls back into their pillows as the muscles in their face tighten.

“Emily, what would you rate your pain out of ten?” the nurse asks, coming closer with her clipboard at the ready.

“Uh, five? Maybe six.”

Penelope looks to the nurse. “Is that bad? That sounds bad. I thought it wasn’t supposed to hurt right now.”

The nurse jots down a few notes before she answers. “It’s not unusual. We’ll up their pain killers before we remove the IV.”

Penelope plants herself firmly at Emily’s side in the meantime. They’ve redressed Emily in their own clothes, an oversized button-down and sweats. Well, Penelope assumes they put Emily’s bottoms back on. The blanket is still tucked tightly around their body like they’re some kind of soft, hot mummy. They stay like that for another fifteen minutes, Penelope working her nails through Emily’s scalp as they try to relax.

When Emily rates their pain at a four, then a three, Penelope helps the nurse settle them in a wheelchair. They roll a few feet into the hall before Emily claws for Penelope’s arm.

“Where’s the barf bag?” Penelope asks. She has her hand out and ready for the nurse to pass it over, and swings it into Emily’s face.

Emily, thankfully, does not puke. Their slow, steady breath crinkles the blue plastic bag, but all they fill it with is air. They keep a tight grip on the thing for safekeeping, even as they’re helped into the passenger’s seat of Penelope’s car.

“You ready to go home, lovebug?” Penelope keeps her voice low and sweet, like dark honey. Emily nods and Penelope grants her wish, starting the engine and turning out of the parking lot.

-❤-

One Day Post-Op

Penelope holds her breath as the nurse unwraps the medical bandages. She wonders if Em is doing the same. While she’s watching them, Emily’s eyes flit between her and the floor-length mirror fastened to the exam room wall.

The nurse is talking, and they’re both supposed to be listening, but who could expect them to? Emily has spent a couple grand (after insurance) and something like four years waiting for these next seconds. Penelope is just as invested, if not more, in Emily’s happiness. She’s not going to get the camera out, but wonders if she should just in case Emily cries.

Their eyes follow the final bandage as it unravels from Emily’s form.

And Emily’s mind goes quiet. They have two, deep red swoops where their chest used to bulge. Above and below, their body is nothing but smooth skin. They thought this would feel like shock. Like disbelief that they were finally here. Instead, it just feels right, as if this is the way it’s always been and some crappy daydream is over at last. They giggle, and Penelope glows like the sun has risen.

“Wow,” Penelope says, soft. She’s wrenched with admiration.

The nurse is smiling in the corner. She takes out a roll of Steri-Strips and measures them against Emily’s new scars. Scars! Emily finally has scars!

“Now the bruising should lessen in the next three to four weeks,” the nurse says. Oh, bruising. Emily almost hadn’t noticed. Their body is splotched with patches of yellow, green, and purple as if it’s trying to camouflage itself, but Emily’s not hiding from anything anymore.

They’re given more practical information, like how often Emily should be walking to avoid blood clots, how high they should lift their arms, how much they should be carrying – most of which tells them to stay reclined, arms down, to sleep as much as possible, but get in ten minutes of walking every few hours. Penelope hears more of this than Emily does, and again, they’re given written instructions just in case.

Emily takes one last look before the compression vest goes on. This will be the most uncomfortable part of the process, thank god. Emily chose a surgeon who used a tighter suture method rather than the typical drains intentionally. Still, the fit of the binder is exciting. Emily’s never had something lie flat on them before. Their body now falls in one fluid line without anything, even nipples, to interrupt.

“Em?”

Emily snaps to Penelope, who is standing and holding the door for them.

“Oh, right,” Emily says with half a laugh and a daze in their eyes. They thank the nurse, and the receptionist, and a passing surgeon that isn’t even Emily’s on the way out. This is the most gratitude Emily’s ever contained in their life, and they need to flush it through their system.

“And especially you,” Emily gushes as Penelope helps buckle their seatbelt. “You’re amazing. I can’t believe you’re taking time off for me, or that you’re not stir crazy already. Thank you.”

Penelope grins like she might burst, and can’t answer just yet. She gets them safely onto the highway for home first. “Of course I’m here for you, dumb-dumb! Not only because you literally can’t do anything for yourself right now, or because the hospital said you couldn’t have the surgery without having a caretaker, but, well – okay, maybe half for those reasons too. But because I love you. I’m so happy for you, and how happy you’re going to be, and that this is so good for you. I love you so much.” Penelope sniffles.

“Maybe you should have said all that before we left?” Emily asks. “You’re gonna cry the whole drive back, babe.”

Penelope swats at them. “I know, I know! But you’re on a strict schedule, my lovely angel, and you need your meds in like, thirty minutes.”

Emily laughs and catches Penelope’s hand in their own. They squeeze it tightly and press their lips to Penelope’s fingers. Emily only releases when Penelope tugs their grip toward the steering wheel.

“Next stop, Recoveryville,” Pen jokes.

-❤-

Five Days Post-Op

Emily is more or less comfortably laid on their couch. They have an arsenal of pillows stationed behind them, under their arms, and at the bend of their knees, and Penelope’s militant care routine keeping them afloat. For the last four days, they’ve done nothing but watch French art films together, eat ice cream, and order takeout. It’s been a nice break, Emily realizes. One they didn’t know they needed.

Penelope emerges from the kitchen with a bag of Doritos and a bright blue DVD in her hands.

“This looks like a bribe,” Emily says with a wry smile.

“That’s because it is. I am in no place to object to your choice of movies, especially after I promised I wouldn’t make fun of the accents anymore. But I was sorta hoping this would be a good opportunity to manhandle you into watching a real classic.” Penelope blocks the television in her pink pajama pants and Emily’s Yale hoodie. Penelope is well aware that Emily loves when she wears their clothes; she has to be doing this on purpose. And it’s working.

Emily bobs their head from side to side, considering the offer. “Alright, shoot. I’m willing to cut you a deal.”

Penelope slaps the movie cover over her face. Mamma Mia! (2008) Dir. Phyllida Lloyd.

“Oh, god.”

And Penelope reemerges, scowling. “Hey! I didn’t complain when you made me watch that sad movie about the woman with the dead family. This time, no one’s dead! And they’re in Greece! Okay, admittedly no one wants to hear Pierce Brosnan sing, but if you ignore him and focus on Meryl Streep the movie gets a lot better!”

This is not the first time Emily has heard argument on behalf of Mamma Mia! and it likely isn’t the last, either. Movie night in the Garcia-Prentiss household is in a state of constant debate and usually decided by a fair and unbiased coin toss. Emily considers it a miracle that Penelope’s lasted this long without putting up a fight, and considers it part of her generosity as their caretaker.

Emily scooches themself into a more upright position. “Trois coleurs: Bleu is a beautiful movie and you said you liked it, first of all. And I thought we were watching my movies because I’m the one healing.”

Penelope hesitates. “…Yes, but I may have also been doing a little eensy weensy bit of work at the same time because they’re also like, really slow and boring and Kevin needed the tiniest, tiniest bit of help on the Texas case.”

“Traitor!” Emily is aghast. “What about the deal?”

The deal, of course, was the promise they made each other after their third movie night. Emily was texting throughout The Muppets Take Manhattan and not entirely invested in Kermit and Miss Piggy’s wedding. Penelope was hurt, Emily was confused, and didn’t fully get it until Penelope fell asleep twenty minutes into Deux ou trois choses que je sais d'elle. From that point on, they agreed to compromise more on movie selection and to pay undivided attention to the films they did pick.

“You passed out! I thought the deal was void if you weren’t awake during your own movie!” Penelope said.

“Why didn't you wake me up?” Emily argued.

“Oh, yeah, I’m going to wake up the person who just had surgery so they can pay attention to the third sad foreign movie of the day. You need your rest, and Kevin has maybe half of my inimitable skills!” Penelope’s words were jumbling together as she went up an octave. “I know I’m on vacation but the team needed help and I didn’t want to abandon them with some computer monkey who doesn’t know the first thing about my system, much less the way the team works, and isn’t even a regular assist on cases like me and—”

Penelope is cut off by three short raps at their front door. A welcome escape.

“Pen!” Emily calls after her. “We’re not done here!”

“I think we are!” Penelope shouts back. She passes down the hall and peers through the peep hole, though, she really doesn’t need to. She recognizes the voices on the other side.

“We’re not too early, are we?”

“It’s two in the afternoon, genius.”

“I mean in days since Emily’s operation. They might not be up to company.”

“Then we’ll say hi to baby girl and head out, no big deal.”

Penelope swings the door wide open. “Definitely say hi to me, definitely do that!”

Morgan and Reid stand in their building’s hallway, Derek carrying bags of Chinese food, and Spencer juggling some sort of gift basket. Their eyes are tired and Derek’s stubble is looking rougher than usual, but they perk up in the light of their friend.

“Hey, there she is,” Morgan says. He comes in for a tight hug as he and Reid crowd themselves inside. “How’s everyone holdin’ up?”

“Peachy keen,” Penelope says. She squeezes Derek’s shoulder and leads them back to Emily by Reid’s hand. “Look who missed their favorite co-workers!”

“Hey, guys,” Emily says. Their heart warms at the sight of them. “What’re you doing here?”

“Now how’s that any way to greet a friend?” Morgan laughs. He lowers their takeout food to the coffee table and dives onto the couch beside Emily. “You been good to Garcia so far, or do we have to put the hurt on you?” He playfully punches Emily in their arm, and they cower in mock pain.

“Hey, no roughhousing!” Penelope scolds. “If anyone pulls any sort of muscle in the next twenty minutes, you’re all in timeout.”

Emily and Derek snicker in their seats and launch into the most recent case details. It’s a lot of the gory, icky stuff that Penelope doesn’t want to know unless she’s in her bat cave, so she takes Spencer and his basket into the kitchen.

“Doritos, huh?” he notices the bag Penelope drops on the counter. “You were trying to get something from them?”

Penelope answers with her head stuck in the fridge as she paws to the back for Spencer’s La Croix. “I may have wanted to watch one of my movies today, and I may have offered chips in payment.” She fishes a couple cans of LimonCello out, and huffs. “So what’s all this?”

“It’s from JJ. She wanted to come herself but didn’t think bringing Henry over was the best idea,” Spencer explains. He holds his drink gingerly with both hands and peers into the basket. It looks a lot like the one Penelope used for JJ’s baby shower, and is also definitely the same basket. Inside are a few bags of beef jerky, chocolate, a backscratcher with a little pink hand at its end, and an airline neck pillow with the Texas flag patterned over it.

“Awe. I’m definitely baking her cookies,” Penelope says. She leans back against the counter and eyes Spencer up and down. “Tough case?”

Spencer shifts from side to side and looks into the dark pit of his La Croix can. “Not much worse than usual. It was just… long. And Emily would’ve been a big help. None of us speak Spanish.”

“But you didn’t want to call right now,” Penelope guesses. “It’s all over though, right? All good? Everything wrapped up with a bow for good luck?”

Spencer nods and purses his lips. He looks over his shoulder to the living room, where Derek is describing something with his hands and Emily watches, wide-eyed and entertained. Spencer says, more to himself than Penelope, “It’s always good to be home.”

-❤-

Two Weeks Post-Op

“Emily Elizabeth Prentiss!”

Emily freezes with one arm reaching desperately above doctor-recommended height, and another gripping the cabinet door like their life depends on it. They press their forehead into the shelf, groaning, “That’s not my middle name.”

“I can make up whatever name I want! You know what Dr. Dolan said, and this is so far out of bounds!” Penelope stands in the kitchen threshold with her hands on her hips. She sighs and tugs Emily away from the cereal cabinet by their waist. When their arms are safely lowered to their sides, Penelope puts on her serious face, with her seriously furrowed eyebrows, and her serious frown on her lips. She asks, “Do you, like, want to injure yourself? Is this your new favorite hobby?”

Emily is petulant. “No, I want breakfast, and it’s on the third shelf. Let’s just pretend you got it for me, okay?”

Penelope grumbles her frustrations under her breath as she pulls down the family size box of Lucky Charms. She flurries around the space until she’s collected a bowl and spoon and settled them on the other side of the kitchen counter, where a bar stool and carton of milk wait for Emily.

“Sit,” Penelope orders. Emily complies with a glint in their eyes.

“Thank you,” they say, saturating their words with genuine love.

“Oh, stuff it.” Penelope pecks a kiss to their cheek regardless. She tries not to think about how cute Emily is when they’re smug, but it’s a losing battle. The way their nose scrunches, the smirk; not helping. Instead, Penelope picks a smidgeon of a fight.

“Your hair is greasy.”

And Emily’s face falls flat and exasperated. They let their spoon rest in the pool of marshmallows. “Can we do this after I eat?”

“Oh, lovebug. Absolutely not,” Penelope smiles knowingly. “You haven’t washed it in like, four days, which tells me that it’s not as easy as you said it was. Y’know, I was wondering who said washing your own hair was too much work immediately after having an operation? It would have to be someone super smart and beautiful and funny and—”

“It was you, Penelope. We all know it was you.”

“Funny; it was, wasn’t it?”

But Penelope lets them finish their cereal. She was about to eat her own Eggo waffles, after all. Once the dishes are rinsed and in the washer, she marches Emily straight into their bathroom. The tub thankfully doesn’t share a wall with the toilet, making it easier for Emily to scoot in next to the faucet. Penelope folds Emily’s towel (the towel that is dark purple, and not spring green, which Penelope keeps carefully out of the splash zone) (unlike Emily, who does not mind if their towel is damp long after it should be dry, and probably growing some type of mold) (okay, it’s not growing mold, but Penelope insists that it will eventually become mold-ridden if Emily doesn’t start hanging it up more consistently) along the side of the tub. Emily fits the towel under their neck, and Penelope guides them into position.

“Your hair is so thick,” Penelope comments.

Emily says, “You tell me that once a week.”

“Because it is. Now close your eyes.”

Penelope detaches the removable showerhead and lets the water warm her hand. When it’s a comfortable temperature, she douses Emily’s head. She maneuvers carefully around Emily’s forehead to avoid hitting their face, though Emily’s eyelids flutter when they worry the stream is near. Penelope thinks with their long eyelashes, they look like butterflies about to take flight.

She works the shampoo in with a gentle, but thorough touch. It’s when she rubs the lather into Emily’s scalp that Emily lets a soft moan break, and Penelope smiles. She takes pride in her work, whether she’s at her desk or in her soapy bathroom.

The shampoo swirls down the drain as Penelope rinses Emily free. Emily opens their eyes and tries to sit up, but Penelope pins their shoulders to the tub.

“Hold on! I haven’t conditioned yet.”

“Isn’t shampoo enough? We’re going to be here again in three days. It’s a hassle.”

Penelope does not think so. For the low price of two-thousand dollars and the risk of post-op complications, Penelope’s seen her girlfriend relax for the first time in, maybe ever. She’s going to drag it out as long as she can. Which, for right now, means dumping a handful of conditioner into her palm and rubbing it through the tips of Emily’s hair.

The final rinse is cleansing, like the weight falls from Emily’s shoulders. Penelope swipes the towel from Emily’s neck and cocoons their hair inside. She manages to keep their shirt dry, for the most part. Emily sits up with a pain in their shoulders, and does their best to hide it.

“What’s wrong?” Penelope prompts. Their best is not nearly good enough, not when Penelope has the analytical eye of someone who loves them. Penelope plants Emily on their shared bed for the first time since their surgery, already grateful to have a little of Emily’s smell in the room again. She sits behind them and overlaps their legs with hers. Penelope digs into the knots wound through their back as if she's torturing for information.

“It’s almost like you have a stressful job or something,” Penelope says.

Emily snorts. “Yeah, something like that.”

Penelope massages her way down until Emily feels looser under her fingers. She leans her head into the crook of Emily’s shoulder and presses a kiss to their skin. “We could ask for more time off,” she offers.

Emily slouches against Penelope’s body. “We could. But we have to go back at some point.”

“Let’s pretend we don’t.”

Emily exhales. “Sounds good to me.”

#penemily #penelope garcia #emily prentiss #criminal minds #penemily fic #text #mine #cm

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twh-news · 3 years

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Loki' composer on how her MCU score reflects the main character's flair for the dramatic

By Josh Weiss

Natalie Holt's timeline was turned upside down last fall when she landed the highly-coveted composer gig for Marvel Studios' Loki series on Disney+.

***WARNING! The following contains certain plot spoilers for the first four episodes of Loki!***

After boarding Loki last September, Holt spent the next six months (mostly in lockdown) crafting a soundtrack that would perfectly reflect the titular god of mischief played by Tom Hiddleston. One of the first things she came up with was the project's main theme �� a slightly foreboding cue that pays homage to the temporal nature of the TVA, as well as the main character's flair for the dramatic. "He always does things with a lot of panache and flair, and he’s very classical in his delivery."

The other side of the story speaks to the old world grandeur of Loki's royal upbringing on Asgard, a city amongst the stars that eventually found its way into Norse mythology.

Wilson's character isn't the only person fed up with the TVA's lies. Hunter B-15 (Wunmi Mosaku) also became disillusioned with the place and allowed Sylvie to escape in the most recent episode

#Loki #loki series #natalie holt #Loki spoilers #loki series spoilers #Article #Interview #SYFY #Long post

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ikleesfiction · 4 years

Text

Will you follow through if I fall for you?

Fandom : One Chicago Word count : 3,762 words Disclaimer

Previously on this fic : Part 1 🞂 Part 2 🞂 Part 3 🞂 Part 4 🞂 Part 5 🞂 Part 6 🞂 Part 7 🞂 Part 8 🞂 Part 9

Part 10

It's been almost 6 months since you left Chicago. You spent those months working yourself to the bones as a way to forget Jay. It certainly was not a successful attempt, but at least you were too busy to think about him. You accepted Alex's idea to make a duo project and lazily named it "alex&y/n". You both started doing gigs at various clubs around the world. Pyramid, Alex's record company where you work for, continuously releases new sounds that you discovered. You keep writing and producing songs after songs. Really, your career is flourished. But deep inside, you're empty.

You never had a chance to go back to Chicago. Part of you was relieved that you don't have to deal with it yet. The other part of you was missing it so much. You might only stay four months in Chicago, but somehow the city (and its people) have marked their place in your heart.

You love Amsterdam. It's still your home, but its charm hasn't called you as it did before. Sure, you have your parents here. But you only got to meet them twice a week at best. Your work and their jobs don't leave lots of time to be together. Also, even though you have most of your friends in the city, you don't get to hang out with them all the time since you travel a lot for work. You get to make new friends along the way instead, just like you did in Chicago.

Case in point, you are currently in Norway, working on a song with Oliver Dahl, the number #1 DJ in the country.

Oliver's home studio is one of the best places you ever work in. The studio setup is practically the same as the one Pyramid has. But Oliver has a baby grand piano on one corner where through the window, you can see a tranquil lake with a green forest on its side. The view is calming and inspiring. So although Oliver is a much better pianist than you, you park yourself there and relegate him to a Korg keyboard.

"Hey, it's almost dinner time. Let's take a break," Oliver suggests to you. He guides you out from the studio and moves downstairs to his kitchen. The glass-paneled dining room has a door that leads to the back porch. You thought the view from the studio was great, but the view from down here is even better. You sit on a swing at the porch, take a deep breath of fresh air there.

Oliver comes out with two bottles of beer and hands you one, which you gladly accept. You switch your phone back on since you didn't want to be disturbed when you were working. It relentlessly buzzes once it's on. "Well, somebody is famous," teases Oliver.

You peek at your phone screen before grimacing at him, "Sorry. Nick needs something. I gotta call him back." You walk a few steps away from the porch. Without the roof over your head, you can feel slight drops of rain on your face. "Hey, boss. How's the meeting in Brussels go?"

"Infuriatingly slow. That is why I'm calling. I was hoping you can help us," Nick replies. He didn't sound too worried, so you thought it's going to be an easy request, "Sure. What is it?"

"Alex was supposed to have a phone interview with one of Chicago radio show, to talk about the new single of alex&y/n. Since our meeting here runs longer, could you do it in his stead? I know you don't like doing an unprepared interview, but I promise it won't be long, 15 minutes max."

"Alright, I'll do that." It's not like you can say no anyway.

"Great! I'll set it up. It's going to be in an hour. So don't mute your phone." Nick reminds you.

"I won't. It probably falls during our dinner here. I can keep my phone on."

"Thanks, y/n," Nick hangs up the call.

◢◤

Joe Cruz walks into the common-room of Firehouse 51 with his phone on hand. "Guys, Chicago Top 40 is interviewing Y/N right now!"

"Turn the volume up. I cannot hear it from here," Mouch complains from the couch as he mutes the tv. Joe pushes the side button of his phone and sets the volume to the max. Everyone continues doing their things quietly as they listen to the interview.

"We got one half of alex&y/n on the phone with us here. Dare I say the prettier half. Let's say hi to Y/N!" They hear the radio host cheers from Joe's phone.

"Hi, how are you doing?" you chuckle and greet back.

"We're all good here, thank you. So please tell us more about the latest single of alex&y/n? How did you guys come up with it?"

"We started writing this song probably about 8 months ago. I was in Chicago at the time actually," you start to explain.

"Oh, really? I didn't know you were in town," the host shortly interrupts.

"Yeah, it was back before we had any idea for this project. Alex came up with it when we made this song. It was supposed to be the first single of alex&y/n. But when I came back to Amsterdam, we wrote "Void" The team decided that it fitted better as the first single. Hence this song "Fiery Love" got pushed to be the second one."

The conversation regarding the song and the duo project goes on for another ten minutes before the interviewer wraps it up. Joe is about to close the radio app when he sees Jay Halstead and Hailey Upton step into the common-room of Firehouse 51.

"Enjoy the rest of your day, Y/N," says the host on air. "What time is it anyway in your place right now? I haven't got a chance to ask where you are,"

Joe's thumb stills above his phone screen. "It's almost 7 PM in Bergen, Norway," you inform the radio. Jay stiffens as he hears your voice.

"Oh, you got a gig there tonight?" the host asks curiously.

"No. Just a bit writing and studio session," you answer vaguely.

"It must've been in a studio with a view, unlike our four wall booth here," the host retorts.

You snicker quietly, "If I could, I'd trade you in a heartbeat,"

"Oh, stop it! You're too kind," the host says, thinking you're jesting.

You let out a tiny laugh, "But no, I'm serious. I wish I didn't leave Chicago," you admit candidly on air. Totally unbeknownst to the strained atmosphere in the Firehouse 51 common-room.

"Come visit soon. We'll show you our fancy dig here," the radio host returns jokingly. Joe finally decides to close the radio app, as Matt Casey addresses their guests. "Detectives, how can we help you?"

Jay looks at his partner, neglecting the fact that everyone in the room is watching him, "Can you handle this by yourself? I.. I think I left my phone in the car," Hailey is sure that Jay didn't leave his phone, but she gives him an understanding nod.

"We need to see Chief Boden," Hailey answers Matt. He then guides her to the Chief's office. When both detectives are out of range, Hermann asks the room, "It was a bit awkward, wasn't it?" Everyone ignores Hermann's comment and back doing things they did before. Kelly Severide determinedly stands up from his seat and goes outside. He finds Jay standing in front of the squad truck.

"Hey, man," Kelly greets him. Jay just nods to acknowledge him. After a few moments of silence, Kelly breaks first, "She always asks about you whenever she calls."

Jay scoffs his disbelief, "Yeah, right."

"She is not a brave girl, Jay. But she really loves you. She still regrets hurting you." Kelly tells him. Jay stays silent, taking in Kelly's words. "I don't think she's doing well out there." Kelly continues. Jay glances at him before opening his mouth to say something. But at the same time, Hailey comes out with Matt. "Let's go," she tells Jay. He nods at Matt and leaves with her without saying anything.

As both detectives walk away, Kelly shouts to Jay, "Will you pick up? If she calls you?"

Jay halts and looks over his shoulder. Not sure what to answer, he just shrugs in response.

◢◤

The following week, you find yourself working alone in Alex's studio. You go through some demos, try to find a song that you'd like to work on. The door is suddenly opened and reveals Alex and Nick coming in.

"You planning on going home tonight?" Alex says as he hands you a mug of hot tea. It's not unusual for you to stay all night working. While it was beneficial for the company, your well being is still his priority.

"Maybe," you just shrug as you accept the mug. "Thanks. So what's up?"

"I got an offer for alex&y/n gig for an EDM festival," Nick starts. "What do you think about it?"

"Cool, I guess.." you answer indifferently.

"Yeah?" Alex tries to reconfirm your agreement. You never play a festival before, so far alex&y/n only do club gigs. Even though you're basically doing the same thing, the stage and crowd size sometimes could be overwhelming, especially for someone who doesn't like to perform live.

"Uhuh," you nod before sipping your tea.

"Don't you wanna know where it will be?" Nick pushes.

"No," you say in disinterest, already looking back at your laptop. Nick raises his eyebrow questioningly towards Alex, which he answers with a subtle nod. "Alright then, I'm gonna go home now. You two get some rest. We'll talk again tomorrow," Nick informs you before leaving the room.

Alex drags a chair and sits next to you. "Talk to me. Please"

"There's nothing to talk about," you reply to your cup. Alex nudges you. Once. Twice. Thrice. "Stop it!" you scold him as you roll your chair away.

"You know I can do this all night until you talk to me," Alex says as he slides closer to you.

You exhale loudly in defeat before quietly tell him, "It's just... I'm exhausted."

Somehow he knows that you're not only talking about your body. "I'll talk to Nick. We can cancel the rest of alex&y/n gigs,"

"You know we can't," you rebuff his idea.

"We might be able to do that if I offer to take them instead?" Alex offers a solution.

"And let you be the one who burnout? Hell no," you deny his suggestion. You tiredly rub your face with your palm, "It's alright, Lex. I should have just suck it up and do it,"

Both of you stay silent for a moment. You pick your tea mug from the table when Alex unsurely speaks again, "That gig Nick talked about is in Chicago," You freeze up until Alex prods you, "Still wanna do it?"

"What do you think?" you weakly ask for his opinion.

"I think we should do it. It'd be fun. We can try to arrange a few days off. You can take me to your favorite places in Chicago, meet your friends.." Alex tells you. It sounds nice, makes you want to say yes. But you still have doubt in the back of your mind. "It's been months, y/n. Time for you to face it. Face Jay." Alex continues as if he knows your thought.

"I can't!" you shake your head in resign. "And why is that?" Alex pushes further.

"Because I still love him!" you forcefully drop your mug on the table, the tea splashes out of it.

"Then tell that to Jay! Don't make the same mistake as you did before!" Alex yells back at you. You instantly feel like you've been slapped.

Avoiding Alex's stare, you start to pack up your things from the table. "I think I need to go home now. Don't think I can work on anything tonight." You grab your jacket and hastily walked out of the studio.

A couple hours later, Alex comes by to your place with a canvas bag on his shoulder, "I got a box of chocolate and a six-pack of La Trappe Tripel here,"

"I don't think they can help me feel better this time," you quip as you open the door for him. Alex pulls the beers and chocolate out from the bag and puts them on the coffee table in front of the couch. He reaches again to the bag, "Don't worry, I come prepared. Got jenever in here too," He sets the bottle next to the chocolate. You go to the kitchen and bring out two clean glasses.

"Are we starting right away?" Alex asks you in confusion.

"Are you waiting for something else?" you start to open one of the beer bottles.

"Don't you want to eat dinner first? Or maybe have bitterballen to snack on?" Alex suggests to you. You open the chocolate box and pop one candy into your mouth. "There, I ate something," you declare sarcastically before sipping the beer in your hand.

"Okay then," Alex accepts his defeat. He goes to your kitchen and sees what you have on your fridge. "You don't mind if I finish this leftover stew, right?" he hollers at you as he puts the container in the microwave.

You snort your answer, "Go ahead. It's not like you need permission to raid my pantry anyway,"

Alex comes back with a bowl of stew and sits next to you on the couch. You fiddle with your phone for a bit before a ballad song playing on your home speaker. Alex starts to talk about various things as he eats, updating you about his sister Sara, his meeting in Belgium. He even lets you know what he had for lunch today. He keeps talking because he knows you're not gonna say anything.

Alex cracks open his second beer while you finish your third one and start to pour the gin into your glass. "I'll Be Over You" by Toto is playing on your speaker. Alex exasperatedly rolls his eyes, thinking that his best friend could really be dramatic sometimes. You sprawl on the couch with your feet on top of Alex's lap. "What if he's moved on?" you say after long contemplation, ready to tackle more serious conversation. "Ready" as in drunk enough to talk about it.

"Well, you face that with head held high and moved on too," Alex replies. "Easier said than done, I know."

"Big chance he doesn't want to see me anyway," you mutter to yourself. But Alex still answers you, "Maybe. Maybe not. You'll never know without going there,"

◢◤

It's been 7 months since you left Chicago and Jay Halstead still kept your last voicemail on his phone. Even when he's so mad at you, Jay never had the heart to delete it. Because somewhere deep inside, he could hear your sincerity. Jay is desperate to believe that you honestly love him and care about him.

Before Severide approached him the other day, nobody ever talked to Jay about his ex-girlfriend. Jay never apologized for pushing Adam. His friends guessed that his relationship ended, but no one ever said anything about it. His brother always abruptly changed the radio whenever your song was played on-air, acting all annoyed. But he knows Will is secretly still a fan of your music, just not in front of Jay. He thinks they're all worried that talking about you would raise his temper. But the truth is Jay misses you.

After his anger passed by, Jay could understand your position. You were left alone, befriending strangers in some city that far from home. While Jay understood that you missed home, he's still disappointed over the fact that you didn't tell him sooner. But it already happened, you made your choice. Now Jay is left with a bruised heart and silently pined over his ex.

Jay is lost in his thoughts. He jolts in surprise when he feels something cold and wet on his cheek. Jay looks up to find Will, who hands him a glass of beer. "How is the game going? Anything interesting happens when I'm gone?" Will asks Jay as he sits and looks down to the ice rink. They are at the United Center arena, watching a Blackhawks game.

"Nah, you don't miss much," Jay tells his brother. "Thanks for taking me here, man."

"It's nothing. I want to do something for your birthday, but since I have to work double shifts tomorrow, we just have to celebrate early." Will raises his glass for a toast. The brothers shout wildly during the game, chant together with other spectators in the stadium, basically having a good time. When the game is on a break, Will and Jay trade a light banter between each other. The jumbotron above plays adverts that they ignore.

"This summer, coming back to the Soldier Field Arena. We proudly present, Spring Awakening Music Festival! Featuring..."

When they hear the ad's narrator mentions "alex&y/n" Jay spontaneously looks up at the jumbotron. There was a picture of you and Alex, standing back to back, staring hard through the camera. Even with the cold gaze and unsmiling face, Jay still thought you look good. The announcement was certainly a surprise. Jay remembered when you told him that you don't like to perform in front of crowds. Now here you are, headlining a big stage. Time's changed, he thinks to himself.

Jay keeps looking at the gigantic screen, even though now it's showing another ad. If anyone asks him, Jay cannot tell what this new ad is about. His mind is busy thinking about something/someone else. Will glances at his brother and notices the tightness of Jay's shoulders. "I won't come to see them, even if they give me free tickets," he remarks wittily. Jay burst out a laugh and elbow his brother, "Thanks, man." he is grateful for his brother's understanding.

◢◤

Jay wakes up late the next morning. He spent the night listening to your podcasts and fell asleep with your voice on his ears. Seeing you on the jumbotron made him missed you more. His phone battery was drained, his alarm didn't ring. It's only because of habits from his ranger days that he woke up and gets ready in time to go to work.

Just as he walks out of his place, a delivery man is stopping him. "I got a package for Jay Halstead?"

"Yeah, that's me," Jay says distractedly, trying to recall if he orders anything online. The guy hands him a bag and a receipt form. Jay skims the paper before signing it. On the shipper box, it is stated, "Belgian Chocolatier Piron, Inc." He returns the signed form to the courier. "Thank you. Have a nice day, Sir", chirps the man. Jay pauses slightly, looking at the bag, before running to his car once remembers that he's late for work.

Once Jay arrives at the district, he puts the suspicious package on his desk. He opens the bag cautiously and pulls out a golden cardboard box with a black bow tied around it. He digs deeper into the bag but finds nothing more, no notes or cards, just this golden box.

"You got a box of Piron?! Can I have one? Please?" Jay hears Kim Burgess squeals at him.

"What the hell is a Piron?" Adam Ruzek asks loudly from behind her. Kim starts to pull the bow, but Jay moves the box away quickly. "I don't even know who it's from. We should be careful. I'll send it to the lab.."

"Is that Piron?!" Hailey Upton shrieks as she steps closer to Jay's desk.

"What? You know about this Piron too?" Adam baffles even further.

"They are like one of the best chocolatiers in town." Hailey impatiently explains to Adam. "Is it yours, Jay?" She sounds rather demanding than asking.

"Yes, it's Jay's. And he wants to bring it to the forensic lab. Unbelievable..." Kim says disapprovingly.

"I don't even know who send it! Aren't you worried if it turns out to be a bomb or a deadly virus?" Jay tries to reason to his teammates, who are now circling around him.

"What bomb?" They all jump in surprise when they hear Voight from behind them.

"Ah, it's nothing, Sarge. There are no bombs anywhere. At least not in the city of Chicago... Maybe..." Jay rambles.

"Are you gonna open that box, Halstead?" Voight cuts him off, pointing at the innocent box.

"I'm not sure, Sarge," Jay meekly admits. Voight pulls the black bow that was half undone because of Kim and opens the box gently. "Oh no, it's a bomb," Adam whispers as he hides behind Kevin Atwater but peeks over his shoulder. The girls are excitedly bouncing on their heels, seeing the rows of chocolate inside the box. Voight takes one and confidently bites into it. "You should never waste good chocolate. By the way, happy birthday, Jay." He pats Jay's shoulder before stepping toward his office. Jay gives Voight a small smile, though he still confounds about the situation.

Jay looks at the rest of the team. Hailey bites a candy on her right hand as she picks another with her left. Kim got half-bitten chocolate on her fingers. Her eyes were closed as she savors the taste. Adam's hand hovers above the box, cautiously looking at his teammates, "You girls feel okay? No dizziness, nausea, anything?" His questions were left unanswered since the girls were too busy munching.

Kevin offers Jay a handshake and continues with a quick hug, "Happy birthday, bro!" Jay clasps his shoulder, "Thanks, Kev,"

"So someone sent you this as a birthday gift, huh? Quite special, isn't it?" Kevin picks one candy from the box.

"I guess. If only I knew who sent it..." Jay wonders. He also takes one piece of chocolate and nibbles into it. The bittersweet taste suddenly reminds him of a particular someone. At the same time, his phone chirps on his desk. Jay checks his phone and finds a voice memo from an unknown, international number. He moves to a quieter place and listens to the message.

"Hi, Jay," Jay holds his breath, recognizing the voice on the other end. "It's me, y/n... I just want to wish you a happy birthday... Hope you enjoy the chocolate," He waits as you hesitate to continue. "Err... Stay safe, alright? I love you." As if just realizing what you've said, Jay hears you curse in panic, "oh shi.." and the message briskly ends.

Next on this fic : Part 11

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